onjecturing within myself what distance I might be from
Spa, and how I could contrive to reach it, I chanced to fix my eyes
on the sabre above the chimney, which I took down to examine. It was
a plain straight weapon, of the kind carried by the soldiery; its only
sign of inscription was the letter 'N' on the blade. As I replaced it, I
caught sight of the printed paper, which, begrimed with smoke and partly
obliterated by time, was nearly illegible. After much pains, however, I
succeeded in deciphering the following; it was headed in large letters--

'Ordre du Jour, de l'Armee Francaise. Le 9 Thermidor.'

The lines which immediately followed were covered by another piece of
paper pasted over them, where I could just here and there detect a stray
word, which seemed to indicate that the whole bore reference to some
victory of the republican army. The last four lines, much clearer than
the rest, ran thus:--

'Le citoyen Aubuisson, chef de bataillon de Grenadiers, de cette
demi-brigade, est entre le premier dans la redoute. Il a eu son habit
crible de balles.'

I read and re-read the lines a dozen times over; indeed, to this hour
are they fast fixed in my memory. Some strange mystery seemed to connect
them with the poor shepherd; otherwise, why were they here? I thought
over his figure, strong and well-knit, as I saw him stand upright in the
room, and of his military salute; and the conviction came fully over me
that the miserable creature, covered with rags and struggling with
want, was no other than the citizen Aubuisson. Yet, by what fearful
vicissitude had he fallen to this? The wild expression of his features
at times did indeed look like insanity; still, what he said to me was
both calm and coherent. The mystery excited all my curiosity, and I
longed for his return, in the hope of detecting some clue to it.

The door opened suddenly. A large dog, more mastiff than sheep-dog,
dashed in; seeing me, he retreated a step, and fixing his eyes steadily
upon me, gave a fearful howl. I could not stir from fear. I saw that he
was preparing for a spring, when the voice of the shepherd called out,
'Couche-toi, Tete-noir, couche!' The savage beast at once slunk quietly
to a corner, and lay down--still never taking his eyes from me, and
seeming to feel as if his services would soon be in request in my
behalf; while his master shook the rain from his hat and blouse, and
came forward to dry himself at the fire. Fixing his eye