Poitevin, this will teach
you to hiss!" The old drunkard perceived that I had a little money in
my pocket, and kept near me, saying: "Young man, if your knapsack tires
you, hand it to me." But I only thanked him for his kindness.

Notwithstanding my disgust at being with a man who gazed at every
tavern sign when we passed through a village, and said at each one: "A
little glass of something would do us good as the time passes," I could
not help paying for a glass now and then, so that he did not quit me.

We were nearing Wurtzen and the rain was falling in torrents, when the
quartermaster cried for the twentieth time:

"Ay, Poitevin! Here is life for you! This will teach you to hiss!"

"What sort of a proverb is that of yours?" I asked; "I would like to
know how the rain would teach you to hiss."

"It is not a proverb, young man; it is an idea which runs in my head
when I try to be cheerful."

Then, after a moment's pause, he continued:

"You must know," said he, "that in 1806, when I was a student at Rouen,
I happened once to hiss a piece in the theatre, with a number of other
young fellows like myself. Some hissed, some applauded; blows were
struck, and the police carried us by dozens to the watch-house. The
Emperor, hearing of it, said: 'Since they like fighting so much, put
them in my armies! There they can gratify their tastes!' And, of
course, the thing was done; and no one dared hiss in that part of the
country, not even fathers and mothers of families."

"You were a conscript, then?" I asked.

"No, my father had just bought me a substitute. It was one of the
Emperor's jokes; one of those jokes which we long remember; twenty or
thirty of us are dead of hardship and want. A few others, instead of
filling honorable positions in their towns, such as doctors, judges,
lawyers, have become old drunkards. This is what is called a good
joke!"

Then he began to laugh, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I
had become very thoughtful, and two or three times more, before we
reached Gauernitz, I paid for the poor wretch's little glasses of
something.

It was about five o'clock in the evening, and we were approaching the
village of Risa, when we descried an old mill, with its wooden bridge,
over which a bridle-path ran. We struck off from the road and took
this path, to make a short cut to the village, when we heard cries and
shrieks for help, and, at the same moment, two women, one old, and th