are on the road."

"The rest, old fellow! what do you mean? why, I was not drawn."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Thunder of war, but I say you were. Yours was the last number."

"That is an unlucky guess of yours, for I saw the last number. Look
here," and he fumbled in his pocket, and produced his number.

La Croix instantly fished out a corresponding number.

"Well, and here you are; this was the last number drawn."

Dard burst out laughing.

"You goose!" said he, "that is sixty-six--look at it."

"Sixty-six!" roared the sergeant; "no more than yours is--they are both
sixty-sixes when you play tricks with them, and turn them up like that;
but they are both ninety-nines when you look at them fair."

Dard scratched his head.

"Come," said the corporal, briskly, "make up his bundle, girl, and let
us be off; we have got our marching orders; going to the Rhine."

"And do you think that I will let him go?" screamed Jacintha. "No! I
will say one word to Madame Raynal, and she will buy him a substitute
directly."

Dard stopped her sullenly. "No! I have told all in the village that I
would go the first chance: it is come, and I'll go. I won't stay to be
laughed at about this too. If I was sure to be cut in pieces, I'd go.
Give over blubbering, girl, and get us a bottle of the best wine, and
while we are drinking it, the sergeant and I, you make up my bundle. I
shall never do any good here."

Jacintha knew the obstinate toad. She did as she was bid, and soon
the little bundle was ready, and the two men faced the wine; La Croix,
radiant and bellicose; Dard, crestfallen but dogged (for there was a
little bit of good stuff at the bottom of the creature); and Jacintha
rocking herself, with her apron over her head.

"I'll give you a toast," said La Croix. "Here's gunpowder."

Jacintha promptly honored the toast with a flood of tears.

"Drop that, Jacintha," said Dard, angrily; "do you think that is
encouraging? Sergeant, I told this poor girl all about glory before you
came, but she was not ripe for it: say something to cheer her up, for I
can't."

"I can," cried this trumpet of battle, emptying its glass. "Attention,
young woman."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! yes, sir."

"A French soldier is a man who carries France in his heart"--

"But if the cruel foreign soldiers kill him? Oh!"

"Why, in that case, he does not care a straw. Every man must die; horses
likewise, and dogs, and donkeys, when they come