'I belong to the company, certainly,' said Picart; 'but the sergeant, who claims a bit of the horse, killed his master in the first place.'
'Very well, then,' said a sergeant who knew me, 'he shall have some.'
This sergeant took the place of a sergeant-major who had died the day before.
The column came to a halt, and an officer asked Picart where he came from, and how he happened to be in front, as those who had escorted the convoy had come back three days ago. The halt lasted for some time. Picart related his adventures, stopping continually to ask after several comrades whom he failed to see in the ranks. They were all dead. He dared not ask after his bed-mate, who was also from his own country. But at last he ventured.
'And where is Rougeau?'
'At Krasnoë,' said the drummer.
'Ah! I understand.'
'Yes,' continued the drummer, 'he died from a ball which cut both his legs off. Before he died he made you his executor. He gave me for you his cross, his watch, and a little leather bag containing money and different things. He begged me to tell you that they were for his mother. If, like him, you were so unfortunate as not to see France again, you were to commission someone else.'
The drummer, named Patrice, then took all the things out of his knapsack before all the company, saying to Picart: