“'Yes, Général,' said I, 'we 've had some warm work together.'
“'True, Pioche, and may again perhaps. But you've been made a corporal since that; what am I to do for you now?'
“This was a puzzling question, and I did not know how to answer it, and he repeated it before I could make up my mind.
“'Is there nothing, then, in which I can be of use to Corporal Pioche?'
“'Yes, mon général,' said I, 'there is.'
“'Speak it out, man, then; what is it?'
“'I wish, then, you 'd rate the commissary-general of our division for one blunder he's ever making. The powder they serve us out is always wet, and our bread is as hard as mitraille. Neither bayonets nor teeth will last forever, you know, Général.' And he burst out a-laughing before I finished.
“'Rest assured, Pioche, I'll look to this,' said he; and he kept his word.”
“But why didn't you ask for promotion?” said I. “What folly, was it not, to throw away such a chance? You might have been an officer ere this.”
“No,” replied he, with a sorrowful shake of the head; “that was impossible.”