CHAPTER XVI
THE GATE IN THE WALL
The two travelers were stopped by the guard at the main gate in the walls that encircled the town. Marteau had drawn his old cloak closely about him, so that it was not evident that he was in uniform. Pierre's nondescript garments were so tattered and torn that neither would they betray the pair. The sentry was clad in the old uniform of the Fifth-of-the-Line, except that he sported a white cockade in his head-gear and every device that referred to the Empire had been carefully eliminated. Still he was the same soldier, and Marteau recognized him at once as one of the veterans of the regiment. The recognition was not mutual. Captivity, illness, privation had wrought many changes in the officer's face. The man looked at him curiously and wonderingly, however, as he challenged him.
"My friend," asked the officer, "of what regiment are you, I pray?"
"The Fifth-of-the——" began the man instinctively, apparently, and then he stopped. "The regiment Dauphiné," he answered, his face clouding.
"And what battalion?"
"The first, sir."
"Are there other troops in garrison?"
"Another regiment of infantry, that was the Seventh. I don't know its new name. And some artillery to man the walls."