"By heaven!" cried the officer, after a long stare, "is it—it is Captain Marteau!"
"The same."
"We thought you dead. Your name is honored in the regiment. We knew how you rallied the line; how you took the Eagle; how you threw it into the river rather than permit it to be taken. We thought you were killed."
"My life was spared," was the solemn answer.
"But why did you not rejoin the regiment?"
"I was in prison at Salzburg, and for some reason was overlooked, perhaps because it was thought I was dead, and then for some months I was helpless, ill of a horrible fever. It was only two months ago that I was set free, with this lad here, who stood beside me before the bridge at Arcis. We learned through unofficial sources that the regiment was here. Having nowhere else to go, I came back, and——"
"They will be glad to see you," said the officer. "The regiment lost heavily. It was almost cut to pieces at Arcis."
"I know."
"But many officers and men of the old regiment have come back, like you, from Russia, from Prussia and from Austria, where they had been held prisoners. They will be glad to welcome you at the barracks yonder. You are permitted to pass. But stop. I must do my duty. What have you in that parcel?"
Marteau looked about him, moved a step away from the sentries and the corporal and sergeant of the guard, and whispered a word into the ear of the officer. He threw up his hands in astonishment.