The rural constable raised his hand, but was checked by Buteau.
"Let the child alone! He's right. Is he wanted? There are others. Why on earth should we be supposed to come into this world just to leave home and go and get our heads broken, on account of a lot of nonsense we don't care a copper about? I've never left the neighbourhood, and I'm none the worse for it."
He had, in fact, drawn a lucky number, and was a regular stay-at-home, attached to the land, and only acquainted with Orleans and Chartres, never having seen an inch beyond the flat horizon of La Beauce. He seemed to plume himself on having thus grown in his own soil, with the limited, lush energy of a tree. He had risen to his feet and the women were gazing at him.
"When they come back from serving their term, they're all so thin!" ventured Lise, in an undertone.
"And you, did you go far, corporal?" asked old Rose.
Jean was smoking in silence, like a contemplative young man who preferred listening. He slowly took his pipe out of his mouth.
"Yes, pretty far, one might say. But not to the Crimea. I was about to start when Sebastopol was taken. Later on, though, I was in Italy."
"And what's Italy like?"
The question seemed to perplex him. He hesitated, and ransacked his memory.