These stories enraged our men against the Russians. Many said, "If the war would only begin again, they would have a hard job of it then: it is not over! it is not over!" I was at times almost overcome with wrath after hearing some tale of horror; and sometimes I thought to myself, "Joseph, are you not losing your wits? These Russians are defending their families, their homes, all that man holds most dear. We hate them for defending themselves; we would have despised them had they not done so."
But about this time an extraordinary event occurred.
You must know that my comrade, Zébédé, was the son of the gravedigger of Phalsbourg, and sometimes between ourselves we called him "Gravedigger." This he took in good part from us; but one evening after drill, as he was crossing the yard, a hussar cried out:
"Halloo, Gravedigger! help me to drag in these bundles of straw."
Zébédé, turning about, replied:
"My name is not Gravedigger, and you can drag in your own straw. Do you take me for a fool?"
Then the other cried in a still louder tone:
"Conscript, you had better come, or beware!"
Zébédé, with his great hooked nose, his gray eyes and thin lips, never bore too good a character for mildness. He went up to the hussar and asked:
"What is that you say?"