And as Hullin stood watching all this, and feeling his very heart sicken within him,—just at that moment a shopkeeper in the Square, Sôme the baker, came out of his house, carrying a large saucepan filled with soup. It was then a sight, to behold all those ghosts move restlessly on their straw, their eyes sparkling, their nostrils dilating; new life seemed to be given them, for the poor wretches were dying of hunger.
The good baker, Sôme, with tears in his eyes, approached, saying:
"Here I am, my children!—a little patience! It's I—you know me?"
But he had no sooner reached the first cart than the huge carbineer with hollow cheeks plunged his arm up to the elbow in the boiling soup, seized the meat, and hid it under his coat; all this was done with the rapidity of lightning. Immediately, savage yells broke forth on all sides. Those who had strength to move seemed as if they would have devoured their comrade; while he, with his two arms crossed upon his breast, his teeth fixed in his prey, and his squinting eye looking both ways at once, seemed deaf to their threats. On hearing the uproar, an old soldier, a sergeant, rushed out of a neighbouring inn. He was an old campaigner; he saw at a glance what was the matter, and, without loss of time, snatched the meat from the ferocious beast, saying:
"You deserve to have none at all. It is going to be divided. We shall cut it into ten rations!"
"There are only eight of us!" said one of the wounded—very calm in appearance, but whose eye glared with feverish excitement.
"How, eight?"
"You can see, sergeant, that these two are going to kick the bucket—it'd be wasting good provisions!"
The old sergeant cast a look at the cart.