"It was one they gave me in the Temple," said I. "I was a 'rat du prison' for some time."
"Thunder of war!" exclaimed the cannonier, "I had rather stand a whole platoon fire than see what thou must have seen, child."
"And hast heart to go back there, boy," said the corporal, "and live the same life again?"
"No, I'll never go back," said I. "I'll be a soldier."
"Well said, mon brave—thou'lt be a hussar, I know."
"If nature has given thee a good head, and a quick eye, my boy, thou might even do better; and in time, perhaps, wear a coat like mine," said the cannonier.
"Sacre bleu!" cried a little fellow, whose age might have been any thing from boyhood to manhood—for while small of stature, he was shriveled and wrinkled like a mummy—"why not be satisfied with the coat he wears?"
"And be a drummer, like thee," said the cannonier.
"Just so, like me, and like Massena—he was a drummer, too."
"No, no!" cried a dozen voices together, "that's not true."