"The battalion formerly known as the Red-Cross," added the vivandière.
The sergeant continued,—
"Who are you, madam?"
The woman looked at him in terror. She was thin, young, pale, and in tatters. She wore the large hood and woollen cloak of the Breton peasants, fastened by a string around her neck. She left her bosom exposed with the indifference of an animal. Her feet, without shoes or stockings, were bleeding.
"It's a beggar," said the sergeant.
The vivandière continued in her martial yet womanly voice,—a gentle voice withal,—
"What is your name?"
The woman stammered in a scarce audible whisper:
"Michelle Fléchard."
Meanwhile the vivandière stroked the little head of the nursing baby with her large hand.