"Soldier of the Old Guard," said Valmond again, "how came you by those
scars upon your forehead?"
"I was a drummer at Auerstadt, a corporal at Austerlitz, a sergeant at
Waterloo," rolled back the reply, in a high, quavering voice, as memories
of great events blew in upon the ancient fires of his spirit.
"Ah!" answered Valmond, nodding eagerly; "with Davoust at
Auerstadt--thirty against sixty thousand men. At eight o'clock, all fog
and mist, as you marched up the defile towards the Sonnenberg hills, the
brave Gudin and his division feeling their way to Blucher. Comrade, how
still you stepped, your bayonet thrust out before you, clearing the
mists, your eyes straining, your teeth set, ready to thrust. All at once
a quick-moving mass sprang out of the haze, and upon you, with hardly a
sound of warning; and an army of hussars launched themselves at your
bayonets! You bent that wall back like a piece of steel, and broke it.
Comrade, that was the beginning, in the mist of morning. Tell me how you
fared in the light of evening, at the end of that bloody day."
The old soldier was trembling. There was no sign, no movement, from the
crowd.
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