“Soldiers,” said Raynal, “and invalided.”

“Give them food and wine,” said Josephine.

Rose went towards them; but she had scarcely taken three steps ere she cried out,—­

“It is Dard! it is poor Dard!  Come in, Dard, come in.”

Dard limped towards them, leaning upon Sergeant La Croix.  A bit of Dard’s heel had been shot away, and of La Croix’s head.

Rose ran to the kitchen.

“Jacintha, bring out a table into the Pleasaunce, and something for two guests to eat.”

The soldiers came slowly to the Pleasaunce, and were welcomed, and invited to sit down, and received with respect; for France even in that day honored the humblest of her brave.

Soon Jacintha came out with a little round table in her hands, and affected a composure which was belied by her shaking hands and her glowing cheek.

After a few words of homely welcome—­not eloquent, but very sincere—­she went off again with her apron to her eyes.  She reappeared with the good cheer, and served the poor fellows with radiant zeal.

“What regiment?” asked Raynal.

Dard was about to answer, but his superior stopped him severely; then, rising with his hand to his forehead, he replied, with pride, “Twenty-fourth brigade, second company.  We were cut up at Philipsburg, and incorporated with the 12th.”

Raynal instantly regretted his question; for Josephine’s eye fixed on Sergeant La Croix with an expression words cannot paint.  Yet she showed more composure, real or forced, than he expected.

“Heaven sends him,” said she.  “My friend, tell me, were you—­ah!”

Colonel Raynal interfered hastily.  “Think what you do.  He can tell you nothing but what we know, not so much, in fact, as we know; for, now I look at him, I think this is the very sergeant we found lying insensible under the bastion.  He must have been struck before the bastion was taken even.”

“I was, colonel, I was.  I remember nothing but losing my senses, and feeling the colors go out of my hand.”

“There, you see, he knows nothing,” said Raynal.

“It was hot work, colonel, under that bastion, but it was hotter to the poor fellows that got in.  I heard all about it from Private Dard here.”

“So, then, it was you who carried the colors?”

“Yes, I was struck down with the colors of the brigade in my hand,” cried La Croix.

“See how people blunder about, everything; they told me the colonel carried the colors.”

“Why, of course he did.  You don’t think our colonel, the fighting colonel, would let me hold the colors of the brigade so long as he was alive.  No; he was struck by a Prussian bullet, and he had just time to hand the colors to me, and point with his sword to the bastion, and down he went.  It was hot work, I can tell you.  I did not hold them long, not thirty seconds, and if we could know their history, they passed through more hands than that before they got to the Prussian flag-staff.”