Twenty-five years of service, eight wounds, and no bread in his old
age! My heart bled at the thought of it.
About a quarter of an hour after, the sergeant came down with his
musket. Meeting Safel on the stairs, he said to him, "Stay, that is
for your father!"
It was the portrait of the landwehr's wife and children. Safel brought
it to me at once. I took the poor devil's gift, and looked at it for a
long time, very sadly; then I shut it up in the closet with the letter.
It was noon, and, as the gates were about to be opened, and abundance
of provisions were to come, we sat down before a large piece of boiled
beef, with a dish of potatoes, and opened a good bottle of wine.
We were still eating when we heard shouts in the street. Safel got up
to look out.
"A wounded soldier that they are carrying to the hospital!" said he.