Beautiful God!
that was a day at Auerstadt."
"Soldier," said Valmond, waving his hand, "step on. There is a drum at
Louis Quinze. Let us go together, comrade."
The old sergeant was in a dream. He wheeled, the crowd made way for him,
and at the neck of the white horse he came on with Valmond. As they
passed the carriage of Madame Chalice, Valmond made no sign. They
stopped in front of the hotel, and Valmond, motioning to the garcon, gave
him an order. The old sergeant stood silent, his eyes full fixed upon
Valmond. In a moment the boy came out with the drum. Valmond took it,
and, holding it in his hands, said softly: "Soldier of the Old Guard,
here is a drum of France." Without a word the old man took the drum, his
fingers trembling as he fastened it to his belt. When the sticks were in
his hand, all trembling ceased, and his hands became steady. He was
living in the past entirely.
"Soldier," said Valmond in a loud voice, "remember Austerlitz. The
Heights of Pratzen are before you. Play up the feet of the army."
For an instant the old man did not move, and then a sullen sort of look
came over his face. He was not a drummer at Austerlitz, and for the
instant he did not remember the tune the drummers played.
"Soldier," said Valmond softly, "with 'the Little Sword that Danced' play
up the feet of the army."
A light broke over the old man's face. The swift look he cast on Valmond
had no distrust now.
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