garb of convicts, fed on bread and water, with shaven heads and fettered feet, no man ever came forth alive.
Days wore on, bringing the dreaded morning that was to decide the fate of the conscripts. Madame de Talmont wrapped her mantle around her and took the arm of her son. Clémence also was prepared to accompany them to the village. Henri, who looked very pale, attempted a remonstrance. "The place will be crowded to-day," he said. "It is not fit for you, mother, or for Clémence."
But they would not listen. "There is no country lad," said his mother, "who will not have his people with him to-day to learn his fate; and shall De Talmont go to the drawing alone, as if no one cared for him?"
As they passed along, they could not avoid hearing the mocking remarks which were exchanged by the peasants of Brie when they saw the proud aristocrats, whose lives had flowed on for years beside yet apart from their own, forced at last into fellowship with their neighbours by a common hope and fear. The silk of Madame de Talmont's mantle, well-worn yet unmistakably elegant, rubbed against the homespun gown of the baker's widow, and both faces were pale with one anxiety.
"Ah, madame, there's little chance for us this time," said Widow Simon. "They like it, the young folk. They know no better. But God help the old!"
A crowd of women were standing together in the town hall, while the young men went inside into the mayor's office to draw each his number from the box. Without, in the village street, a band was playing martial airs, and people were shouting, "Vive l'Empereur!"
Every minute or two some one came out of the office, swaggering or downcast, as the case might be. Widow Simon's son had drawn a very high number, which made him comparatively safe; and Madame de Talmont felt glad ever afterwards that she congratulated the mother. Mathieu Féron came out wav-
