He knew now that history and a long literature merely created the illusion of difference.
He wondered why the artillery fire did not die, with the wind sweeping such gusts of rain before it.

Then he remembered that the sound of so many great cannon could travel a long distance, and there might be no rain at the points from which the firing came.

The cottage might stand in a long narrow valley up which the clouds would travel.
Not feeling sleepy yet he decided to have another look about the house.
A search revealed a small box of matches near the lamp on the shelf.
Then he closed the window in order to shut in the flame, and, lighting the lamp, pursued his investigation.
He found in the kitchen a jar of honey that he had overlooked, and he resolved to use a part of it for breakfast.

Europeans did not seem able to live without jam or honey in the mornings, and he would follow the custom.

Not much was left in the other rooms, besides some old articles of clothing, including two or three blue blouses of the kind worn by French peasants or workmen, but on one of the walls he saw an excellent engraving of the young Napoleon, conqueror of Italy.
It showed him, horseback, on a high road looking down upon troops in battle, Castiglione or Rivoli, perhaps, his face thin and gaunt, his hair long and cut squarely across his forehead, the eyes deep, burning and unfathomable.