The Fifth-of-the-Line had been stationed there before in one of the infrequent periods of peace during the Napoleonic era.

He was familiar with the place and he knew exactly where to look for what he expected to see.
More ragged and tattered, more travel-stained indeed, and with only the semblance of a uniform left, was the young lad who stood by the soldier's side.

But the boy was in good health and looked strong and sturdy.
"There," said the officer.

"You see that square bulk of buildings against the wall beyond the Cathedral church-tower and over the Palais de Justice ?" "I see them, my officer," answered the other, shading his hand and staring over the roofs and walls and spires of the compact little town.
"The barracks will be there unless the regiment has moved.

That will be the end of our journey." "The building with the flag, you mean, monsieur ?" asked Pierre.
"That one." Alas! the flag was no longer the tricolor but the white flag of ancient royal France.