Sergeant, send me the sentinel they are relieving." Sergeant La Croix soon came back, as pompous as a hen with one chick, predominating with a grand military air over a droll figure that chattered with cold, and held its musket in hands clothed in great mittens.

Dard.
La Croix marched him up as if he had been a file; halted him like a file, sang out to him as to a file, stentorian and unintelligible, after the manner of sergeants.
"Private No.

4." DARD.

P-p-p-present! LA CROIX.

Advance to the word of command, and speak to the colonel.
The shivering figure became an upright statue directly, and carried one of his mittens to his forehead.