There was one--he of the injured arm--resplendent in a redingote of crimson velvet, whilst he of the limp supported himself upon a gold-headed cane of ebony, which was in ludicrous discord with the tattered blue coat, the phrygian cap, and the toes that peeped through his broken boots.
They paused in their game to inspect, in their turn, the newcomers, and to La Boulaye it seemed that their glances were not free from uneasiness.
"A picturesque company on my life," he mused aloud.

Then beckoned the one in the crimson coat.
"Hola, Citizen," he called to him.
The fellow hesitated a moment, then shuffled forward with a sullen air, and stood by Caron's stirrup.
"In God's name, what are you and who are you ?" the Deputy demanded.
"We are invalided soldiers from the army of Dumouriez," the man answered him.
"But what are you doing here, at Boisvert ?" "We are in hospital, Citizen." "Yonder ?" asked La Boulaye derisively, pointing with his whip to the "Eagle Inn." The fellow nodded.
"Yes, Citizen, yonder," he answered curtly.
La Boulaye looked surprised.

Then his eyes strayed to the others on the green.
"But you are not all invalids ?" he questioned.
"Many of us are convalescent." "Convalescent?
But those three braves yonder are something more than convalescent.

They are as well as I am.

Why do they not rejoin the troops ?" The fellow looked up with a scowl.
"We take our orders from our officer," he answered sourly.
"Ah!" quoth the Deputy.