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pale Alsatian, of some twenty years, who was in their ranks, asked a
captain, who was marching by him with his sword drawn,--
"
Where are we going?"
The officer made no reply.
Having left the Tuileries, they turned to the right, and followed the
quay as far as the Pont de la Concorde. They crossed the Pont de la
Concorde, and again turned to the right. In this manner they passed
before the esplanade of the Invalides, and reached the lonely quay of
Gros-Caillou.
As we have just said, they numbered 337, and as they walked two by two,
there was one, the last, who walked alone. He was one of the most daring
combatants of the Rue Pagevin, a friend of Lecomte the younger. By
chance the sergeant, who was posted in the inner file by his side, was a
native of the same province. On passing under a street-lamp they
recognized each other. They exchanged quickly a few words in a whisper.
"
Where are we going?" asked the prisoner.
"
To the military school," answered the sergeant. And he added, "Ah! my
poor lad!"
And then he kept at a distance from the prisoner.
As this was the end of the column, there was a certain space between the
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