Arthur occupied his mind in speculating on the character of the soldier,
in trying to guess from his features whether he were a cruel or a
kind-hearted man; whether he were a ferocious democrat, eager for the
blood of all who had been born in a rank above him, or merely a well-
trained soldier, obeying the behests of those under whose orders it was
his duty to act. The Chevalier had no idea that his own or his friends'
fate depended in any way on the man's disposition; but such thoughts
came across his brain unwittingly, and he could not restrain them. At
last, he felt that he had a kind of intimacy with the sergeant; that if
he should chance to meet him after three or four years had passed, he
should greet him as an old acquaintance, whom he had well known, and he
was sure that the sergeant had the same feeling respecting him.
The day dawned soon after two o'clock, and as by degrees the clear
sun-light streamed in at the uncurtained windows, Arthur, in his
impatience, thought that the day was advancing; but in reality it was
not yet five o'clock, when Santerre, waking with a tremendous yawn,
stretched his huge limbs, and then jumped up from the sofa on which he
had been lying.
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