FROM EDINBURGH TO THE ANTARCTIC 297 
the past with a jerk. It was the Invalides themselves. 
Some twenty of them seated in groups at tables down 
a low-roofed room with the winter sun slanting into it 
through a line of low windows. The men were all very 
old, and all dressed alike in long black coats and stock 
collars. Some were smoking thoughtfully, and some had 
little glasses of cognac before them. I suppose it was a sort 
of bar, and this was the men's weekly treat. They looked 
so drowsy and harmless that C. and I ventured in and 
sat down at a table beside one of the oldest. He was a 
grim old ruin, and sat by himself, bolt upright, looking 
straight before him, with his skinny hands resting on his 
stick. I do not think he knew we were there till we 
spoke to him, and asked an attendant to bring three petits 
verves of cognac. At first he only answered us shortly 
in a hollow, deep voice, like the wind in a cannon's 
mouth ; but after a while his memory wakened and his 
