- ' 
 
 

 BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
TALES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
A) 35" 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THESE TALES are presented to the Public, in the hope thus to add a 
 mite to the weight of that opinion, now thank God for it fast gain- 
 ing ground among the more thoughtful and observing of all classes 
 
 That Revolutions are not the wisest means to employ for advancing 
 the condition, or diminishing the pains, of humanity. 
 
 That the immense amount of suffering necessarily occasioned by 
 having recourse to such tumultuous methods of Reform, it is hard to 
 compensate even by real improvements in the system of Society but 
 that to secure such improvements is rendered incredibly difficult, by 
 that subversion of Law and Order which throws all the elements of 
 which Society is composed, into confusion, and in which, not the 
 wisest and best, but the most rash and unprincipled, because the least 
 scrupulous as to means, almost inevitably rise to the top. 
 
 That calm, earnest, and persevering effort is the only sure and 
 safe way of advancing the progress of Mankind. 
 
 That what is sudden and rapid is seldom of much value. 
 
 That wisdom hesitates, where inexperience jumps to conclusions ; 
 and that 
 
 " Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread." 
 
 143 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 LE DOCTEUR NOIR BY ALFRED DR VIQNY.. .. 7 
 
 SEALED ORDERS , Do. .... 65 
 
 LIMOELAN EDWARD OUBLIAC .... 91 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S FORTUNE ANONYMOUS 139 
 
THE PROFESSIONAL VISITS 
 
 OF 
 
 LE DOCTEUE NOIR, 
 
 PKELKiILSARY NOTICE. 
 
 AMONG those victims of the fatal years 1793-4, which the French nation 
 still lament as a loss irreparable to their country, they turn with a fond 
 regret to the home of Andre Chenier, rather from the promise held out 
 by his early genius, than for anything very remarkable which he really 
 effected. 
 
 His history is singular and affecting; and the disgrace which long 
 attached to his brother, Marie Joseph Chenier, on his account, it has 
 been the attempt of several French authors to clear away ; and this 
 historic sketch seems an endeavour to account satisfactorily for the 
 apparent indifference to his brothers fate with which he has been re- 
 proached. 
 
 But it is not so much on account of the story of the two Cheniers, 
 as that it represents in detail some of those terrible scenes, of which, in 
 the general, we have all heard so much, that this story, it is thought, 
 will interest the English reader. 
 
 The moment chosen, as it will be seen, is some time subsequent to 
 the destruction of the Girondins, of the Hebertides, and finally of Danton, 
 when Robespierre, St. Juste, and Couthon, exercised, through their 
 influence in the committees, the commune, the Jacobin Club, and their 
 organ the Revolutionary Tribunal , that tremendous power which even 
 at this moment it appals us to look back upon. 
 
 The passive submission with which the better part of the nation 
 yielded to this unmitigated and unexampled tyranny that "reign of 
 terror" which succeeded has excited the astonishment of all the world. 
 After a pause of mingled dread and horror, however, men began to 
 breathe, to recover their spirits, and to resolve upon a last effort at 
 emancipation. A secret conspiracy in the Convention was now upon 
 the eve of declaring itself; at the head of which was Tallien, who, 
 steeped in blood as he was, seems not to have been prepared, or perhaps 
 was not invited to share in the proscriptions and the despotism of the 
 moment, and who probably anticipated for himself the fate which had 
 overtaken so many of his companions. 
 
 The contest was decided upon the well-known ninth Thermidor, and 
 it is a few days before that event that this characteristic tale begins. 
 
Till PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 
 
 Our Docteur Noir, it will be seen, possessed opportunities more than 
 common for becoming acquainted with the interior machinery and the 
 true characters of the different actors concerned in these strange scenes, 
 which appear to the imagination of the present day like some fantastical 
 tale of monsters for the nursery, rather than the sober history of a race 
 of actual men. 
 
 The judgment he passes upon this terrible dictator himself, and his 
 fellows, whom it has been of late somewhat the fashion to dignify as 
 great men, shall be given nearly in his own exact words : 
 
 " Le Comite de Salut public marchait librement sur sa route, 1' elar- 
 gissant avec la guillotine. Eobespierre, et Saint Juste, menaient la 
 machine roulante, 1'un en jouant le grand pretre, 1'autre le prophete 
 apostolique. 
 
 "Comme la Mort fille de Satan 1'epouvante luimeme, la terreur, leur 
 fille, s' etait retournee centre eux, et les pressait de son Aiguillon. Oui, 
 c' etaient leurs effrois de chaque nuit qui faisaient leurs horreurs de 
 chaque jour. 
 
 " Ay ant fait peur a tant de gens on leur a suppose du courage, sans 
 savoir combien de fois ce fut unlachete. 
 
 " Leur nom etant une fois de-venue synonyme d' ogre on leur sut gre 
 de tout ce qui sort un peu des habitudes du burreau. Dans 1' un, ce 
 fut tel plaidoyer hypocrite, en 1'autre tel ebauche de systeme, tous deux 
 se donnant un faux air d' orateur et de legislateur. Informes ouvrages 
 ou le style empreint de la secheresse, et de la brusquerie du combat qui 
 les enfantent, singe la concision et la fermete du genie. 
 
 " Mais ces hommes gorges de pouvoir, et softies de sang dans leur 
 inconcevable orgie politique, etaient mediocres et etroits dans leurs 
 conceptions, mtdiocres et faux dans leurs oeuvres mtdiocres et las dans 
 leurs actions. 
 
 " C' est en effet une chose toute commode aux mediocrites qu'un 
 temps de revolution." 
 
 To return to Andre Chenier, as he was usually called, though his 
 family was noble. 
 
 He was the eldest son of the Marquis de Chenier, an aristocrat by 
 principle and by prejudice as well as by birth; and who was inconsola- 
 ble at seeing both his sons embrace the party of the Revolution Andre, 
 merely as a Girondist, but Joseph as member of the Convention, and 
 attached to the Jacobins and the Mountain. Andre fell with his party, 
 and was thrown into the prison of St. Lazare ; from whence, it was 
 thought that his brother, as one of the ultra-partisans of the Mountain, 
 then in the ascendant, might, had he been so inclined, have released 
 him. 
 
 It is certain that if any efforts on his part were made, such efforts 
 were ineffectual, and a stain has rested upon the name of the younger 
 brother in consequence. Literary jealousy has been, among others, 
 assigned as the cause of this apparent inactivity, for both the brothers 
 were poets : the one, Andre, was, and still is, esteemed as a man of first- 
 rate genius; the other, Joseph, seems but to have possessed that sort 
 of talent which ministers to the spirit of the times. He was the author 
 of " Timoleon," " Charles the IX.," and " Fenelon." E. L. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE INTERIOR, OF A FRENCH PHYSICIAN S HOUSE 
 
 .IT was the fifth of Thermidor, Van deux de la. Rtpublique* 
 in other words, July, A. D. 1794. A day I shall not easily 
 forget. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the morning, and I was sitting 
 quite alone by ray window, which looked out upon the Place 
 de la Revolution. I had my snuff-box in my hand, and was 
 turning it idly between my fingers, when I heard my door- 
 bell ringing violently. 
 
 My servant, in those days, was a tall, thin fellow, of the 
 most peaceful and quiet temper you can conceive, though he 
 had served for ten years in the artillery, where he had the re- 
 putation of being a terrible fellow. A wound in the foot had, 
 however, rendered him unfit forfcervice, and he had been in a 
 manner discharged. 
 
 As I did not hear him stirring to open the door, I got up 
 to look into the antechamber, and see what my man of war 
 was about. 
 
 He was slumbering as peacefully as an infant, with his long 
 legs reared against the stove. 
 
 The incredible length of these said long thin limbs had never 
 so forcibly struck me before. I knew that he was about six 
 feet three high, but I seemed never to have remarked the ex 
 cessive length of his prodigiously thin legs, which were now 
 exhibited in their full extent, and reached from the marble of 
 the stove to the straw chair on which he was reposing the 
 upper part of his body, and his long thing head falling and 
 forming a sort of hoop, as they rested upon his crossed arms. 
 I forgot the bell, for a moment as I stood, contemplating this 
 innocent creature, peacefully asleep in his accustomed attitude 
 I say accustomed, for never, since it has been the good 
 pleasure of lacqueys to dose in antechambers, did man enjoy 
 so sweet and profound a repose. 
 
 Unvexed by dreams, untroubled by nightmare, so slept my 
 Blaireau, and awakened in a sweet and perfect good humour ? 
 which was inimitable. 
 
10 PROrSSSIOSAT, VISITS OF 
 
 Blaireau had long been my admiration, and the magnificent 
 character of his sleep was to me an eternal source of curious 
 observation. During the last ten years the worthy fellow had 
 enjoyed the same delicious sleep in every possible situation ; I 
 never could understand that he found one place preferable to 
 another. It is true, in the very midst of summer, he has been 
 known to complain that the barrack-room was too hot, and, 
 going down into the court below, to put a paving-stone under 
 his head and fall asleep again. He never caught cold upon 
 these occasions, rain or fair it was all one to JBlaireau. It 
 must have been a heavy shower that could have awakened 
 him. 
 
 When he was standing up, he always reminded me of a tall 
 Italian poplar-tree, undermined at the root, and just tottering 
 to its fall. His chest was what we here call voutee, that is, 
 his breast-bone seemed drawn in till it almost seemed to meet 
 the spine : as for his face, his complexion was of a pale soft 
 yellow hue ; his skin being something of the texture and colour 
 of parchment. I never observed any change in its expression, 
 be the occasion what it might, except that there were moments 
 when it became slowly illuminated by a sort of quiet, simple, 
 almost rustic smile niais fin el doux. During the last ten 
 years be had assisted at the burning of plenty of powder, 
 having had his share in all that had been going on at Paris ; 
 but, provided his piece waafadjusted. to his satisfaction, and 
 in a masterly manner, little troubled he his head against whom 
 it was directed. He managed his cannon admirably; and in 
 spite of all the choppings and changings of opinions and autho- 
 rities (which he never seemed able to comprehend), he perse- 
 vered in the use of the dictum in days gone by, current in his 
 regiment, and still persisted in saying, Quand fai lien servi 
 ma piece, le roi rfest pas mon maitre (when I have done my 
 business well, the king is not a greater man than I). 
 
 He was an excellent marksman, and had long been chef -de- 
 piece, when, on account of an injury he received in his foot 
 on the day of the Champ de Mars, he was invalided. This 
 circumstance had afflicted him beyond measure ; his comrades, 
 however, who were much attached to him, and had often oc- 
 casion for his assistance, still continued in the habit of em- 
 ploying him, and consulting with him on ajl the important 
 occasions which occurred in Paris. 
 
 These occasional services in his capacity of artilleryman, 
 and his duties to me, coincided perfectly; for I spent very 
 little of my time at home, and even when we were at home, 
 he was so often asleep that I waited chiefly upon myself, for I 
 could not find in my heart to disturb him : and so the citizen 
 Blaireau had for two years acquired the habit of absenting him.- 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOTR. I I 
 
 self whensoever it seemed him good, without the ceremony of 
 asking leave ; but he never failed to be in his place at the appel 
 du soir, as he called it that is to say, when I came home about 
 midnight, or may be two o'clock in the morning, as I usually 
 did, there I was sure to find him fast asleep by the fire. 
 
 There were times when I was not sorry to profit by the pro- 
 tection of his buckler, which he was always but too happy to 
 extend to me. At a review, a battle in the streets, some little 
 revolution going on in the Revolution, I was well-pleased to 
 take shelter under the potent shield of his influence. I am a 
 curious observer, and in the worst of times I might have been 
 seen perambulating the streets in my suit of black, and with my 
 cane in my hand, just as I go about now. On such occasions 
 
 1 always looked about for the cannons you know some little 
 things of that sort are always called for even in the most phil- 
 anthropic revolutions and as soon as I found them J was cer- 
 tain to behold the long, thin head of my peaceful Blaireau 
 towering above the caps and short plumes of the men; he 
 always at such times resumed his uniform; his soft,, sleepy 
 eyes would be looking round for me, and as soon as he saw 
 me he would smile, and desire the people about to make way 
 for a citizen, a very good friend of his then he would take me 
 under the arm, and show me everything that was to be seen, 
 pointing out to my observation, if they chanced to be present, 
 any of those great men who had gained, as the saying was, in 
 la lotterie de St. Guillotine. 
 
 When we met again in the evening, we never exchanged a 
 word of remark upon what had been passing before our eyes 
 there seemed to be a tacit agreement upon this point between 
 us: to make a long tale short, he served me for his amusement, 
 and his country for honour, that is, when it so pleased him ; 
 taking up arms and laying them down at his good pleasure, 
 like a grand seigneur of former days. The plan suited us both 
 admirably. 
 
 While I was thus contemplating my servant (I correct my- 
 self, and just remark to you by the way, that I call him ser- 
 vant to make myself understood by you, but that in the year 
 
 2 of the Republic there was no such thing, it was called un 
 associe}, well, while I stood musing, the bell continued to ring 
 with redoubled vigour ; but Blaireau slept only the sounder, 
 so it ended by my going to the door myself. 
 
 I opened it. 
 
1'2 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CI-DEVANT. 
 
 Two very different sort of looking personages were standing 
 at the door an old man and a child. 
 
 The old man was neatly powdered, and wore a livery coat, 
 upon the shoulder of which the place of the discarded shoulder- 
 not was still visible. He took off his hat with an air of much 
 respect, looking round him at the same time with a certain 
 constrained, suspicious^ fearful air, and seemed to be watch- 
 ing whether any one was coming out after me ; at the same 
 time he stood up against the wall to let the boy pass before him. 
 
 The lad had still hold of the bell-string, and was pulling it 
 with all his might to the measure of the Marseillaise hymn. 
 (It is possible you may some or other of you have heard of 
 that tune.) And as he rang, he whistled the air, looking at 
 me all the time with a sort of defiance, and ringing away till 
 he had finished the last stave. 
 
 I waited my young gentleman's time with proper submission, 
 and then gravely stretching out my hand, presented him with 
 a two sous piece, saying quietly, "Let us have that over 
 again, my good fellow." 
 
 He perfectly understood the irony of my present, but did 
 not seem one whit disconcerted; beginning his strain imme- 
 diately again, as if to defy me. He was a handsome lad, and 
 wore his little red cap of liberty hanging smartly over one 
 ear, the rest of his dress being dirty and ragged to the last 
 degree ; his feet and arms were bare ; he was the very model 
 of a young sans-culotte. 
 
 II Citizen Robespierre is ill," he began, and in an abrupt 
 imperious tone of voice, knitting his little blond eyebrows; 
 " You must come and see him at two o'clock." 
 
 And as he ended, he flung the two sous piece with all his 
 might against one of my panes of glass; broke it into ten 
 thousand pieces, and then, jumping step by step down the 
 stairs, whistling Ca ira, he took himself away, 
 
 I turned to the old livery servant. 
 
 " What do you want?" I said; and seeing he seemed to 
 stand in need of encouragement, I took him by the elbow, and 
 ushered him gently into the antechamber, 
 
 The poor man shut the door of the antechamber, with an 
 appearance of much anxiety, looked round him again, and 
 advancing in a hesitating manner said, "It is sir Madame 
 la Duchesse is not quite so well to-day." 
 
 " Which Duchess?" said I. " Come, come, speak quicker 
 and louder. I don't know vou I never saw you before," 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 13 
 
 The poor man seemed quite terrified at my rude, blunt 
 manner ; he had evidently been disconcerted by the presence 
 of the little boy; he seemed quite overset by my way of speak- 
 ing ; his poor pale cheeks were suffused with a faint crimson 
 blush ; he was obliged to sit down ; his knees were trembling. 
 
 " Madame de St. Aignan," he whispered timidly. 
 
 " Oh, very well," I said. "Fear nothing, I have attended 
 her before ; I will go to the prison of St. Lazare. Be easy, 
 my good friend; do they think her a little better?" 
 
 "Just the same," said he, with a sigh. "There is one 
 there, perhaps, that is able to infuse a little courage but 
 there is only too much reason to fear for that person and 
 then ah yes, then " 
 
 " Bah! my good friend, and what then? we must all learn 
 to support ourselves in these days men, women, and children 
 but I have certain little philosophical ideas which may serve 
 to assist the weak. I will come and see Madame de St. Aignan 
 this morning." 
 
 I was turning away; the poor old man seemed to wish to 
 detain me a little longer, but I took him by the hand and said, 
 " Here, my good friend, waken my good servant, will you? 
 that is, if you can and tell him that people usually want 
 their hsCts when they go out of a morning." 
 
 I was going to leave him in the antechamber without taking 
 farther notice of him, when, on opening the door of my room. 
 I found him folio w ing, and he entered with me. I saw, as he 
 crossed my threshold, that he cast a terrified glance at Blaireau; 
 Blaireau, however, continued fast asleep." 
 
 "Well," said I, "what do you want here? are you mad?" 
 
 " No, sir, I am suspect,"* said he. 
 
 "Ah! that is a different thing. It is," I continued, "a 
 position disagreeable enough, but thoroughly respectable. I 
 might have guessed how it was from this mania which you 
 all seem to have, of disguising yourselves as livery servants 
 quite a monomania! Well, sir, I have the usual roomy ward- 
 robe empty, and at your service, if it so please you to enter." 
 I opened the two doors of my huge wardrobe, and I bowed as 
 if I were doing the honours of my house, and introducing him 
 to his bed-chamber. 
 
 " I am afraid," I added, " that you will not be particularly 
 comfortable in this apartment ; but such as it is, it has already 
 lodged six persons in succession." 
 
 That was true enough, faith. 
 
 But no sooner were we alone than my old gentleman assumed 
 quite a different air and manner from his first. He seemed 
 
 * Suspect the cje of the {jovernnient upon them, liable every instant to be 
 arrested. 
 
14 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 to grow larger in person, and easy and polite in his tones and 
 gestures ; and I beheld, in fact, a very fine and gentlemanlike 
 old man, with much dignity in his countenance, though he 
 was still deadly pale. On my assuring him solemnly, that he 
 was perfectly safe in bestowing his confidence upon me, he 
 sat down and seemed to breathe. 
 
 " Sir," said he, casting down his eyes for a moment, and 
 then calmly raising them with the dignity becoming his rank; 
 " Sir, I will without hesitation acquaint you with my name, 
 and the purpose of my visit. I am Monsieur de Chenier. I 
 have two sons who have both unhappily adopted principles 
 to my everlasting regret in short, they have both attached 
 themselves to the Revolution. One is a member of the Con- 
 vention he is the worst; the other, the eldest, is in prison 
 he is the best. Sir, he has somewhat recovered from his 
 intoxication his insanity; and I don't exactly understand 
 why they have shut my poor fellow up for his writings have 
 been very revolutionary such as ought to have pleased these 
 execrable, bloodthirsty " 
 
 "Sir," said I, "just give me permission to observe, that 
 one of these execrable, bloodthirsty expects me to breakfast 
 with him this morning." 
 
 "I know it, sir ; but I thought it was simply in your quality 
 of physician a profession for which I have the greatest respect 
 for, after those physicians of the soul, the priests, and all 
 ecclesiastics indeed, for I wish to except none, certainly the 
 physicians of the body " 
 
 " Ought to arrive in time to save it," interrupted I, shaking 
 his arm to awaken him from the sort of dozing dotage into which 
 he seemed sinking. ' I have the honour to know both your sons." 
 
 " To be brief, sir, the only thing which consoles me is," 
 said he, "that the eldest, the prisoner, the officer, is no poet 
 like the author of 'Charles IX. ;' and therefore, if I can once 
 get him out of this scrape, by your assistance, if you are so 
 very good as to afford it, there is no danger of his attracting 
 the eyes of the public as an author." 
 
 "Right," said I, making up my mind to listen in patience. 
 
 "Is it not so, sir?" continued the poor old gentleman. 
 "Andre has talents; he it was who drew up the letter of 
 Louis XVIII. to the Convention. Sir, I have assumed this dis- 
 guise out of consideration for you, who frequent those wretches 
 that I might not compromise you in any matter that " 
 
 "Independence and disinterestedness are not easily com- 
 promised," said I, merely as a passing remark. "Go on, sir." 
 
 " Mort Dieu! monsieur," cried he, with a certain military 
 warmth .and spirit.- " It would be terrible to compromise a 
 gallant gentleman like yourself " 
 
JLE BOCTEUll SOIH. 15 
 
 " I have already had the honour of offering you^my best ac- 
 commodation," said I, pointing to my wardrobe with an air of 
 ceremony. 
 
 ' ' That is not what I am in need of, " said he. " I do not attempt 
 to conceal myself: on the contrary, I rather wish to excit e notice. 
 
 " Sir," he continued, " we are living in times when every 
 one ou^ht to exert himself. What care I for the safety of 
 these poor scattered gray hairs? But my poor Andre? that 
 is the point, sir I cannot," looking at me in an earnest 
 beseeching manner "I cannot bear the idea of his remaining 
 in that horrible prison of St. Lazare." 
 
 "He must be content to stay in prison," said I, rudely. 
 " It is the best thing he can do." 
 
 " I will go " 
 
 " Don't think of going." 
 
 "I will implore " 
 
 " Don't think of imploring." 
 
 The poor father was struck dumb; he joined his hands 
 between his knees, with an expression of grief and resignation 
 that would have softened the heart of a tiger. He looked at me 
 as some poor criminal at the question might look at his judge 
 during an interval of suffering. His aged forehead was slowly 
 covered with wrinkles, as a calm sea is crisped over by small 
 waves astonishment and grief contended for expression upon 
 his countenance. After a little pause he began again, "I 
 see," said he, sorrowfully, "that Madame de St. Aignan was 
 mistaken in you. i don't blame you, sir ; in times such as these 
 every one must take care of himself. I only hope that you will 
 keep our secret I shall not trouble you again citizen" 
 
 This last word affected me more than all the rest : it was 
 with evident effort that the old man pronounced it. Never, 
 since the world began, has the word citizen been uttered in 
 such a tone. The first syllable was like the hissing of a serpent, 
 and the two last fell into a hoarse, gurgling, almost inarticu- 
 late croak. There was an indescribable contempt, a suffocat- 
 ing grief, a despair so intense, in the word citizen, as he 
 pronounced it, that it made my blood run cold. The poor 
 old man now prepared to go: placing his thin, blue, veiny 
 hands against his feeble knees to assist himself as he rose from 
 his chair ; but I stopped him, and with much gentleness re- 
 placed him upon the cushion, 
 
 "Madame de St. Aignan was not mistaken in me, 5 ' I said. 
 " You are in safe hands, sir. I have never betrayed the con- 
 fidence of any one. I have seen much sorrow. It has been 
 jny fate to receive the last sigh " 
 
 My brutality made him shudder. 
 
 "I understand better than you^can do the situation of the 
 
16 
 
 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 prisoners, and above all, the peculiar position in which your 
 son is placed. No exertion on your part can save his life ; 
 but you may be the cause of precipitating his fate, if you go 
 on exerting yourself, as you call it. Eeinember, my good sir, 
 during the agitation of an earthquake, the best thing a man 
 can do is to remain perfectly quiet." 
 
 He answered by a slight reserved bend of the head ; and I 
 saw that my unhappy roughness of manner had altogether 
 lost me his confidence. His eyes were rather closed than cast 
 downwards, as I continued to urge upon him the necessity of 
 the most perfect silence and inaction ; adding, as gently and 
 politely as I could, that every age had its peculiar temptation 
 to imprudence, every passion to extravagance and that 
 paternal love was almost a passion ; that he ought to be aware, 
 without expecting me to explain myself in detail, that I should 
 not presume, in such an important and affecting circumstance, 
 to advise him, without the most absolute certainty of the 
 danger that would arise from his taking the least step in the 
 matter; that it was impossible for me to explain myself 
 farther, but that he might confide in me, for that no one was 
 more intimately in the confidence of the present rulers ; and 
 that it had been my good fortune to find opportunities for 
 rescuing a few from their claws; that, however, upon this 
 occasion one of the most interesting that had ever occurred 
 to me (because it related to his eldest son, and to the dear 
 and intimate friend of those to whom I was most sincerely 
 attached) I assured him solemnly that it was absolutely 
 necessary that he should keep quiet, and leave all to fate, as 
 a pilot without a compass, and on a starless night, abandons 
 himself to the chances of the wind. Ko, it was in vain. It 
 is written that characters shall exist, so polished, ground 
 down, worn out, attenuated by the mere effect of excessive 
 refinement and civilization, that they can hear nothing ; and 
 that a word a little too rude, a tone a thought too rough, 
 pains them so excessively, that they draw back, and fold 
 themselves, as it were, together, like the sensitive plant. I 
 cannot help it, at times I am too rough. Ife was, as I said, 
 in vain now to weary myself with speaking ; the mischief was 
 done. He agreed to everything I said ; but I felt the hard rock 
 of immovable obstinacy beneath the calm politeness, It was 
 the obstinacy of old age, that sad resource of a crippled free will, 
 which seems to survive the wreck of all the other faculties. 
 
 THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF BLAIREAU. 
 
 IT is the happy peculiarity of my temper, that I exchange one 
 idea for another, as easily as the eye exchanges light for dark- 
 ness. As soon as I felt certain that all I could urs;e was of 
 
LE DOCTEUB NOIB. 17 
 
 no avail, I stopped. M. de Chenier rose ; and I attended him, 
 without speaking another word, to the outer door. But, 
 arrived there, I could not help making one other effort. I 
 took his hand and pressed it affectionately. Poor old man ! 
 he was touched at this. He turned and said, in a low gentle 
 voice, (but what is sometimes more obstinate than gentleness?) 
 <; I am very sorry to have troubled you with my petition." 
 
 " And I am grieved that you will not understand me; and 
 that you mistake my advice for a defeat. But you will reflect 
 upon what I have said, I do hope." 
 
 He made a low bow, and went away. I shrugged my 
 shoulders, and came in to prepare for my visits. 
 
 A huge giant stood in my way. It was my artillery-man 
 it was Blaireau as wide awake as it was possible for him 
 to be. Perhaps you may imagine he was coming to attend 
 upon me? ,~N"ot in the least. To excuse himself? Still less. 
 He had stripped up his sleeve, and was very gravely employed 
 in finishing, with a needle, a certain symbolical sign upon his 
 left arm. His way was to prick his skin till the blood came, 
 then to rub in gunpowder ; a slight inflammation ensued, and 
 he was as perfectly tattooed as a New Zealander. It is an old 
 custom, common among our French soldiers. I could not 
 help losing three minutes more, while I examined this original. 
 I took hold of his arm, which he surrendered to my inspection 
 with a certain air of secret satisfaction, looking down upon it 
 with a quiet smile of gratified vanity. 
 
 "Hallo, my friend !" cried I, after a little examination, "your 
 arm is both a court almanac and a republican calendar." 
 
 He rubbed his chin with a quiet smile that being his 
 favourite gesture ; and he spat on one side, putting his hand 
 before his mouth the last action serving as a substitute with 
 him for all sort of useless discourse. It passed as a sign for 
 consent or hesitation for reflection or distress manie de 
 corps, tic de regiment. He then suffered me to examine the 
 heroic and sentimental arm. The device last inscribed upon 
 it was, I found, a Phrygian bonnet, placed above a heart, and 
 round it the words, " Indivisibilite ou la Mort" 
 
 "I see," said I, "you are no Fedemliste, like the Girondins" 
 
 He scratched his head. "No, no," said he; "nor the 
 Citoyenne Rose neither." 
 
 And he showed me a little rose very delicately drawn, and 
 situated close to the heart and under the cap. 
 
 "Ah, ah! I understand your incurable lameness very well, 
 at last," said I. "But I'll tell no tales to your captain." 
 
 " Ah, dame!" said he " an artilleryman need not have a 
 heart of stone. Rose is the daughter of a dame tricoteuse, and 
 her father is jailor of St, Lazare." 
 
IB PllOFJiSSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 I seemed to take no notice of this hint, which he had the 
 air of letting fall without the least premeditation. We under- 
 stood this tacit arrangement perfectly. I went on examining 
 his hieroglyphics with the attention of a miniature painter. 
 Immediately above this devoted republican heart was pictured 
 a great sword, held between the paws of a little rampant 
 badger, (Blaireau, badger); and above it, in large characters, 
 " Honneur a Blair eau le bourreau des cranes." 
 
 I looked up suddenly, as if to see if the portrait resembled. 
 
 " This means you. Nothing to do with politics merely a 
 trophy?' 
 
 A slight smile stole over the long yellow face of my artillery- 
 man, and he said quietly, " Yes, yes it means me. The 
 cranes are three maitres d'armes, that I taught to laugh on the 
 wronor s id e o f the face." 
 
 "Meaning killed, I supposed?" 
 
 " It's our way of saying it," replied he, with an air of the 
 most ineffable innocence. 
 
 In fact, this original had, like a hero of Otaheite, engraved 
 upon his long yellow arm, at the end of Blaireau's sabre, six 
 foils, reversed, and bending forward in a sort of attitude of 
 adoration. 
 
 I wanted to proceed and see what was above the elbow; 
 but I saw he had no inclination to raise his sleeve farther. 
 
 " Pooh, bah! that was when I was young and foolish." 
 
 I understood the reason of his reserve, for I beheld an 
 immense fleur-de-lis, and above it, " Vivent tes Bourbons et 
 Sainte Barbe; amour eternel a Madeleine." 
 
 "Always wear long sleeves, child," said I, "if you mean 
 to keep either Rose or your head in your possession." 
 
 " Bah, bah!" said he, with affected simplicity; " so long as 
 her father doesn't turn the key upon me sometimes there are 
 times when the wicket " 
 
 I interrupted him, that I nright not be obliged to question 
 further. " Come, come," said I, striking him slightly upon 
 the arm; "you are a good fellow you have done nothing 
 amiss since we came together you are not going to begin 
 now. You must go out with me this morning; perhaps I may 
 have something for you to do. You will follow me at a little 
 distance ; and you will do as you please about entering the 
 houses which I mean to visit. But let me find you in the 
 street when I come out." 
 
 He dressed himself, with two or three tremendous yawns, 
 rubbed his eyes, and prepared to follow. As I went out, I 
 found him at the door. He had his three-cornered hat perched 
 on one side of his head, and a white rod in his hand as long as 
 himself. 
 
LE DOCTEUB NOIIl. ] > 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PRISON OF ST. LAZARE. 
 
 ST. LAZARE is an old house, of a dull dirty mud colour. It 
 was formerly a priory; and, if I am not deceived, was finished 
 in the year 1465, on the site of the ancient monastery of St. 
 Lawrence, celebrated by Gregory of Tours in the sixth book 
 of his history, as perhaps you know very well. The kings of 
 France tarried there twice; first, at their solemn entry into 
 Paris they there rested ; and secondly, at their last departure 
 they there made a station, on their way to St. Denis, be it 
 understood. In course of time, this priory was converted into 
 barracks ; and afterwards it became a state prison, a house of 
 correction for monks, conspirators, and disorderly people of 
 every description. This dirty, ruinous, wretched, unhealthy- 
 looking place had from time to time been added to and 
 enlarged, but had lost nothing of its peculiarly villanous 
 appearance. 
 
 I was some time in walking from the Place de la Revolu- 
 tion, to the Faubourg St. Denis, where the prison is situated. 
 As I approached, I distinguished it by a sort of blue and red rag, 
 which was washed almost colourless by the rain, and which 
 hung from a great black pole planted above the door. Upon 
 a black marble slab, in great white letters, was the following 
 inscription, which was at that time universally placed upon all 
 the public buildings, and which seemed to me like the epitaph 
 of the nation: 
 
 " Unite, Indivisibilite de la Republique, 
 Egalite, Fraternite, ou la Mort." 
 
 Before the door of this horrible place some sans-culottes 
 were sitting upon wooden benches, sharpening their pikes in 
 the kennel, and singing the carmagnole, while others were 
 taking away the lantern from the cord which suspended it 
 across the street, in order to tie up a man in its place, whom 
 I could see coining along, at some distance, dragged down the 
 street, and surrounded by a crowd of poissardes, screeching 
 out Ca ira! I was a well-known person, and not altogether 
 without my use, so they let me enter without molestation. I 
 knocked at a ponderous door which terminated the vaulted 
 porch. The door opened a little, as of itself, and, as I stood 
 hesitating and waiting for it to open entirely, I heard the voice 
 of the jailer calling out, "Well, what are you about? why 
 don't you come in ?" The moment I had crossed the threshold, 
 
20 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 the door banged violently to behind me. I shuddered. It 
 seemed as if this heavy, iron-welded, nailed door, with all its 
 garniture of locks and bolts, had closed between me and the 
 living world for ever. 
 
 The jailer laughed at my air of consternation, and muttered 
 between the three teeth he yet had left, The old wretch was 
 huddled up in a huge, black leather chair, something like a 
 porter's chair, but so contrived, that the back could be let 
 down, so as to form a bed : it was called a cremaillere. Ther* 
 the Cerberus slept and watched, without troubling himself to 
 move. His yellow, wrinkled, ironical face projected above his 
 knees, on which it was supported by his chin ; his two legs 
 rested one on each arm of his chair; in his right hand he held 
 his enormous bunch of keys ; in his left the lock of the door ; 
 so that he managed to shut and open it without much trouble. 
 Behind his chair there stood a young girl, with her hands 
 in the pockets of her jaunty little apron. She was fair, bloom- 
 ing, fresh-coloured, with a little, saucy nose, the pouting lips 
 of a child, white arms, and an appearance of health, good-hu- 
 mour, neatness, and pertness, strongly in contrast with every- 
 thing that surrounded her. Her dress was a sort of red stuff, 
 relieved with black; a cap, white as snow, upon her head, 
 surmounted by an immense tricoloured cockade. I had often 
 seen her before, but had never looked at her with much atten- 
 tion; but to-day, full of an artilleryman's demi-confidence, I 
 examined his friend Rose with considerable interest, for I had 
 not an instant's doubt that Rose it was. 
 
 The pretty girl had an air of lively good-humour, which had 
 the effect of increasing, by contrast, the melancholy of the 
 place. This blooming young creature reminded you of the 
 sweet, free air of the open country of wild thyme and daffo- 
 dils; and many a sigh, I doubt not, has her presence occa- 
 sioned, as she recalled to the unhappy victims around her the 
 blowing wind, the open plains, and the waving corn of their 
 homo fields. 
 
 "It is mere cruelty," I said, stopping for an instant 
 "double cruelty, to show that child to the detenus." 
 
 She understood what I said about as well as if I had spoken 
 Greek; but I did not intend to be understood. She opened 
 her large blue eyes ; showed the most beautiful teeth in the 
 world, without what could be called exactly smiling ; her lips 
 opened like a clove pink when you press it with your finger. 
 
 Her father growled; but he had the gout, and he said no- 
 thing. I passed on, and entered the corridors, \vhich were so 
 darlT that I was obliged to feel my way before me with my 
 cane; these damp and gloomy avenues being lighted, at mid- 
 day, only by one or two murky lamps. 
 
JJ6 DOCTEUR NOIB. 21 
 
 Ifc is a different thing at St. Lazare now. All is neat, 
 polished, whitewashed, cleansed, well-ordered; but, in 1794, 
 St. Lazare was rather like a huge cage for wild beasts, than a 
 place fitted for the reception of civilized man. There existed 
 at that time only the old weatherbeaten building, which may 
 yet be seen an enormous cave of four stories high, filled to 
 the very roof, as full as it could hold, with prisoners. On the 
 outside, the windows were covered with grates, whose immense 
 twisted iron bars almost completely excluded the air. Within 
 were three large, ill-lighted passages, which traversed each 
 story ; the walls of each of which were pierced by forty doors, 
 opening upon kennels rather than cells, fit only to shelter 
 wolves, and with a suffocating smell that was almost insup- 
 portable. At the. end of each corridor were immense iron- 
 grated doors, and in the door of each cell, little open grated 
 squares, called guichets, which the j ailers could open outside, 
 so as to overlook the prisoner at any moment. 
 
 As I came in I crossed the great empty court, where every 
 night those terrible carts were ranged, destined each morning 
 to bear away their loads of victims to the guillotine. The 
 carts were now absent. I shuddered as I passed, and clam- 
 bered up the ruined flight of steps, by which the prisoners 
 descended to this their last journey. 
 
 At length I entered what was called the preau, a sort of 
 central court, large and hideous, surrounded by lofty walls, 
 and where the sun, reflected from some neighbouring roof, 
 sometimes, but rarely, cast his beams. There was an enor- 
 mous stone fountain in the middle ; four rows of trees around 
 it ; and at the other end, an immense white Christ, upon a 
 cross of deep blood-coloured red. 
 
 Two women were at the foot of the cross one very young, 
 the other very aged. The young girl was upon her knees, 
 her hands clasped, her head resting upon her bosom, praying, 
 in an agony of tears. She reminded me so much of the un- 
 happy Princesse de Lamballe, that I turned away my head. 
 
 The elder lady was employed in watering two miserable 
 vines, planted at the foot of the cross. Those vines are still 
 there ; what torrents of tears tears of blood have nourished 
 their slender tendrils. 
 
 A turnkey (guichetier) was singing and washing his linen 
 at the fountain. 
 
 I passed on ; and, entering the corridor, I stopped at the 
 twelfth cell on the ground-floor. A turnkey came ; examined 
 me from head to foot with his eyes ; recognised me ; placed his 
 great red hand on the lock of the door, and it opened I stood 
 before Madame la Duchess de St. Aignan. 
 
PROFESSIONAL VISIT'S OF 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A YOUNG MOTHER. 
 
 As the turnkey opened the door suddenly, I heard a little 
 shriek, and I perceived that Madame de St. Aignan was taken 
 by surprise, and was a little startled so to be. As for me, 1 
 was always taken by surprise with one thing, to which I never 
 could accustom myself and that was the perfect grace and 
 dignity of her demeanour, her calmness, her gentle resignation, 
 her angelic patience, and her sweet and womanly modesty. 
 There was that in her, so rare and so exquisite, which com- 
 mands respect and submission, without ever exacting it ; and 
 even her downcast eyes were of power irresistible. At this 
 moment she was, however, a little disconcerted at our sudden 
 intrusion; but she soon recovered her dignity and composure. 
 
 Her cell was very small, and at this time of the year burning 
 hot, exposed as it was to the southern sun, and in Thermidor, 
 which I assure you was as sultry as any July you have ever been 
 acquainted with. The only means Madame de St. Aignan 
 had to protect herself, in some degree, from the fierce rays of 
 the sun, which fell full upon the little apartment, was to hang 
 her shawl before the window ; it was the only article of dress 
 of that sort which she had been allowed to keep. The dress 
 she had on was of the simplest ; but it was an evening dress, 
 and with short sleeves ; it might have been a ball-dress. She 
 rose up blushing with a slight "JEk, mon Dieu!" and for a 
 moment the tears stood in her eyes ; but seeing I was alone, 
 she recovered herself immediately, and throwing over her 
 shoulders a sort of short, white dressing-gown, which lay near, 
 she sat down upon the edge of her bed, offering me a straw 
 chair, the only other article of furniture in her prison. I per- 
 ceived that one of her feet was bare, and that she had upon 
 her hand a small, delicate, open-worked black silk stocking, 
 which she was mending, 
 
 "Good heavens !" cried I, "if you had only given me a 
 hint " 
 
 "Our poor Queen did as much!" said she; and she smiled 
 sadly, as she raised her beautiful eyes to mine with charming 
 tranquillity. But soon her expression relapsed into one of 
 mournful gravity, and I remarked upon that noble countenance 
 a deep and solemn character, which was new to me, and which 
 added force to its usual melancholy. 
 
LH DOCTEUR NOIR. '23 
 
 "Sit down! sit down!" said she in a hurried manner, and 
 with a certain hoarseness in her voice. "Since my situation 
 has been made known, thanks to you, and I owe you " 
 
 "Enough, enough," said I interrupting her; "I hate 
 speeches." 
 
 "I have a reprieve," continued she ; "but the tumbrels will 
 come as usual, and they will not depart empty for tfce revolu- 
 tionary tribunal." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon the window there was a momen- 
 tary wild ness in them. 
 
 " The tumbrils! the dreadful tumbrels!" said she. " Their 
 wheels shake the walls of St. Lazare to their foundations. 
 The horrid noise makes me shudder. How lightly they roll 
 under the archway as they come in ! how slow and heavy they 
 depart! Alas! they are coming this very day for their load 
 of men, women, and children. Rose has given me the intelli- 
 gence. Poor Rose! she has a sweet voice; it is a consola- 
 tion to us all to hear it singing below our windows, even when 
 it is to announce tidings grievous such as these. Poor little 
 thing!" 
 
 She was silent a moment, passed her hand across her eyes, 
 struggled a little for composure, and then resuming her own 
 noble and confiding air: " What I wished to ask you," said 
 she, resting the end of her fingers upon my black coat sleeve, 
 " is, to find me the means to preserve my poor unborn child 
 from the influence of these horrors, these sufferings. I am 
 in terror for it, poor little being. You men even you, 
 physician as you can never know the pride anc[ tenderness 
 which fills a woman's heart at such a moment!" 
 
 She raised her eyes to heaven. 
 
 "Good heavens! what a divine terror! what fresh and 
 continued astonishment! Another heart beating within my 
 own! An innocent, angelic spirit, in union with my own 
 harassed and agitated being! A double mysterious life and 
 sympathy, known and shared by me alone! But to think 
 that my agitation is perhaps intense suffering to this tender, 
 invisible creature that my terrors are to him pain, my pains 
 anguish, my anguish death! Ah! when I think of this, I 
 dare hardly breathe! I dare hardly think I am afraid to 
 move I am afraid of my own thoughts I reproach myself 
 
 with my love, with my hate I dare not be agitated I 
 
 treasure myself as if I were a saint I do not know where to 
 turn this is how I feel." 
 
 She looked like an angel as she thus spoke, with a sort of 
 divine terror and anxiety in her lar^e eyes. 
 
 " Help me, doctor! furnish me with some idea that I can 
 keep fixed here, in my mind," looking at me earnestly. 
 
24 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 "Save me from injuring my child. You are sorry for me 5 
 I see you are. You know, alas ! that it is all in vain ; nothing 
 can harden our poor hearts ; they will hurry, pause, tremble ; 
 oh, they will! And what will be the fate of my child? 
 
 " However," said she, after a pause, and letting her beau- 
 tiful head fall with an air of despondency upon her bosom, 
 ".one thing is certain. It is my duty to carry this poor little 
 creature to the day of its birth, which will be upon the eve of 
 that of my death. I am only allowed to remain on earth for 
 that. I am the frail shell which surrounds the precious fruit, 
 and which will be broken as soon as that is disclosed. I am 
 nothing else! Nothing else now, doctor! But do you think" 
 laying hold of, and pressing my hand ' do you think they 
 will let me see it? Do you think they will let it be with me 
 just for a few hours after it is born? If they were to take 
 and kill me directly, it would be very cruel, wouldn't it? 
 Oh ! if they only give me time to hear it cry to kiss it and 
 nurse it just through one day I think I could forgive them 
 all the rest; I do so excessively long for that one hour!" 
 
 I could only press her hands ; I could only bend down and, 
 kiss them with a sort of religious reverence. I could not 
 speak, and I was afraid to interrupt her. 
 
 She smiled through her tears, with the sweet radiant smile 
 of a pretty woman of two-and- twenty, and then she went 
 on: 
 
 " I always fancy that you know everything that I have 
 only to say, why? and you have an answer ready. Now, 
 tell me, why is a woman more a mother than she is anything 
 else? friend, daughter, wife even less vain, less delicate, 
 perhaps less rational, than is in her nature? That a child, 
 who is yet as nothing, is everything ! that those living already 
 are less than it! This is very wrong! This is very unjust! 
 But so it is! Why is it so? I am angry with myself." 
 
 " Gently ! gently !" said I. * You have a little fever. You 
 speak too quick and too hurriedly. Gently." 
 
 " Ah, Heaven!" cried she, "and I shall never nourish it at 
 my breast!" And turning suddenly away, she flung herself 
 upon the little bed, and, burying her face in the counterpane, 
 wept bitterly. Her heart was overflowing. 
 
 I looked at her as she lay weeping without constraint, and 
 as if she had quite forgotten that I was present, and I re- 
 flected upon this total indifference to the loss of fortune, 
 rank, and all the delicate refinements of her condition. I 
 observed then, as I often had occasion to remark at that 
 period, that those who appeared to lose the most, complained 
 the least. 
 
 Habits of ease and refinement raise the mind above that 
 
LE DOCTEUil NOIR. 25 
 
 very luxury which is a daily, unobserved habit of life. A 
 refined education gives a certain contempt for mere physical 
 privations, and teaches a disregard for everything but the 
 sufferings of the heart and spirit. A mind, well matured by 
 instruction and religious meditation, learns to estimate the 
 true value of such things, and to look down upon them, as it 
 were, from a certain habitual elevation of thought. 
 
 There was, I assure you, as much dignity surrounding Ma- 
 dame de St. Aignan, thus hiding her head, and weeping upon her 
 flock coverlet, as ever I had seen in her when resting her noble 
 forehead on cushions embroidered with gold. Dignity becomes 
 a habit which ennobles every gesture, and is independent of 
 circumstances. I waited patiently till this passion of regret 
 should subside, for what could I say of comfort? besides, I 
 am silent and shy on such occasions ; I can only look on in a 
 sort of embarrassed sympathy. 
 
 As I sat leaning my arm over the back of my chair, my 
 eyes fell upon the leather back, and black oaken frame, of this 
 miserable companion of so many successive sufferers. It was 
 large, and dark with age, and covered with all sorts of marks, 
 devices, and inscriptions, scratched in with a nail, with a pen- 
 knife, with a pin, with a fork, with anything, a record of 
 impatience, ennui, despondency, despair a confusion of names, 
 sentiments, hieroglyphics a melancholy album! The writers 
 had all departed for that bourne, where, sooner or later, we 
 must all arrive, and had left this miserable record of their last 
 feelings behind them. I read 
 
 " Mourir ? dormir. 
 
 Rougeot de Moncrif, 
 
 Garde-du-corps . " 
 
 A little lower down, surrounded with a festoon of flowers and 
 true lovers' knots : 
 
 " Ici a gemi dans les fers Agricola Adorable Franconville, de la section Brutus ; 
 bon patriote, ennemi du negociantisme ; ex-huissier, ami du sans-culottisme. 
 II ira au neant avec un republicanisme sans tache." 
 
 Near this, in a little, delicate, woman's hand: 
 
 " Dieu protege le roi Louis XVIII. et mes pauvres parens. 
 Marie de Saint Chamans. 
 
 Agee de quinze Ans." 
 
 Poor child! I saw her name upon a list in the handwriting of 
 Robespierre, which happened to fall into my hands: there was 
 this note on the margin: 
 
 " Beaucoup prononcZ en fanaticisme, et contre la liberte, quoique ires 
 jeune!'' 
 
 Madame de St. Aignan still continued to weep, but her sobs 
 
 were subsiding ; and as I read the following inscription, which 
 
 C 
 
"26 P&OFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 was evidently quite recent, I found she had risen, f ind was 
 resting her hand upon my shoulder. As I read 
 
 " SouilTG, 6 cceur gros de peine, affaroe dc justice, 
 Toi, vertu, pleure si je meurs." 
 
 No signature. 
 
 "You will not efface those lines," said she, softly. "He 
 was in this cell before me ; M. de Chenier is one of our greatest 
 friends, and this memorial is precious to me. You know that 
 M. de St. Aignan is only seven-and-twenty, and about the 
 age of M. de Chenier. You may have observed the strong 
 attachment that subsisted between us all three; and now this 
 is all that I have left." 
 
 The Due de St. Aignan had been, not very long before, 
 separated from his duchess; and was now confined in a sepa- 
 rate apartment, and upon a different story to that she occupied ; 
 so that they did not meet even at meals. 
 
 " We have enjoyed his most intimate friendship," said she, 
 in a confiding tone. "And he has been in the habit of send- 
 ing several of his little things to us, in strict confidence; but 
 he will, if he lives, prove himself to be a man of the finest 
 genius; trust me he will," added she. 
 
 " Indeed!" said I. 
 
 "No one but ourselves," she continued, "has been privi- 
 leged to share in his ideas; and I have promised not to betray 
 his confidence even to you. They are extraordinary and 
 original, as you will easily conceive. He seemed to take 
 pleasure in opening them to us." 
 
 "And Mademoiselle de Coigny ?" said 1, a little maliciously. 
 
 " Oh !" said she, " Mademoiselle de Coigny is a mere child, 
 and so he regards her. She is quite incapable of appreciating 
 such things," 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 2? 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE REFECTORY. 
 
 THEY had locked me up, according to custom, with the gentle 
 prisoner, and we were yet speaking when the lock turned, the 
 door opened, and the guichetier cried out: "Beranger, fem- 
 meAignan! He! Ho! Come to the refectory. Ho! He!" 
 
 " I3o you hear ?" said she, with a very soft voice, and a little 
 meaning smile, "my people! To summon me to breakfast !" 
 
 I gave her my arm, and we went down together, and 
 entered the great hall on the ground floor. 
 
 A long, bare, dirty table, without any table-cloth, laid with 
 pewter dishes, tin drinking- cups, coarse stone j ugs, coarse 
 blue plates, and with heaps of small round loaves placed at 
 intervals upon the table, surrounded by greasy, worm-eaten 
 benches, was what first met my eyes. I looked round the 
 apartment ; the roof was blackened with smoke, and supported 
 by low heavy pillars ; the walls were the colour of soot, their 
 sole ornament being certain rude trophies, composed of rusty 
 pikes and muskets ; and the whole was lighted by four heavy 
 smoky lamps, and filled with the damp, unwholesome suffocat- 
 ing air of a close cellar. 
 
 I shut my eyes for a moment, that I might see better after- 
 wards. My gentle companion did the same. When we 
 opened them again, we saw a small circle of persons standing, 
 as it were, apart. Their low voices, and perfect ton, soon 
 assured me that they were people of birth and education. 
 They saluted me as I entered, and rose when they saw the 
 Duchess de St. Aignan. We passed them, and proceeded a 
 little farther into the room. 
 
 At the other end of the table there was another and larger 
 group, full, as it appeared to me, of excitement, talking and 
 laughing, looking very like a party of young people in their 
 morning undress, after a court ball. Some were sitting, some 
 standing, whispering, murmuring, rallying 
 
 You might hear the little, affected laugh of irony or jealousy, 
 mingled with opera airs hummed between the teeth, glissades, 
 half-finished dancing steps and snapping of the fingers, in 
 lieu of castenets ; in fact it was a regular circle. Something 
 of peculiar interest seemed to be, however, at present going 
 on among them. First there was an interval of silence, 
 soon followed by a burst of enthusiasm or disapprobation, 
 applause or murmuring, as if the place were a theatre. A 
 
28 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 head might be seen suddenly raised above the crowd, then as 
 suddenly to disappear. 
 
 " Some childish game or other," said I, slowly making the 
 tour of the immense breakfast table. 
 
 Madame de St. Aignan stopped, leaned against the table, 
 and let go my arm. 
 
 "Eh! mon dieu! Don't let us go near them; they are at 
 that horrible game," said she. "I have so entreated them 
 not to go on with it? Can you conceive it? Can you 
 imagine such unheard-of indifference? Go you and look at 
 them, I shall sit down here." 
 
 I left her sitting upon the bench, and went up to them. 
 I cannot say the thing shocked me so much as it did her. 
 I could not help secretly, in a manner, almost admiring this 
 prison amusement. I compared it to the games of the gladia- 
 tors. Say what you will of the French nation, there is sx>me- 
 thing of the antique, of the classic, yet remaining among them. 
 We have all, at school, felt a certain admiration for the reso- 
 lution which led the miserable Roman slaves to study, at least, 
 a mourir avec grace. And here I saw precisely the same thing 
 going on, without affectation, without pretending to any ex- 
 traordinary courage, carelessly, idly, among these noble slaves 
 of the sovereign people. 
 
 " A vous, Madame de Perigord," said a young man, in a 
 blue silk coat, striped with white, "let us see how you will 
 ascend the stage." 
 
 " How you will manage such an awkward affair," said one. 
 
 44 Oh ! she will make no awkward affair of it," cried another. 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried a charming young woman of about thirty. 
 "I protest I will not ascend at all, if you don't put the chair 
 in a more convenient place." 
 
 "Oh! for shame! Madame de Perigord," cried another 
 young lady. "The name of Sabine Veriville is on the list 
 before yours. Where are you, Sabine? a vous, let .us see 
 you mount the scaffold pioperly." 
 
 "I am not very much accustomed to such things, unfortu- 
 nately," said she. "But let us see; where must I put my 
 foot?" 
 
 There was a general laugh. They all pushed forward; 
 every body was busy showing, describing. 
 
 "There is a plank here" "No, there" Three feet high" 
 
 "Only two" "Not higher than the chair". "Not so high" 
 
 "Excuse me, you are quite wrong" " Qui vivra verra " 
 
 . " On the contrary, qui mourra verra." 
 
 A fresh burst of laughter. 
 
 "You spoil the game," said a young man gravely. 
 
 'Come," resumed Madame de Perigord. "Tell me the 
 
LE DOCTEUU NOIR. 29 
 
 conditions over again. If I understand right, the business is 
 to ascend the machine " 
 
 " The stage," interrupted a young lady 
 
 "Just as you please," continued she ; " without blundering, 
 or shuffling, or catching a foot in one's gown there I am!" 
 
 In fact, she had lighted upon the chair like a bird, and stood 
 the picture of graceful triumph. 
 
 There was a burst of applause. 
 
 "And what next?" said she, gaily. 
 
 "Next! ah! you have nothing to do with that." 
 
 "Next! the chopper!" said a hoarse, heavy turnkey, who 
 was looking on. 
 
 "Ay," said an aged lady of eighty years at least, the 
 chanoinesse of some noble order; "but now, pray don't next 
 begin to harangue the people. Nothing can be in worse taste 
 than that." 
 
 "Nor more entirely useless," added I. 
 
 M. de Loiserolles offered his hand for the fair exhibiter to 
 descend from her chair ; the Marquis d'Usson, M. de Micault, 
 conseiller and parlemerit de Dijon ; the two young Trudaines ; 
 the good M. de Vergennes, No. 76, pressed forward to help 
 her. She sprang from the chair without assistance, light and 
 graceful, as if she were stepping from her carriage. 
 
 " Ah! ah! now for it!" cried all the party at once. 
 
 A young, very young, lady now advanced with the elegance 
 of an Athenian virgin, and entered the circle. She moved 
 with a light, swaying, half-dancing gait, like the half child 
 that she was. She seemed to perceive this, and tried to walk 
 quietly ; but she kept stepping on her feet so lightly, that it 
 reminded me of a young bird trying its wings. Her black 
 hair was arranged a I 'antique, and bound and twisted with a 
 gold chain. She looked like the fairest and youngest of the 
 Muses. The Grecian mode had just begun to supersede powder. 
 Her waist was so slender, that I think the bracelet of an ordi- 
 nary person might have served this Venus for a cestus. He? 
 small head seemed to bend forward her long, swan-like neck ; 
 her shoulders were a little rounded, like those of young people 
 who have not quite done growing, and, with her slender, 
 delicate arms, gave her an appearance at once elegant and 
 interesting. Her profile was regular, her mouth small and 
 serious, fcer eyes black, her eyebrows in a simple, almost severe 
 arch, like those of a Circassian; and there was something 
 resolute and original in her expression, that was excessively 
 attractive. Such was Mademoiselle de Coigny, the young 
 creature I had seen praying before the cross as I came in. 
 
 She looked as if she were entirely in what she was doing, 
 and never thought of those who were admiring her. She ad- 
 
30 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 vanced, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. I love those 
 sparkling, animated eyes at that age : it is the best sign of an 
 \nnocent heart. Her animation seemed to electrify the others. 
 There was that in her air which said, 
 
 " Ma bienvenue aujour me rit dans tons les yeux" 
 
 And 
 
 " U illusion f&conde habile dans man sein" 
 
 She was going to ascend. 
 
 " Oh no! no! Not you! not you!" cried a young man in a 
 plain grey dress, whom I had not before remarked, and who 
 now pressed forward. "Not you not you I beseech you." 
 
 She stopped, made a little shrug with her shoulders, like a 
 pouting child, and put her fingers over her mouth with a sort 
 of embarrassment, She glanced sideways at the chair. She 
 did not like to give it up. 
 
 Just then somebody said, "But Madame de St. Aignan i? 
 there." 
 
 With the presence of mind and delicacy which marks good 
 company, the chair was instantly abstracted, and they arranged 
 themselves as if for a country dance, to hide if possible this 
 singular rehearsal of the tragedy of the Place de la Revolution. 
 
 The women all went up to speak to her, gathering round 
 her to hide this game, which was her detestation ; and which 
 might possibly strike her imagination in a dangerous manner. 
 The attentions were delicate and polite, such as the young 
 duchess might have received at Versailles. Habitual* good 
 manners are never lost. Shut but your eyes nothing was 
 changed you were in * salon. 
 
 I a^ain remarked among the crowd, the figure of the young 
 man in grey, with his pale and somewhat worn countenance, 
 as he wandered silently among the different groups, his head 
 bent down, and his arms crossed. He had immediately 
 quitted Mademoiselle de Coigny, and he continued to walk up 
 and down with hasty steps, looking from time to time at the 
 walls and heavily grated windows, with the expression of n 
 caged lion. He had the air of a military man, with his black 
 stock, and his grey dress, which was cut like a uniform. The 
 costume and countenance the black hair flattened over the 
 face, the black eyes, all were in exact resemblance of a por- 
 trait I had seen it was Andre Chenier. 
 
 Madame de St. Aignan introduced us to one another. She 
 called to him, he came and sat down by her, took her hand, 
 and pressed it hastily to his lips, looking round with anxiety 
 and agitation. She said no more, and followed his eyes 
 uneasily. He sat a little aside, in the shade, listening at in- 
 tervals to the low murmurs of the busy talking- crowd now 
 walking about the room. They had all left us by degrees- 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 31 
 
 and I remarked that Mademoiselle de Coigny seemed to avoid 
 us purposely. We were sitting upon the black oak bench, 
 with our backs leaning against the table. Madame de St. 
 Aignan, who was between us, drawing a little back, in order 
 that Chenier and I might converse together ; he advanced his 
 head a little before her, as if he wished to enter into conver- 
 sation: so I began. 
 
 " These meetings at meals must be some little consolation 
 in prison." 
 
 "It seems to enliven them," said he sadly, " it seems to 
 enliven every one but myself but I am proof to me it is a 
 fatal meeting I can only think of the last social meal of the 
 martyrs." 
 
 I dropped my eyes I was, alas ! but too much of the same 
 opinion. 
 
 "Don't," said Madame de St. Aignan, looking mournfully 
 at him, "I have cause enough for sorrow and anxiety. Don't, 
 don't terrify me by your imprudence." 
 
 And bending towards me, she whispered "There are spits 
 everywhere. Don't let him commit himself. He does not 
 mind me. He terrifies me every day by giving way to this 
 irritation and ill humour." 
 
 I made no answer. I raised my eyes involuntarily to 
 Heaven. There was a moment's silence. "Poor young 
 creature!" thought I. "Illusions of hope even here! in this 
 horrible place! and seeing a fournee of your companions 
 carried off every day before your eyes!" 
 
 Andr6 Chenier for so his name has remained consecrated, 
 and so I shall leave it looked at me, shaking his head gently, 
 with a mingled expression of pity and tenderness. I under- 
 stood him arid he saw that I understood him. 
 
 '* Poor little thing!" it implied. " She thinks that I can 
 still commit myself!" 
 
 Not to interrupt the conversation abruptly, so as to excite 
 her attention, but to dissipate her ideas by rendering them 
 general, I went on. 
 
 "I have always thought," said I to Andre Chenier, "that 
 poets had the gift of prevision." 
 
 His eye sparkled, and answered to mine! It was but for a 
 moment he looked at me with suspicion. 
 
 " Are you saying what you really think?" said he. "I can 
 never understand you people of the world. I never know 
 whether you are speaking seriously or not. The bane of the 
 French nation is persiflage." 
 
 "I am not altogether a man of the world, and I always 
 speak seriously." 
 
 "Well then," said he, "I will confess honestly that I 
 
32 PROFESSIONAL, VISITS OP 
 
 believe in it. It is very rarely, indeed, that my first impres- 
 sion my coup-d'&il my presentiment deceives me/' 
 
 " And so, "said Madame de St. AJgnan, trying to smile "so 
 you would not let Mademoiselle de Coigny mount the chair?" 
 
 " Ah!" said he, taking her hand in both his " I had hoped 
 that we had succeeded in hiding our cruel amusement from 
 Madame de St. Aignan. I had been so anxious that they 
 should make an end of it; and then that beautiful child " 
 
 " Child, if you please," said Madame de St. Aignan, rather 
 coldly. " But child as she may be, one who, with her care- 
 lessness, and imprudence, and coquetry, would make her 
 mother but too uneasy if she were here." 
 
 As she spoke, Mademoiselle de Coigny passed us, leaning 
 on the arms of two gentlemen, who were laughing at what she 
 was Baying. She glided along, looking at her feet, and walk- 
 ing in a sort of measure, as if she were beginning to dance. 
 We heard her say to M. Trudaine, as she passed 
 
 *' Since, as you say, women alone slay before they are slain, 
 I find it very proper that you should all submit humbly to 
 your fate, as you will every one of you be obliged to do one 
 of these days." 
 
 Andr6 Chenier did not stop speaking ; but he coloured and 
 bit his lips at this reproach, which was evidently intended for 
 him, and which he could not help hearing, though Madame 
 de St. Aignan, with a woman's delicacy of feeling, raised her 
 voice that he might not. She feared that he might be provoked 
 into some fresh imprudence. 
 
 I saw some very ill-looking faces approaching us, and I 
 tried to put a stop to this sort of conversation, which seemed 
 quite out of place, and irritated me, who came from without, and 
 who understood, better than any of them, their real situation. 
 
 " I saw your father this morning," said I, abruptly, to 
 Chenier. He started, and looked astonished. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I saw him too, at ten o'clock." 
 
 "-He had just left me," cried I. " What did he say?" 
 
 "What !" cried Andre, rising. l ' Is this the gentleman who " 
 
 The rest was whispered in the ear of his beautiful neighbour. 
 I guessed the prejudices which the poor old man had excited 
 against me. 
 
 Andre rose suddenly; walked a turn or two, with a certain 
 air of impatience; then returned, and standing before Madame 
 de St. Aignan, crossed .his arms, and said, in a loud passionate 
 manner 
 
 " Since it is your high privilege, citizen, to be acquainted 
 with these rascals, who are decimating us, you may repeat to 
 them from me the words for which i have been arrested 
 everything that I said in the Journal de Paris everything 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 33 
 
 that I shouted in the ears of those ragged lictors, who arrested 
 rny friend in his own house. You may tell them it is written 
 here here " 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, stop!" cried the young duchess, 
 seizing his arm ; but he drew a paper out of his pocket in spite 
 of her, and held it out to me, striking it with his other hand. 
 
 * ' I told them that they were barbarous executioners, 
 murderous perverters of the laws; and that, if it was written 
 * that the sword of vengeance was never to glitter in my hands, ' 
 that I had my pen my precious treasure and that if I lived, 
 the day should surely come when I would dedicate their names 
 to everlasting infamy (cracker sur leurs noms ;) and that I 
 hoped to live to celebrate their downfall, and the triumph of 
 those who come, the triple scourge in their hands, to punish 
 their infamous triumvirate. And you may add, that I said 
 all this to you yes, to you I Surrounded as I was by a thou- 
 sand other poor, timid, unresisting sheep, who are waiting to 
 be slaughtered and served up as a sacrifice to le peuple roi!" 
 
 At this loud explosion, the prisoners crowded round him, 
 as the poor timid animals he had compared them to are wont 
 to do round the father of the flock. For the moment an irre- 
 sistible change had taken place in him. He seemed to me 
 grown taller, larger. Indignation made his eyes and counte- 
 nance sparkle like fire. He was really noble. 
 
 I turned to M. de Lagarde, an officer of the Garde Fran- 
 caise. " The blood runs too fast in the veins of this family," 
 said I. "It is in vain for me to attempt to moderate it." 
 And I shrugged my shoulders, rose from my seat, and retreated 
 a few paces. 
 
 The expression, in vain for me, seemed to strike him. He 
 stopped speaking immediately ; and leaning against a pillar, 
 bit his lips. Madame de St. Aignan sat looking at him all 
 the time, with the aspect of one witnessing the sudden erup- 
 tion of a volcano. One of his friends, M. de ftoquelaure, who 
 had been colonel of the regiment of Beauce, came and tapped 
 him on the shoulder 
 
 4 'Ah, well!" said he "you suffer yourself to fly into a 
 rage against this canaille regnante; you would be much better 
 employed in kissing these miserable comedians till the curtain 
 falls over us first over them sooner or later." 
 
 And making a pirouette, he went and sat down at table, 
 humming La vie c'est mi voyage. 
 
 The entrance of an immense pitcher, filled with boiling soup, 
 now announced that breakfast was ready. A sort of poissarde, 
 named, if I recollect right, iafemme Simon, placed herself at 
 the centre of the table to do che honours. She was the female 
 of the animal called jailer, who sat crouching in his den at the 
 
34 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 prison door. The prisoners belonging to this side of the 
 building sat dpwn to table, in number about fifty St. Lazare 
 at that time containing about seven hundred. As soon as 
 they were seated their air changed. They looked at one 
 another sorrowfully. The murky glare of the huge lamps cast 
 dark gloomy shadows on their pale faces they had the appear- 
 ance of miners in their caves, or the unhappy spirits in prison 
 what was red looked black ; what pale, ghastly and blue 
 their eyes glared. The conversation sank to whispers. 
 
 Behind the guests were ranged the guichetiers, the turnkeys, 
 the agents of police, and several amateur sans-culottes, who 
 came to enjoy the spectacle, Some Dames de la Halle were 
 also there, carrying their children in their arms, that they 
 might enjoy the privilege of assisting at this feast, arranged 
 according to the best democratic taste. Their entrance was sig- 
 nalized by a strong smell of fish, which spoiled the breakfast of 
 some of the more delicate victims of these princesses of the day. 
 
 These agreeable spectators had countenances at once stupid 
 and cruel ; they looked, too, somewhat disappointed ; they 
 seemed to have expected something different from this subdued 
 and dignified submission to the inevitable ; this quiet a parte 
 conversation, which was freely carried on between next neigh- 
 bours. As nobody blustered or threatened, they seemed not 
 exactly to know how to behave. They maintained a sulky 
 sort of silence, and some few seemed not quite to like showing 
 their faces before those whose own servants they had waited 
 upon and robbed. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Coigny had made herself a sort of rampart 
 of five or six young men, who stood in a circle round her, and 
 stood sipping a bouillon, just as she might have done at a ball 
 supper, looking down with supreme contempt upon the crowd 
 of spectators. 
 
 Madame de St. Aignan took nothing; she was scolding 
 Andre Chenier, and I saw she looked from time to time at 
 me. She was telling him he had made a very uncalled-for 
 attack upon one of her best friends. He bent his eyebrows, 
 and looked down with an air of submission. She made me a 
 sign to approach. 
 
 "Here is M. de ChSnier," said she, "who pretends that 
 all this silence and tranquillity on the part of the Jacobins is 
 a very bad symptom. But don't let him indulge in these ex- 
 plosions of passion." 
 
 Her beseeching eyes told me that she wanted us to be recon- 
 eiled ; Andr6 Chenier did his part politely and gracefully. 
 
 " Sir," he began, "you have been in England; should you 
 ever go there again, and should you happen to meet with 
 Edmund Burke, you may assure him that I repent my criti- 
 
JLE DOCTETJIi NOIii. 35 
 
 cisras upon his work. He was quite right when he foretold 
 the reign of the porte-faix. This commission will be less 
 disagreeable, I flatter myself, that the one with which I 
 charged you just now. Forgive me a prison does not 
 sweeten our tempers." 
 
 He held out his hand: by the way in which I pressed it, 
 he knew that he had a friend. 
 
 At this moment a, heavy, lumbering noise was heard, which 
 shook the windows, and made every one start and shudder. 
 There was a sudden silence. It, was the noise of the tumbrels. 
 A sound but too well known; it was like thunder once heard, 
 and never forgotten. It was not like the sound of common 
 wheels; there was a sort of screeching, grinding noise like 
 that of rusty chains, or the rattling of the earth upon our 
 biers: I turned sick, "and the hair of my skin arose." 
 
 " Hel make haste! Eat and have done with it," said the 
 hoarse voice of la femme Simon. 
 
 ISTo movement, no answer.; we all remained as it were fixed 
 in the position in which we had first heard that fatal roll. 
 We were like the families of Pompeii and Herculaneum, 
 surprised by death in the very attitude they were in. 
 
 La Simon changed plates, knives, and forks in vain; all 
 remained fixed, no one stirred, the astonishment at this 
 unheard-of cruelty seemed to have petrified us. To have 
 allowed them to meet once more to have permitted this 
 friendly intercommunion of a few hours to have taken them 
 from their dreariness and their solitude to enjoy once again 
 society, friendship, even love! and all to render this sudden 
 parting more inexpressibly bitter! Oh, it was too much! It 
 was the barbarity of tigers of Jacobins ! 
 
 The great doors of the refectory were flung open, and three 
 commissaries entered. They were clothed in long skirted, 
 dirty coats, top-boots, and wore red scarfs; and they were 
 followed by a fresh company of the rabble in bonnets rouges, 
 and armed with pikes. These last rushed in uttering cries of 
 joy, and clapping their hands as at a pantomime. What 
 they saw struck even them the slaughterers fell back abashed 
 before their victims for, recovering immediately from their 
 first sentiment of dismay and astonishment, contempt gave ' 
 them courage to meet this supreme moment. They felt 
 themselves so far above their enemies, that it almost filled 
 them with a momentary satisfaction, and they turned their 
 eyes, with composure, upon one of the commissaries who 
 advanced, a paper in his hand, and prepared to read. 
 It was the appel nominal. 
 
 As soon as a name was pronounced, two men stepped 
 forward, and led off the person mentioned. He was given in 
 
36 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 charge to the mounted gens-d'armes outside, and immediately 
 placed upon one of the tumbrels. The accusation was, that 
 of conspiracy in prison against the sovereign people, and 
 planning the assassination of the members of the committee 
 de salut public. The first person accused was a woman of 
 eighty years^ of age, the abbess of Montmartre, Madame de 
 Montmorenci. She rose with some difficulty, and, when she 
 was standing, saluted all present with a tranquil smile. Those 
 who were near kissed her hands. Not a tear was shed : the 
 sight of blood seemed to have dried up such vain demonstra- 
 tions of sorrow. She went out, saying, "Father, forgive 
 them, for they know not what they do!" 
 
 A mournful silence ensued. 
 
 It was interrupted by the shouts and screams, which 
 announced that she had made her appearance among the 
 populace outside, and a shower of stones struck against the 
 walls and windows. In the midst of the noise I could distin- 
 guish the explosion, now and then, of fire-arms. There were 
 moments when the gens-d'armes could scarcely preserve the 
 prisoners from being massacred. 
 
 The appel continued. The second name was that of a young 
 man of twenty, M. de Coaterel, if I remember right, who was 
 accused of having a son, an emigrant, bearing arms against his 
 country. The accused was not even married. He burst out 
 laughing. He pressed the hands of his friends, and went out. 
 
 The same shouts and clatter of stones. 
 
 A mournful silence round the table ; all waiting the sen- 
 tence of death at their post, as soldiers expect the fatal bullet. 
 As soon as a prisoner went out, his plate was cleared away, 
 and those who remained closed their ranks, as in a battle, 
 smiling Ladly at their new neighbours. 
 
 Andre Chenier was still standing by Madame de St. 
 Aignan, and I was near them. As in a shipwreck the crew 
 gather instinctively round the one who possesses the highest 
 courage and energy, so the prisoners collected gradually round 
 this young man. He stood, his arms crossed, and his eyes 
 raised to Heaven, as if in apostrophe. " Did Heaven look 
 on, and would not take their part?" 
 
 Mademoiselle de Coigny, standing at the other end of the 
 room, saw, at every successive appel, the circle of her pro- 
 tectors diminish, till at length she was left almost alone. 
 Then she slowly advanced, supporting herself upon the edge 
 of the now empty table, till she came to where we were sitting, 
 and placed herself at a little distance taking shelter, poor 
 forlorn child! as it were, under the shadow of our wings. 
 Her noble countenance preserved its dignity, but nature was 
 giving way: her limbs trembled, and her knees were knocking 
 
LL DOCTEUR NOIR. 37 
 
 together. The good Madame de St. Aignan held out, her 
 hand. The poor young creature burst into tears, and fell 
 sobbing upon her bosom. 
 
 The rude and pitiless voice of the commissary continued 
 the appel. The man seemed to take pleasure in prolonging 
 suspense and suffering. He pronounced the baptismal names 
 in a slow, affected, drawling manner dropping out syllable 
 after syllable ; then suddenly closing with the family name. 
 It was like the fall of the axe. 
 
 He swore rudely at the prisoners as they passed him a 
 preface to the cries and hisses outside. He was heated with 
 wine, and could hardly keep his legs. 
 
 While the man was reading, I observed close behind, and 
 crouching down almost under his arm, a woman's white cap, 
 and above this white cap, with its large tricolored cockade, 
 the long thin face of a man, who was tali enough to read the 
 list over the commissary's shoulders. It was Rose and my 
 artilleryman Blaireau. 
 
 Rose appeared gay and curious, like her friends of the 
 Halle, by whom she was surrounded. I felt that I detested 
 her. As for Blaireau, he had his usual half-sleepy, indifferent 
 air; but his uniform, I saw, gave him much consideration 
 among the bonnets-rouges and sans-culottes, with their pikes, 
 who surrounded him. The list which the commissary was 
 reading was scrawled upon several different sheets of paper, 
 and the worthy commissary seemed to have some difficulty 
 in deciphering them. Blaireau advanced his head officiously, 
 as if to help him ; taking off, at the same time, his hat, which 
 seemed to be in his way. At that moment I saw, as I thought, 
 Rose stoop suddenly down, and pick up a folded paper from 
 the ground ; but the part of the refectory in which she stood 
 was so dark, that I could not feel sure of the fact. 
 
 The reading of the list continued. Men, women, and 
 child rose up, and passed away like shadows. The table was 
 now almost empty, and looked drearily vast and solitary. 
 Thirty-five victims had departed. The fifteen who remained, 
 scattered by ones and by twos, with large spaces between 
 them, looked like the few scanty trees which are left standing, 
 when a forest has been condemned to the axe. At last the 
 commissary was silent : his list was finished. We began to 
 breathe. For my part, I heaved a deep sigh of relief. 
 
 Andre Chenier said, " Go on! I know I am there." 
 
 The commissary looked stupidly at him. He looked into 
 his hat ; into his pockets ; in his scarf; and finding nothing, 
 ordered the huissier of the Revolutionary tribunal to be 
 called. We stood breathless with suspense. The huissier 
 was a pale, dismal-looking man. 
 
38 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 " I will go and count 'em/' said he. "If you have not all 
 thefournee (batch), so much the worse for you." 
 
 "Ah!" said the commissary, very much, embarrassed ; "I 
 remember there was Beauvilliers St. Aignan, ex-due, ajjed 
 seven-and-twenty years " 
 
 He was going to repeat the whole description, when the 
 other interrupted him, and told him he had mistaken the place, 
 and that he had had a drop too much. In fact, he had con- 
 founded another part of the prison with this, where the voung 
 wife had been living alone, for nearly a month, separated from 
 
 her husband. The two men went out together one scolding, 
 
 the other reeling. The mob followed them. There was a fresh 
 burst of exultation from without, and a fresh shower of stones. 
 
 When the doors were shut once more, I looked round the 
 deserted hall, and I saw that Madame de St. Aignan remained 
 in the attitude she had assumed during this last scene ; her 
 arms crossed upon the table, and her head leaning upon her 
 arms. Mademoiselle de Coigny lifted up her eyes, swimming 
 in tears. 
 
 Andre Chenier whispered, pointing to the duchess, "I hope 
 she did not hear her husband's name. Take no notice ; let 
 her weep quietly." 
 
 "You see," said I, "that your brother, who is accused of 
 indifference, does well to keep quiet. You were arrested 
 without a written order. He knows that: he is silent. Your 
 name is not upon any list: if it were only mentioned, it would 
 be immediately placed there. We must get through the time 
 as well as we can : your brother understands what he is about 
 perfectly." 
 
 " Oh! my brother!" said he; and he shook his head sadly, 
 
 with an air of distrust and sorrow mingled. For the first time 
 I observed a tear moistening his eyelash. He recovered him- 
 self immediately. " My father is not so prudent" ironically; 
 "he is not afraid of committing himself. He is gone to 
 Robespierre this morning to demand my liberty." 
 
 "Ah, great heavens!" cried I, clasping my hands, "I was 
 afraid he would." 
 
 I snatched my hat, he caught me by the arm. 
 
 " Stay," cried he, "she has fainted." 
 
 In fact Madame de St. Aignan was insensible. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Coigny busied herself about her. Two 
 other ladies that were left'came to her assistance. ^ 
 jailer's wife offered her services; and I slid a louis-d'or into 
 'her hand. The duchess began to come to herself. Time 
 pressed. I did not wait a moment to make my adieus, but, 
 leaving everybody dissatisfied with me, as is my usual fate, I 
 left the prison immediately! 
 
Li-; DOCTEUll NOI. 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FOURGON. 
 
 I WALKED fast I ran through the street of the Faubourg St. 
 Denis I was in agonies lest I should arrive too late the 
 scenes I had witnessed still passing before my eyes. But, as 
 my manner is, my ideas soon began to arrange themselves. I 
 saw the miracle by which this man of so fine a genius had till 
 now been preserved ; and I trusted that it had been the design 
 of Providence to rescue him. I felt that even to have gained 
 a day, was everything in these bloody times. I calculated 
 the chances in favour of those who had resolved to make one 
 last desperate effort to overthrow the triumvirate and the com- 
 mittees ; and I counted the days, and calculated the possibility 
 of preserving these three precious prisoners till that moment, 
 when the tyranny that had so long oppressed us all should be 
 overthrown. But how was that to be effected? by letting 
 them be forgotten. We were at the 5th Therrnidor. If I 
 could but succeed in occupying the mind of my second patient, 
 Robespierre, with other things ! make him fancy himself much 
 worse than he really was 1 absorb him in himself! But to do 
 this, above all things, it was necessary to arrive in time. 
 
 I looked round for some carriage. There were few enough 
 to be seen that year in the streets. Wo to him who should 
 have been seen "lolling in his chariot" in the year 2 of the 
 Republic. However, I heard the sound of two honest four- 
 wheels following, which stopped as soon as they came up to 
 me. I lifted up my head, and beheld the peaceful countenance 
 of my Blaireau, " Oh, sleepy one! oh, gentle giant! oh, idlest 
 and sparest of human beings! what dost thou want with me?" 
 cried I. 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur, sije vous derange but here is a little 
 morsel of paper for you. The citoyenne Rose picked it up 
 by mere accident." And he looked with the most ingenuous 
 indifference upon the- pavement, as he spoke. 
 
 I took the paper; and with a sort of shuddering joy read as 
 follows : 
 
 "Number 3rd, and last. 
 
 "C. L. S. Sayecourt, aged thirty years, born at Paris ex- 
 baronne, widow of Inisdal, rue du Petit- Vaugirard. 
 
 " F. C. L. Maille, aged seventeen, son of the ex-vicomte. 
 " Andre Chenier, aged thirty-one, born at Constantinople, 
 Tiomme de lettres, rue de Clery. 
 
 " Creguy cle Montmorenci, i^ged sixty, born at Chitzlemberg 
 in Germany, ex-noble, 
 
40 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 "M. Beranger, aged twenty-four, wife of Beauvilliers St. 
 Aignan, rue de Grenelle, St. Germain. 
 
 "L. J. Dervilly, forty-three years of age, grocer, rue 
 MoufFetard. 
 
 " F. Coigny, sixteen years and eight months, daughter of 
 the ex -noble of that name, rue de V Univ&rsite. 
 
 " C. J. Dorival, ex-ermite." 
 
 And several other names besides ; it was the lost list, the 
 list that the drunken commissary had dropped out of his hat. 
 
 I tore it in pieces into atoms. I chewed the morsels 
 between my teeth ; then, looking at my gentle artilleryman, I 
 seized his hand and pressed it, yes, I may as well confess it, 
 with tears in my eyes. 
 
 Yes, the tears were in my eyes ; but he scratched his head 
 like a great lout as he pretended to be, and then said with an 
 air as if he was j ust beginning to awaken, ' * Droll ! It seems 
 that the Huissier, that big, pale fellow, was in a rage with the 
 commissary, that red, drunken sot, and so he put him into 
 the cart in the place of the others. Droll enough!" 
 
 " Poetical justice," thought I; ' ' but where are you bound for?" 
 
 ' ' Oh ! I'm going with this fourgon to the Champ de Mars, 
 that's all." 
 
 "Then you'll take me to the rue St. Honored" 
 
 " Ah! sacre! Why not get up what do I care? Quand 
 j'ai Men servi ma piece le roi riest pas " 
 
 But he stopped short and bit his lips. 
 
 A soldier that was with him waited for us. I followed 
 Blaireau, who went limping up to his fourgon, wiped the dust 
 off with the sleeve of his coat, got up himself first, invited me 
 to follow his example, and set off at full gallop. 
 
 We soon arri v-ed in the rue St. Honore, and stopped before 
 Robespierre's door ; but I have never yet been able to com- 
 prehend how I escaped being shaken to atoms. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF M. DE ROBESPIERRE, AVOCAT AU PARLEMENT. 
 
 THE house I was about to enter was of the simplest description ; 
 if I recollect' rightly, it belonged to a cabinet-maker, named 
 Duplay. The ex-avocat had occupied it for some time ; it is 
 still in existence, I believe. Nothing in its appearance bore 
 evidence of its being the residence of the ephemeral mastei 
 of France, except perhaps a sort of loneliness, and silence, 
 and solitude, which seemed to distinguish it. Every outside 
 shutter in*"the front was closed ; the porte-cochere shut; and 
 not the slightest sound was to be heard issuing from the 
 mansion. 
 
LE DOCTBUJl JSOIIl. 41 
 
 Some groups of women were talking before the door a 
 thing regularly to be seen in Paris in times of trouble they 
 were pointing at the house and whispering together. From 
 time to time the door opened, and a gens-d'arme a sans-culotte 
 or a spy (often a female), might be seen to pass out. At 
 such times the groups hastily separated, and the women ran 
 within their own doors. The few carriages that came that 
 way, made a sort of semicircle, going at a foot's pace, and as 
 distant from the house as possible; there was straw before the 
 door: it looked as if the plague was within. 
 
 No sooner did I put rny hand upon the knocker, than the 
 door was opened by the terrified porter, with a look of great 
 anxiety lest the knocker should fall too heavily. He shut the 
 door very slowly, and with the least posible noise. I asked 
 him, describing the appearance of M. de Chenier, whether an 
 old man, answering to that description, had been there that 
 morning. The porter's face seemed to turn into marble upon 
 this slight question. He shook his head negatively. 
 
 " I have seen nothing at all like that," said he. 
 
 I persisted; saying, "Pray call to mind all you have seen 
 this morning." I pressed him farther, but I could only get, 
 "I have seen nothing at all like that." 
 
 A little ragged boy was hidden behind him, and was amus- 
 ing himself with flirting pebbles against my silk stockings, and 
 I recollected him, by his thoroughly bad expression, to be 
 the messenger of the morning. I went up a rather dark 
 staircase, to make my way to the Incorruptible. The keys 
 were in all the doors, I went from room to room, and found 
 no one. At last, in the fourth apartment, I came upon two 
 negroes, and two secretaries, seated at writing-tables, and 
 writing eternally; they did not even raise their heads as I 
 entered. I cast a glance at the tables, they were covered 
 with terrific lists nominates. My blood ran cold, as when I 
 lieard the rumble of the death-carts. 
 
 I was introduced in silence, after crossing a very thick but 
 much worn carpet. 
 
 The apartment was filled with a yellow murky light; it 
 looked out upon the court, and great heavy green curtains 
 shaded the light, and seemed to thicken the very air. The 
 reflection of the sun, upon the opposite wall, alone illuminated 
 the large desolate looking room. Upon a fauteuil of green 
 morocco, before a great walnut-tree bureau, my patient was 
 sitting ; he had an English newspaper in one hand, and with 
 the other he was stirring, with a small silver spoon, a lump or 
 two of sugar in a cup of camomile tea. 
 
 You may easily picture Robespierre to yourself. 
 
 One sees many men of the desk that are like him; no 
 D 
 
4S PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 remarkable character of countenance distinguished him, or 
 made one feel his presence. He was thirty-five, his face com- 
 pressed between the chin and the forehead, as if two hands 
 had endeavoured to squeeze them together ; his complexion, 
 the colour of whity brown paper, and sodden like moist 
 plaster, deeply marked with the small-pox. No blood not 
 even bile, seemed to circulate there ; his eyes were small, dull, 
 and melancholy ; he never looked any one in the face, and a 
 perpetual disagreeable winking, made his eyes appear still less 
 than they really were, when his green spectacles did not 
 happen to be on. His mouth was contracted by a sort ot 
 convulsive sardonic smile, or rather rimace ; Mirabeau com- 
 pared him a un chat qui a bu du vinaigre. His head was very 
 much and pompously dressed out, with a great air of preten- 
 sion. His fingers, his neck, and his shoulders, seemed con- 
 stantly agitated by a sort of involuntary contractions ; as it 
 slight nervous convulsions were perpetually passing through 
 them. He had been full dressed all the morning; I never 
 surprised him, during the whole time I visited him, en neglige. 
 This day he wore a yellow coat striped with white, a waistcoat 
 embroidered with flowers, a white frill, white silk stockings, 
 and shoes with buckles, so that he looked quite comme ilfaut. 
 
 He rose with his accustomed politeness, and advanced two 
 paces towards me, taking off his green spectacles, which he 
 placed gravely on the table. He saluted me with the ease of 
 a man of the world, sat down again, and stretched out his hand. 
 
 I could not, and did not take it like a friend, but I took it 
 like a physician, raised his ruffle, and felt his pulse. " Fever," 
 said T. 
 
 " That's not impossible," said he, biting his lips ; and he 
 rose abruptly, passed twice up and down the room with a 
 quick, firm step, rubbing his hands; then he said, "Bah!" and 
 sat down again. 
 
 " Sit down there, citizen," said he, *' and hear what I have 
 to tell you. Is it not strange?" And at every word he looked 
 at me under his spectacles. " Singular enough! What do 
 you think? This little Duke of York has presumed to insult 
 me through the newspapers." He struck his hand upon the 
 long columns of his English gazette. 
 
 " An affected anger," said I to myself. " Let us be upon 
 our guard." 
 
 "The tyrants!" pursued he, with a voice at once shrill 
 and harsh, * * the tyrants ! they cannot conceive even of the 
 existence of liberty! An humbling consideration for human 
 nature ! See, this expression is repeated in every page. What 
 affectation !" And he flung down the newspaper before me. 
 
 " Look '"said he, pointing to the passages with his finger. 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIK. 43 
 
 " Robespierre's army! Robespierre's troops! As if the armies 
 were mine! As if I were king! I! As if France were 
 Robespierre! As if all proceeded from me., centred in me! 
 Robespierre s troops! What injustice! What calumny! 
 Heigh!" Then sipping his cup of camomile tea, and pushing 
 up his spectacles, and looking at me under them again: "I 
 trust they never use such expressions here. You never hear 
 such things put about, I hope? Do you ever chance upon 
 such expressions in the streets? No, no. I know well enough 
 it is Pitt that invents and circulates these injurious calumnies. 
 Who dares call me dictator of France? Why, the vile 
 counter-revolutionists the Dantonistes the Hebertistes 
 wretches whose presence still pollutes the benches of the 
 Convention. But I will denounce them all, scoundrel minions 
 as they are of George of England ! Miserable conspirators, 
 who only desire to rnaka me odious in the eyes of the people, 
 because they well know the incorruptible purity of my civisme; 
 and that while I live, this voice shall be lifted up to denounce 
 
 their vices and their crimes Corrupted as Yerres, desperate 
 
 and more depraved than Catiline, never resting from their 
 endeavours to undermine and ruin the Republic ! Such men 
 as Desmoulins, Ronsin, Chaumette, in conspiracy with those 
 vile, degraded animals, styled kings! They have the insolence 
 to attempt at dishonouring me ! And how? Why, by placing 
 the miserable bauble of a crown upon my head ; in order to 
 bring down head and crown at once, I suppose a fate their 
 own are most assuredly destined to ! But, is it not a scandal- 
 ous shame that they should find support here? ay, and from 
 pretended republicans ! The rascals ! 
 
 ** I have been ill six weeks, as you very well know, and 
 have never once appeared at the Comite de Salut Public. 
 And where is my dictatorship, then, I pray? But what sig- 
 nifies talking? The Coalition persist in looking upon me as 
 the centre of all things ! My incorruptibility may be a little 
 in their way, perchance, ha! ha! This Coalition has existed 
 ever since the government began a vile confederacy of cheats 
 and rascals! They have dared, I understand, to circulate a 
 report among the people that I was arrested! massacred, if 
 you please, but arrested ! No, no. They have asserted that 
 St. Juste wanted to restore the aristocracy, because, forsooth, 
 he had himself the misfortune to be born noble! Eh? As if 
 it mattered what he was born, provided he lived and died in 
 support of just principles! And is not he he, himself the 
 very man who carried through the Convention a decree of 
 banishment against the ex-nobles, declaring them the irrecon- 
 cileable enemies of the Revolution? This cursed Coalition 
 has presumed, also, to cast ridicule upon the Fete de V Etre 
 
44 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OP 
 
 Supreme! and upon the story of Catherine Tneos. It is 
 pleased, too, to cast the responsibility of all the executions 
 upon me! But it is plain enough what all this means! A 
 mere revival of the old machinations of the Brissotins. My 
 oration at the Fete was at least, I presume, as good as the 
 doctrines of Chaumette and Fouche. Don't you think so?" 
 
 I nodded my head, and he went onr 
 
 "My desire is, that the impious maxim, * Death is an 
 eternal sleep,' should be erased from our grave-stones, and to 
 substitute, Death is the gate of Immortality " 
 
 I saw by this harangue that he was meditating an oration 
 upon the subject, and trying the effect in conversation upon 
 me; according to the good custom, of many other orators 01 
 my acquaintance. He gave a smile of satisfaction, and sipped 
 his camomile tea; then set down the cup upon his desk, with 
 the air of an orator at the Tribune; and as I had not 
 taken up his idea, he returned to it himself after a new fashion. 
 He could not rest without a compliment. 
 
 " I know you think as I do, citizen, though you have a 
 good deal of the air of a ci-devant about you still; but you are 
 pure, and that is everything. Of this, at least, I am certain, 
 that you would detest a military despotism as much as I 
 should ; and if I am not listened to, that will be, sooner or 
 later, our fate. The reins of the Republic would soon be 
 snatched up were I to lay them down; and the representation, 
 already disgraced, would then be annihilated." 
 
 " This appears to me to be a very just remark, citizen," 
 said I. In fact it was prophetic. 
 
 Another grim smile. 
 
 " You would like my despotism better than that, I am sure? 
 Hey?" 
 
 I made a somewhat sour grimace as I said, "Eh? but " 
 with as little meaning as one could put into the monosyllable. 
 
 " It would at least," he continued, " be that of a fellow- 
 citizen ; one of equal rank with the rest, but elevated to pre- 
 eminence by the practice of virtue ; one thing only has he ever 
 
 feared to sully the purity of principles such as his, by contact 
 
 with those perverted beings, who have contrived to introduce 
 their own impurity and corruption amid the disinterested 
 friends of humanity." 
 
 He paused, looked up, and seemed to enjoy this delicious 
 little phrase, and expect its effect upon me. 
 
 "You have not quite so many of these troublesome neigh- 
 bours about you now," said I. " You don't feel particularly 
 in danger of being elbowed in the crowd at present." 
 
 He bit his lips, and put his spectacles on immediately, to 
 hide the expression of his eyes. 
 
LE DOCTEUK NOIR. 45 
 
 " Merely because I, just at present, as you say, live retired; 
 but I cannot escape calumny." And as he spoke, he took a 
 pencil, and scrawled something upon a sheet of paper. I 
 learned five days afterwards, that the paper was a list for the 
 guillotine, and the something my own name. 
 
 He smiled, and fell back on his chair. 
 
 "Alas! calumniated!" pursued he; "for, to speak plain, I 
 have but one idol, egalite ; and you may judge with what 
 indignation these foul accusations fill me ! These newspapers, 
 forged in the workshops of tyrants !" And with a tragic air, 
 he crushed and crumpled together his great English news- 
 papers, I remarked, however, that he took especial care not 
 to tear them. 
 
 " Ah, Maximilian I" thought I. "You will read these foul 
 calumnies more than once; and be ready to worship the 
 magical words, * Robespierre's army.'" 
 
 After this little comedy on his part had terminated, he rose, 
 and walked up and down his chamber, convulsively agitating 
 his fingers, his neck, and his shoulders. 
 
 I rose and walked by his side. 
 
 "I wished to give you these things to read, and to talk these 
 natters over with you, before I spoke of my own health ;" and 
 he showed me some manuscript papers. "You know my es- 
 teem for the author. It is a project of St. Juste's. I expect 
 him every moment. We will go over them together. He 
 must have reached Paris before this," said he, pulling out his 
 watch. " I will go and inquire. Sit down, in the mean time, 
 and read this. I shall soon come back again." 
 
 He gave me the manuscript, (it was a large quire of paper, 
 covered with writing, in a bold, hasty, decisive hand,,) and 
 left the room. I took up the manuscript, but I marked the 
 door by which he went out. I knew him well. I saw some- 
 thing made him thoroughly uneasy to-day. Either some en- 
 terprise of his own was in hand, or he was in fear of one from 
 others. I saw, as the door opened by which he went out, cer- 
 tain faces belonging to his secret agents, whom I knew well 
 enough ; and I heard the noise of several different people as- 
 cending and descending the stairs. There was a murmur, as 
 of voices speaking low. I listened, but could not distinguish 
 a word. 
 
 I confess I felt somewhat ill at ease. I went to the door 
 by which I had entered, intending to return home ; but either 
 by accident or design the key was turned. 
 
 When a thing is settled, I think no more about it. I sat 
 down, and began to look over the manuscript Kobespierre had 
 left in my hands. 
 
46 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LEGISLATION. 
 
 THE manuscript, thus hastily scrawled over, contained neither 
 more nor less than those immutable and eternal institutions 
 which the present rulers intended, in their indisputable wisdom 
 and tender benevolence, to bestow upon France: they were 
 hastily thrown together, for the benefit of his country, by the 
 Citizen St. Juste, aged just twenty-six years. 
 
 I glanced over the papers carelessly ; but it was not long 
 before I began to have some perception of their contents. I 
 was electrified with surprise. 
 
 "Oh, tender-hearted executioner! Oh, gentle murderer!" 
 cried I, involuntarily. " What sweet infantile simplicity is 
 here? Whence come you, fair shepherd? From the rural 
 plains of Arcadia? Where pasture thy innocent flocks, oh, 
 Alexis?" 
 
 And I read: 
 
 "Children to be left to the inspirations of nature. 
 "Children to be clothed in white linen, at all seasons. 
 "Children to be fed in common, and to be nourished only 
 with fruits, pulse, and pure milk. 
 
 "Those who have lived without reproach, to assume a white 
 scarf on attaining the age of sixty years. 
 
 "Every man who has reached the age of twenty-one years, 
 shall declare in the public temple who are his friends. 
 "Friends shall wear mourning for each other. 
 "Friends shall erect each other's tomb. 
 "Friends shall in battle stand together. 
 "He who has no faith in friendship shall be banished. 
 "A man convicted of ingratitude shall be banished." 
 ("What emigrations!" cried I.) 
 
 "If a man is guilty of a crime, his friends are banished. 
 "Murderers shall be clothed in black, and shall be put to 
 death if they quit that dress." 
 
 "Sweet soul!" cried I "What unjust wretches we must 
 all be to accuse you of murder! With thoughts pure as the 
 morning dew upon the opening rose ! And we have the ab- 
 surdity to complain of the cart-loads of men, women, and 
 children, that. you send every day to the scaffold! Good 
 young man ! You don't see them depart you don't hear their 
 groans you only write their names upon a little piece of 
 paper! Often you don't even do so much as that! You sign 
 the list, at times, without even reading it!" 
 
 Then I began to laugh, loudly and bitterly, as I went over 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIK. 47 
 
 tliese Institution, called republican, and which are yet in 
 existence, if any one has a wish to make himself acquainted 
 with them : these laws of the golden age, to which this blessed 
 miscreant wanted, by main force, to submit our days of brass ; 
 a child's frock, in which he wanted to dress this great aged 
 nation chopping off head and limbs to make it fit. Read it, 
 if you will, and see with what barbarous madmen we had to 
 do. 
 
 Alas! there is an insanity which is not shown by wild words 
 and infuriated gestures a cold, calculating, dark, dangerous 
 madness, concealed under the manners and gestures of ordi- 
 nary life ; and such madmen are the result of such times 
 times which can elevate men of intellects so imperfect, and 
 characters so feeble, to taat intoxicating pinnacle irrespon- 
 sible power. 
 
 I continued musing in bitterness of spirit over the Institu- 
 tions of St. Juste, and almost forgot where I was. I was 
 plunged in thought, and indifferent to my own fate ; for I had 
 learned to despise life, surrounded by such scenes as met my 
 eyes every hour when all at once the door opened, and a man 
 of about thirty years of age," dressed in uniform, a fine, tall, 
 spirited figure, entered abruptly. His military boots, his 
 spurs, his riding-whip, his large open waistcoat, his loose black 
 cravat, gave him the air of a young general officer of those 
 days. 
 
 "Ah, you don't know whether he is to be spoken with," 
 said he, addressing, as he entered, the negro who opened the 
 door "Tell him it is the author of * Caius Gracchus,' of ' Timo- 
 leon."' The negro departed, shutting the door after him. 
 The young officer came forward, walked up, to the fireplace, 
 stamping the heels of his boots upon the floor "Have you 
 been waiting long here, citizen?" asked he. "I hope, as one 
 of the representatives of the nation, that Citizen Robespierre 
 will give me an audience I have but two words to say to 
 him." He turned away, and began to arrange his hair at the 
 glass. "I am no petitioner! I say what I think, and act as 
 I judge right; and neither under the Bourbon tyrants, nor 
 under these, have I been accustomed to make a mystery of 
 my opinions." 
 
 I laid down the papers I held in my hand, and looked at 
 him with such an air of surprise, that he felt surprised himself. 
 
 "I should not have imagined, "said I, "that you came here 
 for pleasure." 
 
 He changed his look of defiance, as if by magic, and came 
 and sat down in tkefauteuil close by me. 
 
 "Ah! fa! to speak frankly," said he, half in a whisper 
 "were you sent for as I was? I have not an idea why." 
 
48 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I was sent for; but as that is not unusual 
 with those of my profession, it does not give me any uneasi- 
 ness at least so far as I myself am concerned," I added with 
 emphasis. 
 
 "Ah! yourself!" said he, striking his boots impatiently with 
 his cane. He rose, and walked up and down the room; then 
 returned to his place. 
 
 "Do you know whether he is busy?" 
 
 "I suppose so, Citizen Chenier." 
 
 He seized his hand impetuously. 
 
 " Car cried he "you don't look like a spy. What does 
 lie want with me here? If you know anything, tell me at 
 once." 
 
 I was in torture. I felt that Robespierre might return at 
 any moment that perhaps we could be seen, that certainly 
 we could be and were overheard. Terror pervaded the air, 
 insinuated itself into every place, reigned in this particular 
 chamber. I got up, and walked up and down the room, that 
 at least there might be long intervals of silence between us, 
 and the conversation appear casual. He understood me, and 
 began to walk up and down the room in the opposite direction. 
 We paced along like two sentinels upon guard, crossing one 
 another. Each one appeared to be absorbed in his own 
 thoughts, and we let fall just one sentence at a time as we 
 passed. 
 
 I rubbed my hands. 
 
 "It is possible," said I, in a low voice, as I walked from 
 the door to the chimney, "that we may be shut up together 
 intentionally." And then, in my usual tone, "A pretty room 
 this!" 
 
 "I believe so too." And then, raising his head "Looks 
 out upon the court, if I am not mistaken." 
 
 I passed him. 
 
 "I have seen your* father and your brother this morning." 
 In a loud voice "What delicious weather!" 
 
 He passed again. 
 
 "I knew it my father and I do not meet But I hope 
 Andre will not be there much longer A magnificent sky!" 
 
 I passed. 
 
 "Tallien, Courtois, Barras, Clauzel, are good citizens." 
 Then with enthusiasm "A noble subject that of Timoleon!" 
 
 He crossed me as he returned. 
 
 "And Collot d'Herbois, Loseau, Bourdon, Barrere, Boissy 
 d'Anglas I like my Fenelon better." 
 
 " But this may yet go on for some days. Perhaps the ver- 
 sification is better." 
 
 He pushed me with his elbow as he passed. 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 49 
 
 "The Triumvirs cannot last four days I have read the 
 piece to the Citoyenne Vestris." 
 
 I pressed his hand this time as I passed him. 
 
 " Take care not to mention your brother's name they have 
 forgotten him The denouement is particularly fine." 
 
 As 
 
 9th, 
 
 is scarcely unexpected enough." 
 
 This was our last ; we were at opposite ends of the room. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DIVERTISSEMENT. 
 
 ROBESPIERRE entered ; he held St. Juste by the hand St. 
 Juste was dressed in a dusty great-coat, and looked pale and 
 tired; he was just arrived at Paris from the army Robes- 
 pierre cast a quick, sharp glance at us 'through his spectacles; 
 the distance we were at seemed to satisfy- him; he gave one of 
 his grim smiles. 
 
 " Citizen," said he, "let me introduce a traveller of your 
 acquaintance to you." 
 
 We moved to each other, Joseph Chenier knitting his 
 eyebrows, St. Juste in an abrupt haughty manner, while I 
 bent my head grave and composed as a monk. 
 
 St. Juste sat down by Robespierre, who placed himself in 
 his leathern fauteuil before the writing-table ; Chenier and I 
 sat down opposite. There was a long silence, while I kept 
 examining these three personages in turns. Chenier threw 
 himself haughtly back in his chair, though evidently ill at 
 ease. St. Juste looked perfectly cairn, and sat bending his 
 beautiful head a little forward: his expression was melancholy 
 and sweet, his features regular, and his fine chestnut hair fell 
 in abundant floating curls to his shoulders; his eyes were 
 raised to heaven : he sighed ; he had the air of a young martyr. 
 
 There are persecutors in the world who assume the air of 
 victims. Robespierre looked at us all three by turns, much 
 as a cat might regard three captive mice. 
 
 " Here," said he, breaking silence, and assuming a frank, 
 jovial air, "here is our friend St. Juste, just returned from 
 the army ; he has annihilated treason there he is come to do 
 the same here. A pleasant surprise, eh, Chenier ? You did 
 not expect him back so soon perhaps?" And he looked 
 askance at him, as if to enjoy the other's embarrassment. 
 
50 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 "You sent for me, citizen," said Marie- Joseph Chenier 
 sulkily; "If you have any business with me make haste I 
 am wanted at the convention." 
 
 "I wished," said Robespierre, deliberately, "to make you 
 acquainted with this excellent man, who, I believe, takes very 
 particular interest in your family." 
 
 I was caught ; Marie- Joseph and I looked at one another, 
 and one glance expressed our mutual terror. But I was re- 
 solved to stand my ground. 
 
 "Faith, I am fond of letters; and I think Fenelon " 
 
 " Ah, apropos," interrupted Robespierre, "I congratulate 
 you upon the success of Timoleon, you don't knov7 that 
 piece, perhaps, St. Juste," with an ironical air. 
 
 St. Juste smiled contemptuously, and wiped his boots with 
 the flap of his lon<r riding-coat, without condescending to a reply. 
 "Bah! Bohr said Joseph Chenier, looking at me; " it's too 
 much of a trifle to occupy him" 
 
 He meant to speak with indifference, but the blood of the 
 author was tingling in his cheeks, 
 
 St. Juste now lifted up his large, calm eyes, and regarded 
 him with admiration "A member of the convention in I'an 
 2 de la Republio t ue,.'who amuses himself in this way! I re- 
 gard him as a prodigy!" said he. 
 
 "Faith, when one is not at the head of affairs," said Ch6nier, 
 "it is the best thing one can do for the nation." 
 
 St. Juste shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 Robespierre drew out his watch as if he was expecting some 
 one, and said in a pedantic, conceited manner, "You are 
 aware, Citizen Chgnier, what opinion I hold on the subject of 
 your men of letters. I except you, because I know your re- 
 publican virtues ; but in general I regard them as the most 
 dangerous enemies of their country. What we want is a 
 united will a single will (we are come to that), and that 
 will republican and to effect that we want nothing but 
 republican writings; everything else serves only to corrupt 
 the people. We must rouse the people and vanquish the 
 bourgeoisie, the source of all our internal dangers. The 
 people must rally round the Convention, the Convention 
 support the people. The sans-culottes must be well paid and 
 excited, (coleres.)-who do I always find resisting my plans? 
 The scribblers! the men of letters! the versifiers, with their 
 noble rage in rhyme! ' O mon ame, fuyons dans les deserts.' 
 Such things discourage. The Convention ought to treat 
 every one who is useless to the Republic as a counter-revolu- 
 tionist." 
 
 " Pretty severe," said Joseph Chenier, rather alarmed, but 
 still more offended. 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 51 
 
 " Oh, I am not thinking of you," pursued Robespierre, in a 
 sort of soft, oily tone. " You you are a legislator, you have 
 been a warrior; and when you have nothing else on earth to 
 do, you poetize." 
 
 " Not at all not at all," said Chenier, singularly provoked. 
 "I was born a poet; I have wasted all the time given to the 
 army, or to the National Assembly." 
 
 I "confess, in spite of the terrible nature of our present 
 situation, I could not help smiling at his vexation. His 
 brother might, indeed, have spoken in this manner with jus- 
 tice, but in my opinion, Joseph a little overrated the value of 
 his verses. The Incorruptible, who was a good deal of my 
 my opinion, went on tormenting him. 
 
 " Come, come," said he, with a sort of sneering air of 
 congratulation; " come, come, you are too modest; you refuse 
 two laurel crowns for one of pomponne roses." 
 
 " But I thought you had a taste for those flowers yourself, 
 citizen, once upon a time," retorted Ch6nier. It seems to me 
 that I have a recollection of reading somewhere or other some 
 agreeable verses upon a cup and a feast: let me see 
 
 " ' Oh Dieux ! que vois-je, mes amis? 
 Un crime trop notoire. 
 Oh malheur affreux ! 
 Oh scandal honteux ! 
 
 " ' T'ose le dire a peine ; 
 
 Pour vous j'en rougis, 
 Pour moi j'en gemis : 
 Ma coupe n'est pas pleine.' 
 
 And a certain madrigal, wherein was written 
 
 " ' Garde toujours ta modestie; 
 Sur le pouvoir de tes appas 
 Demeure toujours alarmee; 
 Tu n'en seras que mieux aimee 
 Si tu crains de ne 1'etre pas.' 
 
 " Pretty ! to say nothing of two essays upon the punishment 
 of death, one for, the other against; and the eloge of Gres- 
 set, where I recollect perfectly this prettily turned phrase: 
 
 " * Oh ! lisez le Vert-vert vousqui aspirez au merite de badiner et d'&crire 
 avec grace, lisez le, &c. &c. Oh, une foule de hferos est restee plongee dans un 
 eternel oubli, parce qu' elle n' a point trouve une plume digne de cfelebrer seg 
 exploits. Mais toi heureux Vert-vert ! &c. &c. Oh, Gresset ! tu fus le plus 
 grand des poetes, repandons des fieurs, &c. &c.' 
 
 "It was really very pretty indeed. I have it all by me, 
 printed with the name of the author, M. de Robespierre, avocat 
 au parlement." 
 
 He was not quite the best man in the world to jest with. 
 
PIlOFESSIONALi VISITS OF 
 
 His face changed from the expression of a cat to that of a 
 tiger. It made one's flesh creep. 
 
 St. Juste, quite ennuye, took hold of his arm. "When do 
 they expect you at the Jacobins?" 
 
 "Not yet," said Robespierre. "Be quiet; I am amusing 
 myself." 
 
 The laugh which accompanied this made one's teeth chat- 
 ter. 
 
 "I am expecting somebody," added he. "But you St. 
 Juste, what do you say to the poets?" 
 
 "I read you that part," he replied. It is in the tenth 
 chapter of my Institutions." 
 
 " Well, what do you do with them?" 
 
 St. Juste gave a contemptuous sneer, and looked about 
 upon the carpet, as if he were seeking a small pin, or something 
 of that sort. 
 
 " Why " said he, "hymns, they may make hymns for the 
 first day of each month, in honour of good citizens Plato's 
 idea: 1st, Germinal, they may celebrate Nature and the 
 People ; Floreal, Love and Marriage ; Prarial, " Victory ; 
 Messidor, Adoption ; Thermidor, Youth ; Vendemaire, Old 
 Age ; Brumaire, Immortality of the Soul ; Frimaire, Wisdom ; 
 Nivose, Our Country; Plumose, Labour; Ventose, Friend- 
 ship." 
 
 Robespierre applauded. "Perfectly well arranged," said 
 he. 
 
 " And inspiration on pain of death," added Joseph Chenier, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 St. Juste rose with gravity. "And why not?" said he, 
 "if they have not patriotism enough to inspire them? 1 
 know but of two principles of action terror and virtue.' 
 And dropping his bead upon his breast, he stood leaning with 
 his back against the chimney-piece, as if the subject were ex- 
 hausted, he being most conscientiously convinced, that he 
 knew all that was to be known upon this, as upon everything. 
 His air was tranquil, his voice placid, his expression of coun- 
 tenance benevolent and composed. 
 
 "That is the man I call a poet," cried Robespierre, point- 
 ing to him. "He sees things en grand. He does not amuse 
 himself with spinning out pretty phrases. His words flash like 
 lightning through the darkness of the future, and he feels 
 that it is the destiny of your second-rate men, busy with the 
 details of ideas, to work out ours ; and that no race is more 
 inimical to liberty, more adverse to equality, than your aris- 
 tocrats of intellect, whose reputation enables them to exercise 
 a partial influence, dangerous and destructive of that unity, 
 which ought to be our first and only object." 
 
JLE DOOTEUR NOIK. 53 
 
 After this speech he looked at us both. We looked at each 
 other. 
 
 St. Juste approved of all he had said, and sympathized 
 heartily in these jealous and tyrranical maxims. Maxims 
 proper to all usurped authority, which will always be found 
 striving to depress and annihilate that mysterious power over 
 the mind of man, derived from the exercise of pure intellect, 
 and the enthusiasm which it excites. 
 
 These parvenus these favourites of fortune like Haman, 
 detest, to the bottom of their souls, those who, like Mordecai 
 at the palace gate, dare to refuse to worship. 
 
 Joseph Chenier found it difficult to recover from his surprise 
 at what he heard ; but the violent character of his family soon 
 got the better of everything, and he said, "Ah, yes! I have, 
 in the course of my life, met with poets who wanted only one 
 little thing to be most excellent, and that was poetry" 
 
 Robespierre broke a pen he held in his hands, and took up 
 a newspaper, as if he had not heard. 
 
 St. Juste, who was, after all, simple and na'if, like a great 
 schoolboy that had not yet learned the world, took the thing 
 quite seriously, and began a harangue upon the subject, with 
 an air of innocent selfcapprobation which almost made one 
 
 Eity him. " Citizen Chenier is right," he began, fixing his 
 irge eyes upon the wall before him, seeing nothing but nis 
 own ideas. " I feel that I was a poet when I said 'Great 
 men do not die in their beds;' and ' Circumstances are too 
 difficult only for those to whom the prospect of a tomb is 
 appalling;' and '/ despise this dust of which I am com- 
 pounded, and which now addresses you;' and * Worth is often 
 a means of intrigue. Let us be ungrateful; but let us save 
 our country!' " 
 
 "These are fine Spartan maxims and paradoxes, more 
 or less acknowledged by everybody," said I, " but not 
 poetry." 
 
 St. Juste turned his back upon me, and looked affronted. 
 We were all four silent. 
 
 The conversation had arrived at that point, that the next 
 word must be followed by a blow, and Chenier and I were 
 not the best prepared of the two for striking. 
 
 The silence was broken in an unexpected manner. All at 
 once, Robespierre took up a little bell that was on his desk, 
 and rang it. A negro entered, and introduced an old man, 
 who stood at the entrance of the chamber, as if petrified with 
 astonishment and terror. "Here is another acquaintance, 
 gentlemen," said the Incorruptible. "I have prepared a 
 pleasant little meeting for you all." 
 
 It was M, de Chenier thus presented to his son. I trembled 
 
PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 from head to foot. The father started back; the son bent 
 his eyes to the ground; Robespierre laughed; St. Juste 
 looked as if he could not guess what it was all about. 
 
 The old man first broke silence. All now depended upon 
 him, and no one had the power to interfere further. We 
 waited, as one waits for the fall of the executioner's sword. 
 M. de Chenier advanced to his son with dignity. "It is 
 lon^ since I have seen you, sir: I do you the honour to 
 believe that your business here is the same with my own." 
 
 Marie-Joseph Chenier, so lofty, so strong, so fierce, so 
 haughty, was bent double with grief and constraint. ' * Father, " 
 said he, slowly, and pausing between each syllable; "Good 
 Heavens! my father! Have you well considered what you 
 are about to say?" 
 
 The father opened his mouth, the son went on speaking 
 loud and hastily, endeavouring to drown his voice. 
 
 " I know I understand I comprehend the whole affair." 
 And turning to Robespierre "A foolish trifling matter 
 really not worth your attention." And to his father " That 
 you are so anxious about really a mere trifle why can't 
 you leave it in my hands? I am a deputy; I am " 
 
 "I know very well, sir, what you are," said M. de Chenier. 
 
 **]tfo, no," said Joseph, going up to him: "You don't 
 know You don't know in the least. It is so long, citizens, 
 since he has seen me, poor old man ! he has not the least idea 
 of what is going on. Quite behind-hand, I assure you. If 
 he pretends to have any business with you he is quite at sea 
 about the matter," and he trod upon his foot; but the old 
 man drew back. 
 
 "It is your duty, sir, which I am come to perform, since 
 vou think proper to neglect it." 
 
 " Oh, heavens and earth!" cried Marie- Joseph, in agonies. 
 
 "A carious scene enough," said Robespierre to St. Juste, 
 in a harsh voice. "What are they making all this noise 
 about?" 
 
 " I am " said the father, advancing to Robespierre ; " my 
 heart is in despair at seeing " 
 
 I rose hastily to lay hold of his arm. 
 
 "Citizen," said. Joseph Chenier to Robespierre, "let me 
 have a word with you in private, and let me take away this 
 poor old man. I assure you he is ill ; he is doting." 
 
 "Wretch!" cried the old man, indignantly, "are you an 
 impious son, as well as " 
 
 "Sir," said I, interrupting him roughly, "it was useless 
 consulting me this morning." 
 
 "No, no," cried Robespierre with his sharp, harsh voice, 
 (t no, no, Chenier, I won't have your father taken away. I 
 
LE DOCTEUB NOIR. 55 
 
 promised liim a hearing, and he shall have it. Nonsense! 
 why should he go away? What harm can he do? Don't 
 you think I know all about it well enough, and am not 
 ignorant even of your prescriptions this morning, doctor?" 
 
 4 '-It is all over," cried I, sinking into a chair. 
 
 Marie- Joseph made one last effort. He advanced boldly, 
 and put himself between his father and Robespierre. "After 
 all," said he, " we are equals we are brothers. Let me tell 
 you plainly, citizen, what no one but a representative of the 
 [National Convention would have a right to tell you : I say 
 that my good old father my poor father who detests me 
 because I am a member of the Convention, has nothing to 
 say. He is only going to bother you about a mere piece of 
 family history, quite unworthy of your attention of yours, 
 Citizen Robespierre ; you, who are occupied in affairs of the 
 first consequence, acting, as you do, as the mainspring of all 
 things. These are mere family quarrels ; quite beneath your 
 notice; and, happily for you, quite oat of the course of your 
 experience," and he pressed his hand with both his own. 
 "No, no; positively it shall not be" (trying to laugh), 
 "mere dotage. I don't like him to expose himself." And 
 in a low hurried tone : " Some old complaints of my conduct : 
 old monarchical nonsense he has got into his head mere 
 dotage. Just listen to me, my dear friend; great energetic 
 citizen; leader and master of us all. Yes I confess it, 
 master and worthy to be master. Go to the Assembly; 
 you are wanted; you are wasting your time. Send us all 
 away. Turn us all out of doors without ceremony ; we are 
 in your way. Gentlemen, we are intruding: let us begone," 
 and he took his hat; pale, panting, covered with sweat, 
 trembling. " Come, doctor! Come, father, I want to speak 
 to you: we are intruding. And St. Juste! just arrived 
 from the armies from the armies of the North ! I say, St. 
 Juste !" 
 
 He went up to him. He came again to Robespierre; the 
 tears were in his eyes : he took Robespierre by the arm his 
 father by the shoulders. He was beside himself. 
 
 Robespierre rose from his chair, and, with an air of pre- 
 tended kindness which might well have become a demon, held 
 out his hand to the old man. 
 
 The poor father thought all was saved : we knew that all 
 was lost. M. de Ch^nier, like a weak old man, was subdued 
 by this one kind gesture. 
 
 "Oh! you are too good!" cried he, "I see it is only a 
 system that you have adopted. A system which makes you 
 appear cruel. Give me back my eldest son, M. de Robes- 
 pierre. Give him back to me. He is at St. Lazare. He is 
 
56 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF 
 
 far the most precious of the two. Oh 3 you don't know him ! 
 He admires you very much. He admires all these gentlemen 
 he has often told me so. He has no exaggerated ideas, I 
 assure you, upon my honour. The other is afraid of com- 
 mitting himself he wants the courage to speak but I am a 
 father, dear sir, I am very old, what have I to fear ? Besides 
 you are. a gentleman I see it by your air gentlemen under- 
 stand each other at a word. I " 
 
 Then to his son. 
 
 "What are you making signs for? Don't interrupt me! 
 You are troublesome, sir. Leave Monsieur to follow the 
 dictates of his own heart ; he understands these things better 
 than you do. You were always jealous of Andre from a child. 
 Let me alone, sir !" 
 
 The unhappy brother could not answer ; he was mute with 
 grief and despair. 
 
 "Ah!" said Robespierre, sitting down, and quietly taking 
 off his spectacles. " So this is the grand business a'fter all, 
 St. Juste! It appears they had taken it into their heads that 
 I had forgotten all about this pretty brother of his ! True 
 enough, I might not have troubled my head about him for a 
 day or two. Very well," said he, taking a pen and scribbling, 
 " your son's affair shall be terminated." 
 
 " There" said I, half suffocated. 
 
 "How! terminated!" said the father. 
 
 "Yes, citizen," said St. Juste coldly, explaining the 
 matter to him, "terminated before the Revolutionary Tri- 
 bunal, where he will have an opportunity of making his 
 defence." 
 
 "And Andre?" said M. de Chenier. 
 
 " The same," replied St. Juste, "at the Conciergerie." 
 
 "But there was not even a warrant out against Andre," 
 said the father. 
 
 * ' Very well, he may plead that at the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal," said Robespierre, "so much the better for him." 
 And he continued writing. 
 
 "But why send him there?" persisted the old man. 
 
 "That he may clear himself," said Robespierre, still writing. 
 
 "But will they hear him?" asked Marie-Joseph. 
 
 Robespierre put on his spectacles, looked fixedly at him, 
 his green eyes staring like those of an owl. 
 
 "Do you dare to suspect the integrity of the Revolutionary 
 Tribunal?" said he. 
 
 Marie-Joseph dropped his head, and sighing deeply, uttered, 
 "No." 
 
 St. Juste, with much gravity, added, ' ' Sometimes the 
 tribunal pronounces an acquittal." 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 57 
 
 " Sometimes!* exclaimed tho father. 
 
 "Look here, St. Juste," cried Robespierre. "This one 
 was a poet too it runs in the family. We were just talking 
 about them, and they it seems were writing of us. Quite a 
 happy accident. Hey, doctor! Look here, St. Juste, he 
 calls us, JBourreaux barbouilleurs des lois" 
 
 " Only that," cried St. Juste, taking the paper. 
 
 I recollected the paper too well : it had been stolen from 
 Andre, since the morning, by one of Robespierre's most adroit 
 spies. 
 
 Robespierre rose suddenly, pulled out his watch. " Two 
 o'clock," said he. And he bowed, and hurried to that door of 
 the room by which he had entered with St. Juste. He opened 
 it, leaned half-way into the next apartment, where I saw many 
 men in waiting, and turning round with his hand upon the 
 key, said in his sharp, falsetto, but resolute voice, " This is 
 only just to show you that I am pretty well informed as to 
 what is going on;" then addressing St. Juste, who was follow- 
 ing, with his usual composed smile of ineffable sweetness 
 "Look hei-e, St. Juste; I understand, you see, how to arrange 
 amiable domestic scenes, almost as well as the poets !" 
 
 "Stop, Maximilian!" cried Marie- Joseph, clenching his fist 
 at hirn, and leaving the room by the opposite door, which this 
 time opened of itself. "I am going to the Convention with 
 Tallien." 
 
 " And I to the Jacobins," said Robespierre, proudly and 
 coldly. 
 
 " With St. Juste," added St. Juste, with a terrible voice. 
 
 As I followed them out of the room "Take your youngest 
 son home again," said I to the father; "you have just killed 
 your eldest." And we left the house. 
 
58 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OP 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 
 
 MY first care was to hide Joseph Chenier. In spite of the 
 universal terror, no one was found to refuse the shelter of his 
 roof to the proscribed. I had twenty houses at my disposal. 
 I chose one for Marie- Joseph. He followed me, weeping like 
 a child. Lying perdu during the day, he spent the night in 
 running from house to house, visiting those representatives 
 whom he considered as his friends, striving, by every means 
 in his power, to animate their courage and resolution. Pie 
 was wild with grief: his only consolation rested on the hope 
 of precipitating the fate of Robespierre, St. Juste, and Couthon. 
 I consoled myself with the same expectation, concealing myself 
 as he did. I might be found everywhere, except at home. 
 When Joseph Chenier went to the Convention, he appeared, 
 both at his entrance and departure, surrounded by a body of 
 his friends, whom it was not thought prudent to attack openly. 
 Once in the streets, hs disappeared; and even the spies of 
 Robespierre, the most subtle army of locusts that ever infested 
 Paris, could not trace him out. The fate of Andre Chenier 
 had now become a mere question of time. Which question 
 simply was, whether the revengeful projects of Robespierre, 
 or the schemes of the conspirators, would be first matured. 
 
 The night after this last scene, that from the 5th to the 6th 
 Thermidor, we spent in visiting all the members of the Con- 
 vention, who were afterwards called Thermidoriens, Tallien, 
 Barras, Lecointre, and Yadier. We carried messages from 
 one to the other. We put them all in communication, with- 
 out suffering them to meet. Individually, they seemed all 
 resolved, but we could bring them to form no common resolu- 
 tion. I returned sorrowfully to my hiding-place. This was 
 the result of my observations. 
 
 The Republic was mined and counter-mined. The mine of 
 Robespierre began from the Hotel de Ville. The counter- 
 mine of Tallien from the Tuileries, where the Convention 
 were then sitting. The explosion would take place when the 
 two mines met. But on Robespierre's side there was unity 
 of purpose; on that of the Convention complete disunion, to 
 
LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 59 
 
 say nothing of their lying under the disadvantage of being 
 upon the defensive. Our efforts to urge them to commence 
 operations without delay, were fruitless ; and on the 6th and 
 7th, had only resulted in timid and partial conferences, where 
 nothing was decided upon. But the Jacobins were ready, 
 and on the alert. The Convention had determined to await 
 the first attack; that was the only conclusion at which we 
 had arrived upon the 7th Thermidor. 
 
 An indistinct heaving, an internal, ill-suppressed agitation 
 pervaded Paris ; it was like the mysterious warnings of an 
 earthquake. The influence of the coming events seemed to 
 pervade the very air of the small courts and small squares : 
 knots of people, engaged in earnest conversation, might be 
 seen in all the Places; the doors were ajar and busy, curious 
 faces at the windows. 
 
 We could not gain the slightest intelligence of what was 
 passing at St. Lazare. I had once attempted to gain an 
 entrance ; but the door had been furiously shut against me, 
 and the authorities there seemed half inclined even to arrest 
 me. 
 
 I had passed the day in vain and fruitless efforts ; and re- 
 turning through the streets towards six o'clock in the evening, 
 beheld the whole city in agitation. Groups might be seen 
 hastily assembling in all the public places. Men would 
 approach, say a few hurried words to one another, and then 
 as suddenly disappear. On every side was heard "The 
 Sections are in arms;" or, "There is a Conspiracy at the 
 Convention ;" or, ' ; The Jacobins are in conspiracy ;" or, "The 
 Commune has suspended the decrees of the Convention;" or, 
 " The artillery is coming up." 
 
 A crier was crying the " Grande petition des Jacobins a la 
 Convention en favour du peuple." 
 
 Sometimes a whole streetf'ul of people fled suddenly, and 
 dispersed as if swept away by the wind. Children were fall- 
 ing down and screaming, women screeching, the shutters of 
 the shops shut ; then a universal silence would succeed to the 
 rumour and hubbub of the multitude; till, as suddenly, some 
 new cause of agitation would once more fill the empty street 
 with wild and excited crowds. Heavy thunder-clouds hun<j 
 threatening over the sky. The heat was suffocating. 
 
 I was lurking in the neighbourhood of my house in the 
 Place de la Revolution, when all at once it came into my 
 head, that, after two nights' absence, this would be the last 
 place where any one would come to seek for me; so I took 
 my resolution, passed under the arcade, and entered. All 
 the doors stood wide open ; the porter was abroad. I went 
 up the common stair, and found myself quite alone. Every- 
 
60 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OP 
 
 thing remained as I had left- it; my books thrown about, and 
 slightly covered with dust my windows were open ; I sat 
 down for a moment close by that which looked out upon the 
 Place de la Revolution. 
 
 I was soon lost in thought. I sat looking upon that dark 
 and melancholy, but still imperial chateau of the Tuileries. 
 The Convention was sitting where had been late tlie dwelling- 
 place of kings. I saw its long, many-windowed, gloomy 
 front, stretching along the terrace of the Feuillans, with its 
 rows of dark green chestnut-trees, which, like the shrubs of 
 the Champs-Ely sees, were now white with dust. The Place 
 de la Revolution itself was black with innumerable moving 
 heads crowded closely together ; while, towering in the midst, 
 two huge objects of painted wood presented themselves one 
 was the statue of Liberty ; the other, the guillotine. 
 
 The evening was most oppressively sultry. The sun 
 sinking behind the trees, beneath the dark indigo clouds that 
 hung like curtains above, darted his rays obliquely upon this 
 crowd of black hats and borinet rouges; these last casting a 
 gleam of lurid red over the otherwise dark aspect of the 
 crowd. To me it seemed as if the picture were spotted with 
 blood. The confused voice of the many- headed monster 
 below reached to my window, like the hoarse roar of many 
 waters ; while the low murmur of distant thunder added, from 
 time to time, to the impressive gloom of the scene. 
 
 All at once the murmurs of the multitude became louder, 
 and a prodigious noise and agitation seemed to arise on one 
 side, and presently to spread over the vast assemblage. It 
 proceeded from the streets leading to the Boulevards, which 
 my window did not command: and every head was turned 
 that way. Something coming from thence seemed to excite 
 the cries, hisses, groans, and loud murmurs of discontent 
 which resounded on all sides. I leaned out of my window in 
 vain ; I could see nothing. I forgot my own situation, in my 
 invincible curiosity to learn what was going on ; and I was 
 about to descend into the Place, when I was arrested by 
 hearing voices and the noise of a quarrel upon my staircase, 
 which made me very speedily shut my door. Some men 
 were insisting upon coming up, and the porter, who was 
 convinced that I was absent, was endeavouring to persuade 
 them, by showing his pass-keys in his hand, that I no longer 
 inhabited the house. Two fresh voices were heard asserting 
 that it was quite true ; that not an hour ago every corner had 
 been searched, and positively no one to be found. I had but 
 just arrived in time. At last they all went murmuring away; 
 and by their imprecations, I easily learned to whom I was 
 indebted for this domiciliary visit. I was now obliged to 
 
LE DOCTSUR NOIR. 63 
 
 return sorrowfully to my window, a prisoner in iny own 
 house.* 
 
 The noise and agitation continued to increase every moment. 
 
 At last a low, dull, heavy sound shook the Place, like the 
 heavy rumble of cannon. An immense stream of people, 
 armed with pikes, mingled with the sea of heads that occupied 
 the Place; and the cause of all this tumult and agitation slowly 
 hove in sight. 
 
 It was an immense tumbrel, or cart, painted of a deep, 
 blood-coloured red, and loaded with eighty-four living victims! 
 They were all standing, squeezed confusedly, one against 
 the other. All sizes, sexes, ages, conditions, pressed together 
 in one close, compact mass. Every one was uncovered ; and 
 heads bald, or clothed with locks of gray, were mingled with 
 the little, round, blond heads of children or with fair youth- 
 ful ones, covered with their long flowing hair. White dresses, 
 peasants' striped and woollen clothes, uniforms of different 
 ranks and regiments, were confusedly mixed together. I saw 
 infants at the breasts of the mothers from whom they were so 
 soon to be parted, sucking or slumbering young, slender 
 girls beautiful women rude, amazed, staring clowns men 
 of fashion priests officers children. I have told you before, 
 this was what was called a,fournee. 
 
 The load was so heavy that three large horses staggered 
 under it, and could scarcely drag it along. Besides and this 
 was the cause of all the noise and confusion at every other 
 step the crowd stopped the cart, with loud shouts and vocifera- 
 tions. The horses backed and staggered one against the 
 other, and the cart was, in a manner, besieged. Then, above 
 the line of pikes, you might have seen the condemned stretch- 
 ing out their arms to their friends. It was like a vessel, on 
 the verge of shipwreck, seeking help from the sympathizing 
 crowd on shore. At every attempt made by the guards and 
 the sans-culottes to advance, the people uttered a loud cry, 
 and shoved and pushed them back with their arms, shoulders, 
 and breasts, interposing at lust their tremendous veto between 
 the tyranny and its victims. The cry was long, loud, con- 
 fused, increasing, invincible. It rose, as by one impulse, from 
 the Seine, from the bridges, from the quays, from the avenues, 
 the trees, the pavements. 
 Now! 
 
 * The doors of the apartments at Paris at that time had no handles and 
 locks, as ours have, but were merely opened by turning a key. The porter con- 
 vinced the municipal officers of the impossibility of any one having entered, the 
 door being closed, and he holding the key: the Bocteur Noir wes a prisoner in 
 his own apartments, having shut to the door in the inside, without having 
 taken out the key. 
 
62 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OP 
 
 As the cart passed, torrents of human beings rushed against 
 it it reeled^and shook as if about to be overset, like a vessel 
 heaving on its anchors. Once it seemed as if it would be 
 lifted up, with all its load. My heart beat with violence. 
 Would it but upset! Regardless of iny own danger, I 
 
 stretched myself out of my window. I was intoxicated I 
 
 was dying, with anxiety. I could hardly breath; all my 
 bein^ seemed concentrated in my eyes. In the exaltation of 
 my feelings, if, seemed to me that heaven and earth took part 
 in the^ spectacle. From time to time, a bright Hash of light- 
 ning illuminated the overhanging cloud ; and low thunder 
 growled in the distance. The black front of the Tuileries, 
 facing the setting sun, looked red and bloody ; the two great 
 squares of trees, thrown back by a gust of wind, seemed to 
 retreat as if in horror; the people groaned; and the deep, 
 hoarse voice was again re-echoed by the low, rolling thunder. 
 
 The shadows deepened the shadows of the approaching 
 storm, rather than those of evening. From time to time, a 
 light gust of wind raised a cloud of dust, which, for a moment, 
 hid the scene from my eyes. Again it dispersed, arid they 
 were once more fixed upon the struggling cart. I stretched 
 out my arms ; I cried aloud ; I invoked the people ; I called 
 out, " Courage! Courage!" I looked up to heaven; I almost 
 expected a miracle; I cried, " Only three days! only three 
 days! I ask but three days! Oh, Providence! Oh, Power 
 supreme! Only three days! Alas! alas!" 
 
 The cart advanced, slowly; with difficulty; obstructed at 
 every step but it advanced! The troops closed round it. 
 Between the guillotine and the statue of Liberty was now one 
 mass of bayonets. There stood the fatal haven for which the 
 vessel was bound. 
 
 The murmurs of the people, who seemed at last weary of 
 blood, and disgusted at these scenes of horror grew deeper 
 and deeper; yet, from some cause or other, their opposition 
 seemed to become fainter. I began to tremble; my knees 
 knocked together. 
 
 The ensemble of the picture was visible to my naked eye ; 
 to see it in detail, I took my perspective glass. The cart was 
 already at some distance from where I stood ; but I could dis- 
 tinguish a man in a gray dress, his arms behind his back I 
 do not know whether they were bound or not. I recognised 
 Andre Chenier. The cart was stopped again, while a sort of 
 contest arose around it. Then I saw a man in a lonjiet rouge 
 mount the platform of the guillotine, and begin to arrange a 
 basket. 
 
 The scene began to swim before me. I laid down my per- 
 spective glass, and wiped my eyes. 
 
LE DOCTJBUIl KOIR. 63 
 
 With every advance the cart made, the aspect of the 
 picture changed. Every step the people felt as a defeat; and 
 their cries became less furious and more sorrowful. The 
 crowd, however, continued to increase; and the progress was 
 retarded by their mass, though they offered no positive 
 resistance. 
 
 I took up my glass, and looked again. 
 
 Again I saw the melancholy travellers, elevated by their 
 whole height above the heads of the populace. The women 
 were mostly unknown to me. I distinguished some among 
 the unfortunate peasants, but not the women I dreaded to 
 see. The men I remembered at St. Lazare. Andre was 
 speaking, his eyes directed towards the setting sun. My 
 thoughts followed his; and while my eye watched the move- 
 ment of his lips, mine repeated aloud his last verses: 
 
 " Corarae un dernier rayon, comme un dernier zephir, 
 
 Anime le tin d'un beau jour, 
 Aupied de I'fcchafaud, j'essaie encor ma lyre, 
 Peut fctre est-ce bientot mon tour." 
 
 A violent and passionate gesture on his part made me 
 suddenly lay down my glass, and look upon the Place. 
 
 The cries had all at once ceased; the movement of the people 
 had become retrograde. 
 
 The quays so loaded, so crowded emptied rapidly. The 
 masses broke into groups, the groups into families, the families 
 into individuals. At the extremities of the Place there was 
 a cloud of dust, and people might be seen running away on 
 all sides. Women covered their heads with their gowns, 
 children with their petticoats all was confusion and rout. 
 Sympathy was extinguished, rage and indignation quelled, 
 opposition at an end. It rained! Those who understand 
 Paris will comprehend the scene ; I was a living witness of it. 
 
 It rained! 
 
 I have seen the same thing upon other occasions, equally 
 touching and equally important. The tumultuous cries, the 
 imprecations, the passionate vociferations, were succeeded by 
 hushed, plaintive murmurs, quick and brief exclamations; 
 whose low notes, descending the scale, expressed the feeble 
 and expiring resistance, and seemed to mourn over the weak- 
 ness of this feeble race. The debased and humbled spirit of 
 the nation yielded before the statue of violated Liberty, and 
 before the red and real scaffold, dyed with the best blood of 
 France. 
 
 It rained! 
 
 Those who now pushed forwards, were either endeavouring 
 to see the execution, or to escape the rain ! While the heavy 
 
64 PROFESSIONAL VISITS OF LE DOCTliUS. NOIll. 
 
 drops fell fast and thick, the executioners seized their oppor- 
 tunity; the tempestuous waves had become calm, and the vessel 
 arrived at its destined port. 
 
 The guillotine raised its bloody arm. 
 
 At this moment there was not a voice to be heard, not a 
 movement to be seen, throughout this vast Place. The 
 monotonous splashing of the rain was the only sound that 
 reached me. The water fell in streams between me and the 
 scaffold. My limbs shook beneath me. I was obliged to fall 
 upon my knees. 
 
 So kneeling, breathless, my heart standing still, I looked 
 and listened. The rain was still so transparent, that I could 
 just distinguish the colour of the figures, as they rose between 
 the two beams. I could see a space between the block and 
 the knife ; and when a shadow crossed this space, I shut my 
 eyes, till the cries of the spectators apprised me that I might 
 look again. 
 
 Thirty-two times did I bend my head, uttering a passionate 
 and despairing prayer, such as never burst from human heart 
 before. After the thirty-third cry, I saw a gray figure stand- 
 ing on the platform. I resolved to honour his courage and his 
 genius, and, at least, to have the fortitude to witness his death. 
 I rose up 
 
 The head rolled away, and the spirit of life escaped in a 
 torrent of blood. 
 
 END OF LE DOCTEUR NOIR. 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ROAD TO LILLE. 
 
 THE great road leading from Artois into Flanders is long and 
 melancholy enough; it extends in one undeviating straight 
 line over a bed of stiff, yellow clay, and through wic'e 
 extending downs; unbroken by tree, hedge, or ditch, on 
 either side. 
 
 It so happened, in the month of March 1815, that I was 
 travelling upon this road, and I there met with an adventure 
 which I have not since found it easy to forget. 
 
 I was on horseback, and alone; wrapped in my heavy 
 military cloak; my black helmet upon my head, my pistols 
 in my belt, and my larg^e sabre by my side. It had been 
 raining pitilessly, and without intermission, for four whole 
 days and nights; and yet, in spite of it. all, I dashed along, 
 and was singing, as I remember, a gay French song. 
 
 I was young enough then ! 
 
 La, Maison du lioi in 1814 was, in fact, almost entirely 
 composed of old grey-beards or mere children the empire 
 had consumed all the men. 
 
 My comrades were marching before me, somewhat in 
 advance; following the king, Louis the Eighteenth, as he 
 <.Iov;ly retired to the frontiers, before the triumphant return 
 of his great rival: their white cloaks and scarlet uniforms 
 might still be perceived in the horizon, as they slowly 
 plodded their way through the mud and rain; while on the 
 extreme verge of the distance behind me, the lancers of 
 Napoleon were beginning to make their appearance, hovering 
 on our rear, their streaming tri-coloured pennons flaunting 
 from time to time upon the air. My horse had cast a shoe, 
 so that I had fallen some little way behind my companions; 
 but he was young and powerful, and I urged him along at a 
 high dashing trot, thinking it was time to be rejoining my 
 cornpanj'. I L'aily breasted the pelting rain, the iron sheath 
 
66 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 of my good sword rattled against my booted heel ; I put my 
 hand to my belt, it was well stuffed with gold Napoleons ; I 
 was young, ardent, happy a mere boy, yet a soldier ; what 
 on earth could I desire more? 
 
 It continued, however, to rain pitilessly and unremittingly, 
 and for some time I continued to sing as perseveringly ; but 
 at last I got weary of hearing no sound but my own voice, 
 the ceaseless pattering of the rain, and the plashing of my 
 horse's feet, as he struggled through the sludge and clay. 
 My song gradually sank into silence ; I paused,^and listened 
 no sound but the ceaseless drip and patter of the rain, and 
 the plash, plunge, and struggle of the determined animal! 
 The road became deeper and deeper, the clay stiffer and more 
 tenacious, at every step the plunges and efforts of the poor 
 animal more heavy and violent. At last we were forced 
 both of us fairly to give it up, and continue our journey at a 
 foot's pace. 
 
 My large military boots were speedily crusted over with a 
 thick sticky clay, as yellow as ochre, while the rain poured 
 into them as if they had been buckets. I looked at my 
 epaulettes my pride and consolation in every disaster; alas! 
 huge drops were falling from the rich gold lace, its glories 
 already diniry and tarnished this was the unkindest cut of 
 all for a lad of sixteen. I began to look as dismal as the sky, 
 and as crest-fallen as my poor horse, who, with dripping mane 
 and drooping head, ploughed through the blinding rain and 
 stiff clogging clay. 
 
 It was" thus, that left to my own meditations, without a 
 single object to divert my attention, I began, perhaps for the 
 first time in my life, to reflect to ask myself whither I was 
 going? and why? 
 
 I had no answer to give; and yet I soon reconciled my 
 mind to this blank and utter ignorance. It was enough, my 
 regiment was there before me, and where my regiment was, 
 there it was my duty to be. This reflection at once satisfied 
 my mind as far as the question regarded myself; and expe- 
 riencing that delightful sense of repose which such satisfaction 
 gives, I blessed the ineffable sentiment, that sense of duty, 
 which produced it. 
 
 Continuing my ruminations I began to reflect upon this 
 sense of duty, and to ask myself in what it properly and 
 really consisted. 
 
 And next, considering the numbers at that moment before 
 me heads wrinkled and grey with old a^e, or bright with the 
 golden curls of eighteen ; all alike enduring, with uncomplain- 
 ing patience, fatigues and hardships which, under other cir- 
 cumstances, would have been thought absolutely intolerable 
 
SEALED OliDEUS. 67 
 
 men, who, with every prospect before them that could render 
 life valuable, were risking it, without the slightest hesitation, 
 and with the utmost sangfroid, merely from a sense of duty, 
 I felt how large a share 1 might myself claim in that sentiment 
 of composed submission which men feel when obeying implicitly 
 the laws of honour and duty, and I began to think that this 
 self-devotion, this abnegation de soi, must be a much more uni- 
 versal matter than I had at first imagined. 
 
 I asked myself, whether this self-devotion were not, in fact, 
 an innate sentiment a part of ourselves of the nature born 
 with us ; and from that I proceeded to inquire what the pre- 
 cise nature of this instinct, if instinct it were, mmht be: an 
 instinct which seemed to urge mankind, as by a kind of ne- 
 cessity, to seek pleasure in obedience, and to feel a desire to 
 denose, as it were, their free agency, and consequent respon- 
 sibility, in other hands ; as if thereby a burden was laid down 
 too weighty to be voluntarily supported and how this sensa- 
 tion of relief seemed to give a secret feeling of complacency, 
 and a freedom to the act of obedience, which reconcile it to 
 the pride of human nature. 
 
 I saw this powerful and mysterious instinct acting upon 
 human society, and binding families and nations into immense 
 and powerful bodies but in no form of society did I see it 
 exercising an influence so incalculable as upon our modern 
 armies Nowhere is the renunciation of individual action, 
 word, desire, almost thought, so complete as here. The obe- 
 dience of the citizen has its limits in every region of the earth, 
 he takes a right to reflect and discriminate before he obeys 
 The child reasons on the command and remonstrates even 
 the tender submission of the wife ceases where error and crime 
 begin, and the law countenances her in resistance to viciously 
 exercised authority; but military obedience, at once active 
 and passive, receives its orders obeys, executes, strikes, blind 
 as the destinies of the antique world ! 
 
 I now paused, and began to follow out into its remote con- 
 sequences this military self-abnegation ; this unlimited obedi- 
 ence to orders, sans retour et sans reproche, demonstrated by 
 the unhesitating sacrifice of every individual feeling and opinion 
 and calling at times, for actions so entirely out of the usual 
 line of proceeding. 
 
 Tims I mused and pondered, allowing-my horse, meanwhile, 
 to choose his own path and his own pace ; the long undeviating 
 way lengthening out in one unbroken line before me, neither 
 house, tree, nor living object breaking the melancholy plain 
 which stretched to the horizon. 
 
 The road traversed this dusky landscape, like a long, narrow 
 yellow stripe, upon a blackish, greenish, grey ground ; only 
 
6 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 varied, where the clay had melted into an actual morass, by 
 splashes of liquid mud gleaming at a distance in that cold 
 watery light, which severed at intervals the heavy wandering 
 clouds. 
 
 I was looking along this stripe of yellow road, with a sort 
 of vague hope to see an object of some sort or other which 
 might break the intolerable monotony $ when about a quarter 
 of a league in advance I discovered, what appeared to me a 
 small dark point, slowly travelling along it in the same di- 
 rection as myself. Even this object, trifling as it might be, 
 was some little relief in the dismal solitude around me; and 
 I continued to watch its progress, as the little black point 
 kept moving before me in the direction of Lille, in that sort 
 of zig-zag irregular manner which bespeaks ways heavy and 
 difficult. 
 
 I now pressed my horse forward, and gained upon the object ; 
 and the road mending a little, put him upon a trot, which soon 
 brought me near enough to discover it to be a small covered 
 cart. I was hungry and thirsty, so thinking it a sutler's cart, 
 I made all sail for this fortunate island in the desert; but, ar- 
 rived within a hundred yards, I perceived my mistake ; it was 
 no sutler's equipage. 
 
 A little cart of white wood, covered with three wooden hoops, 
 over which was stretched apiece of black oil-cloth, was swinging 
 on springs like a cradle, between two large wheels, at that 
 moment axle-deep in mud ; and was drawn painfully along by 
 a white mule, which went staggering and straining through the 
 mire. A man on foot walked upon one side of this little 
 carriage. 
 
 The man was a large, strongly-built, military man; he 
 might be about fifty years of age; his back a little rounded, 
 as may be observed in old infantry officers who have in their 
 time carried the knapsack; his hair and moustaches grey. 
 His uniform and the epaulette of a chcf-de-lataillo?iwerQvis'ib[Q 
 under a short threadbare blue cloak which he wore. His coun- 
 tenance was severe, but had an air of goodness in it severe 
 mais bun (harsh, but kind) the true expression of the old 
 soldier's face. He looked askance at me as I rode up, and 
 drawing a musket briskly out of the cart, presented it, passing 
 at the time to the other side of the mule, as if to put his beast 
 between us. I had observed that he wore the white cockade, 
 so I contented myself with merely lifting up my arm and dis- 
 playing my scarlet uniform; upon which he replaced his mus- 
 ket, saying 
 
 ' ' Right ! I took you for one of those greyhounds there, 
 behind us Will you drink?" 
 
 He had a cocoa-nut, mounted in silver, hanging round his neck, 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 69 
 
 in which, by-the-by, he seemed to take some little pride; he 
 presented it to me, and I swallowed a few mouthfuls of very 
 ordinary white wine, with very extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 Having returned him his cocoa-nut: 
 
 "To the King's health!" said he, pledging me "It has 
 seemed good to 'his Majesty to make me a chevalier of the 
 Legion of Honour, so I can do no less than conduct him to 
 the frontiers. That done, as I have no bread-winner but my 
 sword, I shall return to my battalion 'tis my duty." 
 
 And having said this rather in the way of a soliloquy than 
 as addressing me, he gave his poor white mule a poke, adding, 
 that he had no time to lose; and I being much of the same 
 opinion, resumed my march at the same time, and followed 
 three or four paces in the rear. 
 
 I kept examining him in silence. I hate questionings and 
 questioners ; and so we continued our advance for some little 
 time, without speaking, till having made about a quarter of a 
 league, he stopped to allow his poor little staggering mule to 
 take breath ; and I did the same for the sake of my horse ; 
 trying as 1 did so, to squeeze the water out of my large 
 military boots, which were literally brimming over. 
 
 " Your boots are like sponges," said he. 
 
 " They have not been ofFmy legs these four nights!" 
 
 "Bah! And in eight more much you will care about 
 that. It's a fine thing in these days to have only one's self 
 to look to. Do you knov/ what I ha?e got in that thing 
 there?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A woman!" 
 
 " So, ho!" was all I said, quietly enough, and resumed my 
 march at a foot pace; he following with his little cart and 
 mule. 
 
 Presently he resumed: 
 
 "This wheelbarrow did not cost me much, nor the poor 
 beast neither ; but they do my business well enough though 
 the road is none of the best." 
 
 That was true indeed ; and I stopped here, and offered him 
 a turn upon my horse. The offer was made in sincerity ; and 
 he, seeing that it was so, and that I did not seem disposed to 
 amuse myself at the expense either of him or his equipage a 
 little fear of ridicule having evidently embarrassed him at 
 first seemed suddenly set at his ease, and coming up to my 
 stirrups, he struck me slightly on the knee, saying 
 
 1 I see you are a good fellow after all, though you are one 
 of the lobsters." 
 
 Something in the tone with which he thus alluded to the 
 four "compagnies rouge;--," betrayed the bitterness with which 
 
70 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 the army in general regarded the privileges of these favoured 
 regiments. 
 
 " However," he continued, " I will not trouble your horse, 
 for one good reason among others, that I don't know how to 
 ride horsemanship not being my business." 
 
 " How so? Officers of your rank are mounted." 
 
 " B^h! Once a year, and upon a hired horse; but I am a 
 seaman, if the truth must out. A sailor turned into a foot- 
 soldier 1 What business should I have on horseback?" 
 
 And having said this, he walked on silently a few paces, 
 eyeing me askance, as if he expected to be questioned ; but I, 
 pursuing my way, and nothing coming, he resumed his dis- 
 course of himself. 
 
 " You are not particularly curious, I see. What I said 
 just now must have surprised you rather." 
 
 " I am not easily surprised." 
 
 " Oh! that's it, is it? But I fancy, if I were to tell you 
 why I left the navy, you might be surprised for once in a way." 
 
 "Well! and why should you not? It might serve to keep 
 you warm, and make me forget this rain, which pelts in at my 
 collar and runs out at my heels." 
 
 The old officer now seemed to prepare himself for a recital 
 with great solemnity and gravity, like a child commencing 
 some most important narration. He took off his schako, 
 which was covered with oil-cloth, shook it, replaced it gave 
 that peculiar twitch of the shoulder which marks the man who 
 has served in the infantry, and risen from the ranks the 
 hitch which a foot- soldier gives to his knapsack a habit in 
 the soldier which becomes a tic in the officer. He then put. 
 his cocoa-flagon to his mouth, swallowed two or three drops, 
 gave his little tnule an encouraging kick under the ribs, and 
 thus began. 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 71 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE THREE BED SEALS. 
 
 *'!N the first place, you must know, young man, that I was 
 born at Brest. I began by gaining my half ration as enfant 
 de troupe, my father being a lifeguardsman. This lasted till 
 I was nine years old but I loved the sea; so, one fine nifjht, 
 while we were quartered at Brest, I hid myself in the hold of 
 a merchant vessel bound for the Indies, and when she had lost 
 sight of land, lo! and behold! there was I. The captain had 
 his choice, either to fling me overboard or make a ship's boy 
 of me : he chose the latter, so cabin-boy I became. 
 
 "Before the Revolution broke out, I had made my way; 
 and by that time I had become captain in ray turn master 
 of a smart little merchant vessel having been then at sea 
 about fifteen years the Ex-marine royale a good marine 
 that, faith ! after all. Well as the Ex-marine royale happened 
 in those days you know why to be rather short of officers, 
 they picked up commanders how and where they could here 
 and there, among merchant ships anywhere, as they came 
 to hand. I had had one or two pretty smart affairs with 
 
 smugglers I'll tell you about that some other time so they 
 
 picked me up among the rest, and gave me the command of a 
 brig of war named the Marat. 
 
 "It was on a certain day, the 28th Fructidor, 1797, that I 
 received orders to put myself in readiness to sail for Cayenne. 
 I was to transport sixty soldiers, and a deporte, one remaining 
 out of one hundred and ninety- three which the frigate la 
 Decade had taken on board a few days before. I had orders 
 to treat this individual well, and the letter I received from 
 the Directory upon the subject enclosed another sealed with 
 three red seals the centre one being of a most extravagant 
 size which I was not to open until we made the first degree 
 north latitude, between 27 and 28 west longitude ; that is, 
 just before we should be about to cross the line. 
 
 " The letter was a great long packet, so well closed upon 
 every side that it was impossible to catch the slightest glimpse 
 of its contents. It was, as I said, a long, thin, scrawling- 
 looking letter, with three red seals. I am not naturaUy 
 sup^rstitious, but there was something in the look of the letter 
 that 1 did not altogether like, though I could give no reason 
 why however, I carried it into my^cabin, and stuck it under 
 the glass of a little shabby English clock, which was fastened 
 above my bed. 
 
72 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 "This bed was a true sea-bed you know the sort of thing 
 no, no, you are only sixteen, you have seen nothing as yet 
 you know nothing about the matter. 
 
 " Well, without boasting then, nothing on earth a queen's 
 bed-chamber even, is not neater or nicer than a seaman's 
 cabin. Everything in its place a hook or a nail for every- 
 thing! The vessel rolls like a dolphin nothing rolls out of 
 order. The lockers fit into the sides of the cabin not an 
 inch is lost. My bed was a chest, when it was open I slept 
 in it, when it was shut I sat or lay upon it; it was my sofa 
 I lay upon it and smoked my pipe sometimes my table. and 
 then people sat upon two little round stools that were in my 
 cabin. Oh! that cabin was a perfect baby-house and my 
 brig such a pretty thing too! We made it out well enough 
 within her ; the voyage would have been pretty pleasant but 
 for 
 
 " However, we had a fair wind, N.ET.W. and I was busy 
 fixing my letter under my clock glass, when who should come 
 into my cabin but my deporte, for the first time. He had a 
 pretty little creature hanging upon his arm, might be seven- 
 teen years old or thereabouts. As for him, he was, as he told 
 me afterwards, upwards of nineteen; a fine young fellow, 
 rather pale too pale, mayhap, for a man but he was a man, 
 nevertheless, and a man who knew as well what it became a 
 man to do upon occasion as many more daring-looking fellows. 
 
 "You shall hear. Well, he had, as I said, his little wife 
 hanging upon his arm pretty! pretty creature! young, 
 merry, and pretty as a little bird: they looked, indeed, like 
 a pair of turtle-doves ; it was a pleasure to see them together ; 
 so I turned and I said 
 
 " l Well, my young ones, so ye are come to pay your respects 
 to the old captain, are ye? That's very pretty, I must say, of 
 ye both I am going to -carry you a long journey so much 
 the better, we shall have time enough to get acquainted I am 
 sorry to receive Madame in this mess, but you see I was nail- 
 ing up this great beast of a letter Will you be pleased to lend 
 a hand?' 
 
 '* They were such dear little things ! The young fellow took 
 the hammer, and the little wife the nails, handing them as I 
 wanted them ; she laughing and crying out, ' Now this way, 
 Captain, now a little that way, Captain now a little to the 
 right now a thought to the left.' Making game of me because 
 the vessel swung me to and fro, and I could not rightly fix the 
 letter. I think I see her now with her sweet little smiling 
 eye?, and her merry voice 'This way, Captain no; that 
 way, Captain a little to the left a thought, to the right.' 
 
 " She was making a fool of me all the time. 
 
SEALED ORDERS, (u 
 
 " ' Ah! you little wicked thing,' said I, ' I'll get you well 
 scolded by your husband, that I will.' And then she sprang 
 up, and flung her pretty arms round his neck. 
 
 " They were sweet creatures! that's the truth and in this 
 way our acquaintance began, and we were soon excellent 
 friends. 
 
 "We had a prosperous voyage; the weather was. charming, 
 and I had never had such pretty company on board with me 
 before. I made my lovers dine with me every day. It 
 amused me to watch them. 
 
 " When we had dined -maybe on nothing but salt fish and 
 biscuit the young fellow and his little wife would sit gazing, 
 gazing upon each other, as if it were the first tune they had 
 ever met in their lives and I would laugh and make fun of 
 them. Then they would laugh at themselves We used to 
 laugh like three fools at nothing at all But it was enough to 
 make a cat laugh to see how they loved one another. 
 
 "Everything was as it should be nothing came amiss to 
 them; they had nothing better than the common ship-fare, 
 and that in those days was poor enough- little cared they. I 
 used to give them a little drop of cherry brandy as a treat, 
 when they dined with me half a glass or so just to sweeten 
 their mouths that was all they ever got. They had no bet- 
 ter bed than their hammock, and they rolled together like 
 these two pears which you see in my wet pocket-handkerchief. 
 But they were always cheerful and contented. I was like you, 
 I asked no questions what mattered their names or their 
 history to me? I had nothing to do with that I a mere sailor 
 nothing but to carry them safe over the wave, like two 
 birds of paradise as they were. 
 
 " Before a month had passed over our heads, I looked upon 
 them as if they had been my own children. Every morning 
 I used to call them into my cabin. The young fellow would 
 sit writing at my table, that is to say, at my chest, which was 
 my bed. He would often help me' with my reckoning, and 
 soon learned to do it better than I could. I was astonished at 
 him. His young wife would sit upon one of the round stools 
 in my cabin, working at her needle. 
 
 " One day we were all three sitting in this way, and I said, 
 * Do you know, my young ones, as it seems to aae, we make 
 a very pretty family picture here? Mind, I don't mean to ask 
 questions but, maybe, you have not much money to spare, 
 and you are, both of you, as I think, a deuced deal too pretty 
 and too delicate, to dig and delve in the burning sun of Cay- 
 enne, like many a poor devil of deporte before you. It's a 
 bad country a bad country, take my word for it, I who 
 have roughed it through sun and wind till I have the skin of u 
 
74 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 crocodile, might do well enough there faith, I should live 
 like a lord ! So if you should happen to have mind, I ask 
 no questions but if you should chance to have a bit of foolish 
 friendship for your poor old captain here, why I'll tell you what 
 I'll do ; I'll get rid of this old brig she's not much better than 
 a wooden shoe after all so I'll get rid of her as fast as I can 
 and I'll settle inyself down there with you, if you like. You 
 see I have not a soul in the Hying world to cafe for, or that 
 os-res for me. I want relations I want a home I want a 
 family. I should like to make a family and a home with you, 
 my pretty young ones. You see I might serve you in many 
 ways I've got something pretty in that old chest there ; we 
 should have wherewith to make a good fight of it and when 
 the old fellow was under the moulds, as they say, you know all 
 that was left would be for you and yours. Well, what say ye?" 
 
 "They said nothing at all, but kept looking first at each 
 other, and then at me and then at each other again almost 
 as if they doubted whether they heard me rightly. At last 
 the young one it was what she often did flew like a little 
 bird, as she was, and flinging her arms round the neck of the 
 other, threw herself upon his knee, all red and blubbering like 
 a little child. He pressed her in his arms, and the tears stood 
 in his eyes too, but he held out his hand to me, looking still 
 paler than usual. She kept muttering and murmuring to him 
 in a low voice, while her fair silken hair, which hung down in 
 long, floating curls, as it was the fashion to wear it then, fell 
 all over his breast and shoulders if you had seen them ! It 
 was like a flood of gold showered over him. Well, for some 
 time they kept murmuring to one another in a low voice ; he 
 kissing her from time to time on the forehead, and she crying 
 like at last I could stand it no longer, so I said 
 
 " 'Well, well! will you never have done? What's it all 
 about?' 
 
 " ' But out, Captain,' said the young fellow at last, 'you are 
 too good. But but you cannot make a family and a home 
 with deportee, and he looked down. 
 
 " 'Can't!' cried I; 'why not? I don't know what you have 
 done to be deportes, and I don't care neither you may tell me 
 all about it some day, or let it alone, just as you like. You don't 
 look to me like a fellow with a very heavy load upon his con- 
 science I wish everybody else may have as little to answer 
 for, that's all. Come, come, poor young creatures, take courage 
 but yet let us understand one another while I have the 
 keeping of you, you must except no favours from me ; and if 
 you were to try to fly away, I would wring both your necks 
 just as readily as if ye were two pigeons. Ay, but I would 
 though. But once let me be fairly rid of my epaulettes, and I 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 75 
 
 know neither admiral nor Directory I am my own man again 
 then.' 
 
 " ' But,' said the young gentleman, shaking his brown hair, 
 which was slightly powdered, as was the fashion of the time, 
 ' I fear, Captain, it might be disadvantageous, nay, dangerous 
 for you, to seem to know or to take interest in us. We laugh 
 for we are both of us young and giddy ; we look happy, 
 because we love one another a little but I own it goes hard 
 enough with me at moments, when I think of the future and 
 of what will become of my poor Laure ' 
 
 "He pressed the head of his young wife against his bosom: 
 'That was what you wished to have said, is it not, my dearest? 
 Is not that what you meant to say too?' 
 
 "I had recourse to my pipe ; I felt an odd swelling in my 
 throat, and my eyes were twinkling. 
 
 ' ' Come, come/ 1 said, 'we shall see. If the pipelncommodes 
 Madame, let her go away/ 
 
 " She got up; her pretty face all red, and blurred over with 
 her tears, like a child that had been crying. 
 
 " 'But,' said she, rallying like, and looking more cheerfully 
 as she turned to the clock, but 'you neither of you ever seem 
 to look at the letter.' 
 
 "I felt a strange creeping come over my flesh as she said this ; 
 I felt a strange, odd sensation, like pain in every hair of my head. 
 
 " 'The deuce,' said I, 'I had almost forgotten it ; that would 
 have been a pretty commence suppose we had passed the 
 first degree I should have had nothing left for it but to throw 
 myself overboard. It is lucky enough, child, that you recol- 
 lected that great beast of a letter/ 
 
 "I went directly to my chart, to look where we were. I 
 found we had a week before us at least ; it was a great relief. 
 Yet my heart was heavy ; I could not tell why. 
 
 " 'The Directory does not understand trifling/ thought I. 
 ' It's deuced lucky it'a not too late I really had forgotten all 
 about it/ 
 
 "Well, sir, there we stood, all three of us, looking up at 
 the letter, as if it could have spoken to us. As it happened, 
 the sun was shining full upon the glass of the clock-case, and 
 fell upon the great staring red seal of the letter ; I could not 
 help fancying it looked something like a great big monster, an 
 ogre's face, grinning from the middle of the fire; it looked horrid ! 
 
 " 'Could not one fancy/ said I, to make them laugh, "its 
 great big eyes were starting out of its head ?' 
 
 " 'Ah, my love!' said the wife, 'it looks like blood!' 
 
 " 'Pooh, pooh!' said her husband, taking her arm under his ; 
 ' it looks like a letter of invitation to a wedding. Come, come 1 
 let the letter alone ; it's time to go to bed.' 
 
76 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 "And away they went. They went upon deck, and left 
 me alone with this great beast of a letter. I remember that I 
 kept looking at it as I smoked my pipe ; it seemed to fix its 
 great red eyes upon mine, fascinating like the eyes of a ser- 
 pent. Its great long face, its third seal just in the middle, 
 larger than the two others red, wide, raw, staring like the 
 inaw of a fierce wolf! I could not endure the sight of it. I 
 took my great coat, and hung it over both clock and letter ; I 
 went upon deck to finish my pipe. 
 
 "We were in the latitude of the Cape de Verd islands ; the 
 Marat was running before a fair wind, at the rate of ten knots 
 an hour. It was a splendid tropical night the stars bright, 
 large, and shining ; the moon rising upon the horizon big as 
 a sun of silver, the line of the ocean parting it, and a long 
 stream of pale shimmering light falling upon the waves, which, 
 as they broke, sparkled like diamonds : I sat upon deck smoking 
 my pipe and looking at them. 
 
 " All was quite still, except the footfall of the officer on 
 watch, as he paced the deck ; gazing, as I did, upon the shadow 
 of the vessel, stealing over the silent waters. 
 
 "I love silence and order I hate noise, and I hate confusion. 
 The lights should all have been extinguished by this time ; 
 but when I looked upon the deck, I thought I saw a little red 
 line of light just below my feet. At another time and place 
 this would have made me angry ; but knowing the light came 
 from the cabin of my little deportes, I determined to see what 
 they were about. 
 
 "I had only to look down; I could see into the cabin 
 through the skylight. 
 
 "The young girl was upon her knees; she was saying her 
 prayers. A lamp swinging from the ceiling lighted the room. 
 She had on a long white night-dress, and her fair golden shining 
 hair floated over her shoulders, and almost touched two little 
 bare feet, which were peeping from under her white dress ! so 
 pretty I was turning away ; but pshaw ! said I, an old soldier.' 
 What matters it? So I stayed. 
 
 "The husband was sitting upon a little trunk, his head 
 resting between his hands, looking at her as she prayed. She 
 raised her face to heaven, and then I saw that her large blue 
 eyes were filled with tears. She looked like a Magdalene, 
 that she did! He took -up the end of her long hair, and 
 silently pressed it to his lips, 
 
 "When she had done, she made the sign of the cross, smil- 
 ing so softly like an angel of heaven, as she was I saw he 
 made the sign of the cross too, half as if he were ashamed of 
 himself it was droll enough to see a man do it at all in those 
 days, was not- it? Then she rose f-~tfi her knees, and he 
 
SEALED OIvDBRS. 77 
 
 kissed her, and lifting her in his arms, laid her in her cot, 
 just as a nurse lays a little baby in its cradle. It was dread- 
 fully hot, and the swinging motion of the cot seemed to please 
 her ; and there she lay, her little bare feet crossed, her long 
 white night-dress folded round her, swinging, swinging, and 
 looking as if she were smiling herself to sleep, just like a rosy 
 innocent child, pretty, pretty creature! At last, half-asleep 
 herself, she said 
 
 (i ' Are .you not sleepy? what are you thinking about? 
 Why do you keep sitting there, my love?' 
 
 "He was still sitting, with his head resting upon his hands, 
 and he made no answer. The good little thing seemed uneasy 
 at this, and she stretched her pretty head out of the hammock 
 like a bird peering out of its nest, and looked at him, her 
 little cherry lips half open, but seeming afraid to disturb him 
 by saying more ; at last, he said 
 
 " * Ah! my sweet Laure, as we approach America I cannot 
 help being anxious I do not know why but I feel that this 
 voyage has been the happiest part of our lives/ 
 
 " ' So it seems to me,' said she; 'and I wish it could but 
 last for ever.' 
 
 " He glanced up at her, suddenly clasping his hands in a 
 transport of love and affection that is quite indescribable: 
 'And yet, my angel you cannot help crying when you say 
 your prayers, and that goes to my heart for J know what 
 you are thinking of and then I fear you must repent, of 
 what you have done ' 
 
 ' ' ' Repent ! ' said she, looking very sorry : ' Repent ! Repent 
 having come with you! What! do you think that because 1 
 had been yours only such a very, very short time that I should 
 not love you? Was I not your wife? Has a wife no duties 
 to perform because she is only seventeen? Does that make 
 the difference? Did not my mother herself, did not my 
 sisters say, that I ought to go with you to Guiana? Did they 
 see anything very wonderful in that? I only wonder you 
 think so much about it, my love; it was so natural that I 
 should come with you. How can you 'be sorry that I should 
 be with you to live with you, if you are to live, and to die 
 with you, if you are to die?' 
 
 " She said this with such a tone, so low, so soft, so kind; 
 it was like the sweetest music you ever heard in your whole 
 life. I was quite affected. I said to myself 'You good 
 little thing!' 
 
 '* The young man began to sigh, striking the floor impa- 
 tiently with his feet, while he kissed repeatedly the little hand 
 and arm which she was holding out. 
 
 " ' Ah, Laurette! my Laurettet When I think that if our 
 
78 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 marriage had only been delayed four days only four days ! 
 that then I should have been arrested and transported alone 
 I cannot forgive myself.' 
 
 " At this the little one leaned out of her hammock, stretched 
 out her pretty white arms, clasped his head, pressed his fore- 
 head, his hair, his eyes, smiling like a cherub, and murmuring 
 all sorts of little fond woman's things I never saw anything 
 so pretty in my whole life. Then she shut his mouth with 
 her pretty soft fingers, and she said, while she took her long 
 hair and wiped his eyes with it \ 
 
 " ' But is it not much better to have your little wife with 
 you? I am sure I like going to Cayenne very much I shall 
 like to see savages, and have cocoa-nut trees, like Paul and 
 Virginia we shall each of us plant one, and water it, and see 
 which grows the fastest and we will build a little hut, and I 
 will work day and night for you, if you like I am a very, 
 very strong little thing ; look, what stout little arms I have 
 got ; you see I can almost lift you, don't laugh. I can work 
 and embroider; and there will be a town, and they will want 
 embroidery ; and then I can teach music and drawing ; and 
 if they know how to read, you can write books, you know.' 
 
 "I remember the poor young fellow seemed to wince at 
 this last, as if he were in great pain, and he cried out in a 
 piteous voice, * Write! write!' 
 
 " And then he pressed the clenched fist of one hand, with 
 violence, against the palm of the other. 
 
 "*Ah! write! Why did I ever write? What business 
 had I to write? Write! It is the vocation of a fool I 
 believed in their liberty of the press was I- mad? and what 
 did I write for to publish half-a-dozen commonplace notions, 
 to be read by those who thought as I did, to be flung at the 
 back of the fire by those who did not of no use on earth but 
 to injure myself. Myself! little matter but thou, my angel! 
 my sweet, beautiful, beautiful angel! My wife of four days, 
 what hadst thou done? Tell me, how could I have the heart 
 to let thee do it? How could I suffer it? Thou dost not 
 even know, poor little thing, whither thou art going. Dost 
 thou know, poor chi^d, that thou wilt be sixteen hundred 
 leagues from thy mother and sisters ? And all for my sake 
 my sake!' 
 
 " She hid her head one moment in her pillow and I who 
 was above could see that she was crying, but he from below 
 could not see her face ; and when she uncovered it again, she 
 was smiling to make him smile and she said 
 
 "'And, besides, we are so excessively rich Look!' said 
 she, bursting out laughing, 'Look at my purse! my whole 
 worldly treasure one gold louis-d'or all my worldly wealth '' 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 79 
 
 " He began to laugh too. 
 
 "'By heaven! and I have spent my last half-crown I 
 gave it to the fellow who carried your trunks on board.' 
 
 "'Ah, pooh!' cried she; 'what matters it?' clicking her 
 white fingers like castanets ; ' nobody so merry as those who 
 have nothing at all I besides, I have my two diamond rings 
 that my mother gave me, they are good for something, all the 
 world over we can sell them when you like and besides, I 
 am sure that good, worthy captain means kindly by us and 
 I suspect that he knows very well what's in the letter. It is 
 a recommendation to the Governor of Cayenne.' 
 
 " 'Perhaps,' said he ; * who knows ?' 
 
 " ' To be sure it is,' continued the little wife. ' You are 
 so good I am sure the government has only banished you 
 for a short time they can have no feeling against you/ 
 
 " This seemed so probable and, pretty creature ! calling 
 me that good, worthy captain I was quite touched. I began, 
 too, to hope that she had guessed rightly; however it was 
 time the light should be put out, so I struck the deck with my 
 foot, and said, Hallo ! my young ones, fire and candle out 
 Put out your lamp, if you please.' 
 
 " They blew out their lamp; and I heard them afterwards 
 laughing and chattering in their hammock, like two little 
 school-fellows, while I continued to walk the deck smoking 
 my pipe. All the stars of the tropics were at their posts, 
 large as moons, the wind was blowing softly ; how quiet and 
 beautiful everything seemed that night I 
 
 "As I walked I kept reflecting, that in all probability the 
 dear little thing had, indeed, guessed rightly. It was very 
 likely that one of the five directors might have thought twice, 
 and recommended this poor j r oung fellow to me I did not, 
 indeed, quite comprehend why but I never attempt to un- 
 derstand their fine state affairs ; and in short, I began to think 
 it might very well be so, and pleased and happy the thought 
 made me. 
 
 " I went into my cabin, lifted down my old coat, and looked 
 again at the letter. It had quite a different appearance the 
 great mouth seemed to smile, the seals looked like roses, and I 
 gave it a friendly nod. Yet I hung my coat over it again. . 
 After all, I was as well pleased not to see it However, we 
 thought no more about the matter, and we seemed as merry 
 as ever ; but as we approached the Line, we began, some of us, 
 not to be quite so comfortable. 
 
 One fine morning when I awakened, I was surprised not to 
 feel the slightest motion of the vessel. I jumped up. 
 
 Latitude, one degree north. Longitude, between 27 and 
 28 west. 
 
80 8J2ALED ORDERS. 
 
 I went upon deck the sea was as smooth as glass, the sails 
 clinging idly round the masts It was a dead calm. I looked 
 askance at the letter, 'I shall have time enough to open thee.' 
 I said. 
 
 I waited until evening. I watched the sun slowly sinking 
 into the ocean. Then it was necessary to break open the 
 letter. 
 
 I opened the clock-glass with a sharp, hasty, irritated sort of 
 feeling pulled out my sealed orders 
 
 " Well, my dear, I held the paper in my hand a quarter of 
 an hour, at least, before I could find courage to open it. At 
 last, This is too absurd,' I said, and tore open the three 
 seals. I remember that in domg so, I ground the large, red, 
 grinning one with my thumb into a thousand pieces. 
 
 I read the letter. I rubbed my eyes, I could not believe 
 what I saw I read the letter over again I read it again I 
 began at the lowest line and read it backwards from one end 
 to the other. I could not believe my senses my knees knocked 
 together. I sat down I had a sort of cold feeling all over 
 the skin of my face I rubbed my cheeks and the palms of my 
 hands with rum I despised myself for my weakness. 
 
 " At last I felt a little better: I went upon deck, and there 
 they were. 
 
 " Laurette looked so excessively pretty at that moment that 
 I dared not go near her. She had on a little simple'white dress, 
 the sleeves looped up, as they wore them then, her pretty white 
 arms bare to the shoulders her long fair hair curling round her. 
 She was amusing herself with dipping her other gown, fastened 
 at the end of a piece of cord, into the sea; and she was laughing 
 as she tried to catch some of those bunches of tropical sea- 
 weed, which look so like bunches of grapes, and which float 
 upon the surface of the waves. 
 
 " * Grapes, grapes! who'll have some graces?' 
 
 " Her lover was hanging over her he did not look at the 
 water, he was looking at her with inexpressible fondness I 
 signed to the young man, to come to me upon the poop. She 
 turned suddenly round ; I do not know how I was looking, 
 but she let fall her cord, and seizing him quickly by the arm, 
 cried out 
 
 " ' Don't go to him; see how pale he looks.' 
 
 " Like enough I looked pale! 
 
 "He came, however, to me upon the poop, while she re- 
 mained gazing at us, leaning against the mast. We walked 
 up and down for some time, in perfect silence, both of us. I 
 smoked a cigar, but it seemed to stifle me, and I spat it out 
 into the water, he watching me, At last I took hold of his 
 
SEALED OHDERS, 81 
 
 arm, but I was clicking, I give you my honour, I was actually 
 choking. 
 
 "At last I said 
 
 " * Will you never tell me, young gentleman, what you did? 
 Am I never to know what you did to offend those rascally 
 pettifoggers, sitting there in state like five scraps of one 
 king? They seem to be devilishly enraged. It's a pretty 
 business!' 
 
 "He shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head so gently 
 poor fellow! and then he said 
 
 ' ]STo great thing, Captain. Three couplets of a vaudeville 
 on the Directory neither more nor less.' 
 
 " * Impossible!' cried I. 
 
 " 'Neither more nor less and the couplets were wretched 
 enough too. I was arrested on the 15th Fructidor, and 
 carried to La Force tried the 16th condemned to death 
 and the sentence mercifully remitted to deportation.' 
 
 " 'It's a strange business,' repeated I. 'The Directory 
 must consist of very susceptible gentlemen. For, would you 
 believe it? The order which I hold in my hand is is is 
 an order that you are to be shot!!!' 
 
 " He made no reply, except by a slight smile. 
 
 "He preserved his composure wonderfully for a young 
 fellow only nineteen. But he glanced at his young wife, and 
 then he wiped two or three large drops from his forehead. 
 As for me, my face was bathed with sweat, and my eyes were 
 brimful. 
 
 "I went on. 
 
 " 'It seems these good citizens did not choose to finish your 
 business there. They thought it better to have it done a few 
 leagues off. A little more out of sight, perhaps but it 
 is an ugly sight for the child ! Yet I see no remedy. 
 There is the sentence of death all en regie. Here is the 
 order for execution signed, countersigned, sealed nothing 
 forgotten. 
 
 "He bowed politely, colouring a very little. 
 
 " ' I ask nothing, Captain!' he said, with his usual gentle 
 tone of voice ; ' no man can be expected to swerve from his 
 duty. I only wish to speak a few words to my Laure and 
 to entreat of you to take care of her, if she should survive me 
 but I hardly think she will. 
 
 " 'All that is but fair, my good fellow,' said I. 'If you 
 wish it, I will carry her back to France to her family I 
 will never leave her, till she wishes to be rid of me. But it 
 is of no use talking of that you need not flatter yourself. 
 She will never recover this, poor little thing!' 
 
 " He took my hands in both his, and pressed them. 
 
82 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 " 'My excellent Captain, I see you suffer more than I do 
 in this business but there is no help for it. 1 trust you will 
 preserve what little property of mine is left, for her sake and 
 that you will take care she gets possession of what her poor 
 old mother may leave her. I trust to you to protect her life 
 her honour and also to take care of her health. She is/ 
 said he, lowering his voice, 'a delicate little creatureher 
 chest is often affected; she must keep it warm; it must be 
 well covered always. In short, you will be father, mother, 
 everything to her I know you will and if she could keep 
 the two diamond rings her mother gave her, I should be glad 
 but, of course, if the money is wanted, they must go. My 
 poor Laurette how pretty she looks!' 
 
 '* It was rather too much for me I could hardly stand it; 
 so I began to knit my brows. I had spoken as lightly as I 
 could, to keep up my own spirits, but I could bear it no longer. 
 
 " * One word is as good as a thousand,' said I. 'We under- 
 stand one another go to her.' 
 
 ' ' I squeezed his hand ; he looked wistfully at me ; and I 
 said, ' Stay a moment let me give you a word of advice. 
 Don't say a word to her about it. We will settle the thing 
 for her be easy that's my business. It shall all be managed 
 in the best manner.' 
 
 " 4 Ah!' said he, 'I did not understand yes much better. 
 Besides, this leave-taking ! this leave-taking !' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes,' said I ; don't behave like a child much better 
 much better. No leave-taking, if you can help it, or you 
 are lost.' 
 
 " I wrung his hand, and he went away. 
 
 "It went hard enough with me too. 
 
 "It seems that he kept his secret. I saw them walking 
 arm-in-arm upon the deck, for about a quarter of an hour ; and 
 then they went back to the place where the cord lay ; one of 
 the ship's boys had picked it out of the water. 
 
 " The night fell suddenly. 
 
 " This was the moment I had determined upon. But this 
 moment this one moment it has been a moment that has 
 lasted me for my life. I have carried it within me, like a 
 musket-ball, ever since." 
 
 Here the .old commander was obliged to pause, I was 
 silent; what could I say? 
 
 He struck hard upon his breast, and went on. 
 
 " I tell you I cannot understand it yet; I felt myself in a 
 rage, a bitter rage, my very finger-ends tingled. Yet some- 
 thing seemed to urge me on, and force me to obey. 
 
 " So I called an officer, and I said, 'Man a boat; and as 
 we are to be murderers, put the little creature into it, and 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 83 
 
 carry her out to sea: when you hear the volley, then you may 
 come back again.' 
 
 " To obey a morsel of paper! for it was but a morsel of 
 paper after all. Something in the very air must have driven 
 me on. I saw him. I saw the young man kneel down 
 before his Laure kiss her knees ! her feet ! her gown ! Do 
 you think it was terrible or not ? 
 
 " I cried out like a madman 
 
 " ' Part them ! part them this instant ! Part them curse 
 the republic curse the Directory ! the Directors ! I quit the 
 service ! I care not for these accursed lawyers ! You may 
 tell them, if you will ! I curse them all ! what care I !' 
 
 " Ah 1 1 cared little euough for them ; I could have strangled 
 them all five Scoundrels! I care for them no more than I 
 do for the rain that's now pouring down upon us I defied 
 them all ! My poor life ! Such a miserable wretch as I was ! 
 well well well !" 
 
 And his voice faltered sunk by degrees and he walked 
 on in silence, biting his lips, while an expression of fierce, 
 terrible anguish was upon his brows ; his arm twitched with 
 slight convulsions, and he struck his poor little mule fiercely 
 from time to time. His face had changed from its usual dark 
 yellow to a deep cloudy red ; he kept opening his waistcoat 
 violently, as if he could hardly breathe baring his breast to 
 the wind and rain. 
 
 We proceeded some time in dead silence ; at last, seeing he 
 would say no more unless I spoke first, I said "I under- 
 stand," as if I thought his story ended. " After such an affair, 
 a man detests his profession?" 
 
 * ' Oh ! the profession ! Are you mad ?" said he, impatiently ; 
 "it is not the profession. Who ever heard of the captain of 
 a brig of war being made into a common executioner ? Never, 
 except when there is a government of assassins and scoundrels, 
 who take advantage of the habit a poor devil has of obeying 
 orders obeying like a blind idiot, like a piece of dead clock- 
 word in spite of himself." 
 
 And he took a red pocket-handkerchief out of his pocket, 
 covered over his face, and began to cry like a child. I stopped 
 a moment behind, as if to tighten my stirrups, and let him 
 advance a few paces. I felt there was impropriety .-a want 
 of respect in witnessing these floods of tears. 
 
 He understood my forbearance, as it would seem, for in 
 about a quarter of an hour he came behind the little cart, and 
 asked me whether I had any razors in my portmanteau. I 
 only said that I had no razors not having as yet a beard. 
 It was a mere excuse to enter into conversation again, and I 
 soon perceived that he returned to his story. 
 
84 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 " You never saw a ship in your life?" he began. 
 
 " Only at the Panorama and I should suppose I got no 
 very accurate conception of one there. " 
 
 You don't know, then, what we call the lossoirf 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 " It is a kind of terrace which projjcis from the, head of the 
 ship, and from which they heave anchor. When a man is to 
 be shot they put him there." 
 
 " That he may fall into the water? I understand." 
 
 He made no answer, but went on to describe all the sorts 
 of boats that can be conceived of, as belonging to a brig ; and 
 their different positions on board; and then, without any 
 apparent connexion in his ideas, he continued his relation, 
 with^ that air of affected indifference which men acquire in the 
 service; because they are incessantly called upon to exhibit 
 to their inferiors contempt of danger, contempt of human life, 
 contempt of human nature ; concealing, most often under this 
 harsh exterior, a strong and acute sensibility. 
 
 The severity of a military" man is like an iron mask over a 
 noble countenance; a stone dungeon hiding an illustrious 
 captive. 
 
 " These boats hold six men each. The boat was manned 
 they put her in so softly, that she had not time to cry out, 
 or to utter a word. 
 
 "There are things which a man never forgets there are 
 things which last a man his life. When a thing is done it's 
 fine talking a man never does forget 
 
 "How confoundedly it rains! What cursed weather! 
 Why the devil did T begin to tell you this story ! When I 
 once begin I can't help it I can't stop,! must come to an 
 end that history gets into my head it makes me drank it's 
 like brandy what cursed weather my cloak is like a wet 
 blanket 
 
 " I was telling you of that poor little Laurette, I think. 
 Poor little thing! What stupid blockheads there are in the 
 world ! The officer was idiot enough to row towards the head 
 of the vessel and one cannot think of everything at once, 
 you know I had calculated on the darkness of the night to 
 cover the hellish business ; I forgot the light of a dozen muskets 
 firing at once and so and so and so Great God of heaven ! 
 She she from the boat! She saw her husband fall into 
 the water 
 
 "God knows how the rest came to pass, but as sure as 
 there is a God in heaven, what I am going to tell you is true. 
 
 " I know nothing about it I never could make it out but 
 it is as true as that you sit there. 
 
 "The moment they fired she clapped her hand to her fore- 
 
SEALED ORDEilS. 85 
 
 head, as if a ball had struck her, and then she sat down in the 
 boat again ; she neither fainted, nor cried out, nor spoke a word. 
 
 " She came back to the ship how they would and as they 
 would. 
 
 " I went to her; I spoke to her in the best way such a poor 
 devil as I was able ; she seemed to listen, for she looked me 
 in the face, rubbing her forehead all the time, but she under- 
 stood nothing. 
 
 Her forehead was red ; the rest of her face was deadly pale, 
 and she trembled in every joint, as if she was afraid of every- 
 body. 
 
 " She has been in the same way ever since. She is just in 
 the same way still. Poor little thing! Idiot fool mad 
 what you like one never gets a word out of her, except now 
 and then she complains of her head 
 
 "From that moment I was as changed a creature as her- 
 self; something within me seemed to say, Keep her ~by thee to 
 the end of thy days, and take care of her. 
 
 " And I have kept her. 
 
 When I came back to France, I asked permission to pass 
 without losing rank into the land service ; I detested the sea ; 
 the sea! where I had shed innocent blood I detested the very 
 sight of it. 
 
 " I found out the family of poor Laure. Her mother was 
 dead; her sisters, when they saw her condition, offered to 
 send her to the hospital of Charenton I turned my back upon 
 them, and have kept her ever since. 
 
 " Would you like to see her? you may if you will. Hola! 
 whoa! he!" 
 
86 SEALED OIIDEES. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LAURETTE. \ 
 
 HE stopped his poor little mule, and lifting up one end of the 
 dark oilcloth which covered his little cart, as if he wanted to 
 shake up the straw with which it was almost stuffed full, dis- 
 played the piteous spectacle. 
 
 Two large blue eyes, most beautiful, both in form and colour, 
 but standing out, as it were, from a long head and pale thin 
 face, almost buried in an immense profusion of long fair hair. 
 It seemed, at first, as if nothing remained alive of this poor 
 creature but these large blue eyes ; the rest was dead. Her 
 forehead was crimson, her cheeks hollow, and perfectly colour- 
 less, except round the eyes, where there was a circle of bluish 
 black. 
 
 She had on a little blue cloak, tied round her neck, so that 
 the rest of her dress could scarcely be seen; for she was 
 crouching down in the straw, and little was visible of her 
 figure except her two knees, on which she was playing by her- 
 self at dominos. 
 
 She looked by at us first trembled excessively, then smiled 
 slightly, and returned to her play again. She seemed intent 
 upon making her left hand victorious over her right. 
 
 "Do you see, she has been a whole month at that one game,'* 
 said the commander. "To-morrow, perhaps, it will be some- 
 thing else droll, isn't it!" 
 
 And so saying, he took off his schako, which was dripping 
 with the rain, and began to arrange the oilskin covering that 
 was over it. 
 
 "Poor Laurette," said I, "thou hast lost thy game." 
 
 I brought my horse close up to the cart, and held out my 
 hand ; she gave me hers, mechanically as it seemed ; smiling 
 at the same time with the utmost softness. I remarked that 
 the two diamond rings were still upon her long wasted fingers : 
 I recollected the rings which her mother had given her, and 
 wondered how in the midst of so much misery he had contrived 
 to preserve them. But for the universe I would not have made 
 the remark to the commander. His eyes., however, followed 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 87 
 
 mine, and seeing them fixed upon the fingers, he said, with 
 some little pride 
 
 "Rather fine diamonds, hey? Something might have been 
 got for them, but, poor child, I could not find in my heart to 
 take them from her. She cried so if I only touched them. 
 She held them fast, she will not part with them. In other 
 things she is quiet enough. She never complains. Now and 
 then she sews a little. I have kept my word to the poor young 
 fellow, and have never repented that I passed it. I have 
 never once been parted from her since. I carry her wherever 
 I go. I give out that she is my daughter, and that she is 
 crazy. Every one respects us both. Things can be more 
 easily arranged following the army, than people at Paris ima- 
 gine. 
 
 " She has made all our campaigns with the Emperor. I 
 have always been able to carry her through I always made a 
 point of keeping her warm; it was easy enough in those days ; 
 she had a pretty, smart little carriage, and plenty of wrappers 
 and straw. She was very comfortable, I assure you. I had 
 good pay then ; my pension of the legion of honour, and other 
 odd things, so we were famously off. I wanted for nothing, 
 no more did she ; I took quite a pleasure in it. It was pretty 
 to see what a pet she was made of by all the officers of the 7th 
 Chevau-legers ; I assure you she was." 
 
 And then he went up to her, and tapped her gently upon 
 the shoulder. 
 
 "Come, my dear, won't you say a little word or two to the 
 lieutenant here? Come, come just a little word, or a littla 
 nod won't you?" 
 
 But she kept to her dominoes. 
 
 "Oh!" said he, "she is rather cross to-day because it rains; 
 she cannot bear rain yet she never catches cold they say 
 mad people never fall sick that's lucky enough for her. At 
 the Beresina, and the retreat from Moscow it was all the same. 
 Well, well, dear, do as you please, then mind your game; 
 never heed us. Do just as you like, my pretty Laurette." 
 
 She took his hand, which lay upon her shoulder, a large 
 black, wrinkled hand, and carrying it to her lips, kissed it. 
 
 This I could hardly stand, and turned my horse hastily 
 away. 
 
 "Come," I cried, "shall we march? the night is coming on 
 fast ; we shall never be at Bethune." 
 
 He first took his sabre, and carefully scraped the yellow 
 mud off his boots, then he mounted into the cart, and threw 
 the hood of the little cloak which Laurette wore, over her 
 head ; then he took off his own black silk cravat, and tied 
 it carefully round the throat of his adopted daughter shook 
 
88 SEALED OilDERS. 
 
 up the straw, arranged it around her descended closed the 
 oilcloth accurately gave his mule a kick, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and continued his march. 
 
 It rained pitilessly, the heavens above one deep gloomy 
 grey the earth beneath wet, and dingy, the road muddy, 
 and seemingly endless. In the west a dim, pale light broke 
 through the dusky clouds, and just fell upon some windmills 
 which terminated the horizon. We journeyed on in profound 
 silence. 
 
 I looked at the old officer ; he walked vigorously forwards, 
 while his little mule struggled through the mire, and my 
 poor horse with drooping head followed as best he might. 
 From time to time the old soldier took off his schako, and 
 wiped his bald front, and a few grey hairs which encircled his 
 head, now, with his white moustaches, dripping with the rain, 
 frhich fell into his bare unprotected neck. 
 
 He seemed quite indifferent as to the effect his story might 
 have produced on me. He had not condescended to paint 
 himself either as better or worse than he really was. And 
 at the end of about half-an-hour he began another long history 
 of his campaign under Massena; how he had formed his 
 battalion into a hollow square, &c. &c. a recital of which 
 I heard little enough, though he became excited in the 
 course of his narrative, which tended to demonstrate the 
 superiority, upon some occasions, of infantry over cavalry. 
 
 The night came on ; we slackened our pace ; the mud seemed 
 thicker and deeper than ever, the road more solitary and 
 dreary. Nothing on either side Nothing in the horizon 
 no house, barn, or hedge! we halted at last under a dead 
 tree ; the only tree of any description upon the road. 
 
 He then proceeded to make his arrangements for a bivouac. 
 
 He took his little mule out of the cart, and bestowed upon 
 it his first attention. This done, he looked into his cart, as a 
 mother looks into her infant's cradle, and I heard him say 
 
 " Here, my dear, put this great-coat over your feet, and try 
 
 to go to sleep Come, all's right, she has not got a drop of rain 
 
 dry as a toast. Oh ! the devil ! she has broken my watch 
 ail to pieces my poor silver watch that I hung round her neck 
 Oh, my poor old watch ! Never mind it, dear child, try to 
 go to sleep, the rain will soon be over. It's droll certainly, she 
 always is in a fever they say mad people always are There, 
 my dear, is a little bit of chocolate for you; it's very nice; 
 eat it and go to sleep: that's a good child." 
 
 He placed the cart under the tree, sheltering it as well as 
 
SEALED ORDERS. 89 
 
 he could from the pelting rain; and then divided his own 
 supper, which consisted of a morsel of dry bread, with me. 
 
 " I am sorry that I have nothing better to offer you," said 
 he ; but it is at least as good as horse-flesh seasoned >vith gun- 
 powder, which we were glad enough of in Russia. Poor little 
 woman I you see, I must keep something a little nice for her ; 
 she must be served first, you know she's as delicate and 
 tender as a little child, always so nice and tidy too. She has 
 never forgotten her old habits that's droll, isn't it? hem!" 
 
 As he was speaking I heard her sigh, and say, in a plaintive 
 voice 
 
 " Otez-moi cc plorrib. Otez-moi ce plomb"* 
 
 I rose to get further off. 
 
 "Sit down again," said he; "it's nothing at all she is 
 always saying that because she thinks, you see, she has got 
 the ball in her head but that docs not prevent her doing 
 anything I ask her and always as sweetly and gently as 
 possible." 
 
 I said no more ; I began sorrowfully to calculate that from 
 the year 1797 to 1815, it was eighteen years! Eighteen years 
 that this man had passed in this manner! I remained for 
 some time silent, pondering upon such a character, and upon 
 such a fate. At last, a propos de rien, I stretched out my 
 hand, took his, pinched it, and said. 
 
 * ' You are an excellent fellow " ^ 
 
 He answered: 
 
 4 Why? what, on account of this poor little thing? But 
 do you not see it was only my duty ?" 
 
 And he began again to talk of Massena. 
 
 The next day we arrived at Bethune, a wretched little 
 fortified place. 
 
 There, all was in confusion ; the inhabitants were pulling 
 down their white flags, and sewing pieces of red, blue and 
 white together, to hang out of their windows. The drum' 
 were beating la generate, the trumpets sounding to horse, by 
 order of Monseigneur le Due tie Beni. 
 
 The long carts of Picardy were coming in, loaded with the 
 cent Suisses and their baggage; the carriages of the Princes, 
 cannon, squadrons of the compagnies rouges, blocking up the 
 streets. 
 
 The sight of my comrades made me forget my friend and 
 his little cart for a moment, for I lost sight of him in the 
 crowd, and, to my great regret, could never meet with him 
 again. 
 
 I remained long in ignorance of the fate of my poor chcf-de- 
 
 * Tu!:o ci,1 
 
90 SEALED ORDERS. 
 
 lataillon, for he bad not even told me his name. One day, 
 however, about the year 1825 I think it was, as I was waiting 
 in a coffee-house till it was time for parade, I met with an old 
 infantry officer, to whom I described him. 
 
 "Oh, par Dieu! my dear fellow, I knew the poor devil 
 perfectly well he was knocked on the head at Waterloo. 
 True enough, he left among his baggage a sort of natural, a 
 poor crazy girl his daughter, they said who knows? We 
 put her into the hospital at Amiens, as we passed through to 
 join the army of the Loire, but she went stark mad, and died 
 in three days." 
 
 " I can easily believe that. She had lost her nursing father, 
 poor thing," said I. 
 
 END OF SEALED ORDERS. 
 
L I M E L A N. 
 
 M. DE LIMOELAN was a man formed by nature for distinction, 
 but whose name and reputation were buried amid the obscure 
 and inglorious civil convulsion of the French Revolution. He 
 had been a captain in the Regiment de Itfoailles, and having 
 resigned his commission in 1790, had joined that league of 
 gentlemen which assumed the name of Confederation Poitevine, 
 but which resulted in nothing afterwards he become one of 
 the military chiefs in the famous conspiracy of La Rouarie, 
 whose efforts were also in vain directed to arrest the progress 
 of the Revolution. 
 
 La Rouarie at an end, and the conspiracy discovered, 
 Limoelan fled to Jersey, and returned some time afterwards in 
 secret to France, upon the first intelligence of the disturbances 
 in La Vendee ; but he had been long under the eye of the 
 revolutionary police, and his chateau of Lagrange, upon the 
 borders of the Loire, was one of the first which was burned 
 and pillaged in those disasters. His only son, then a very 
 young child, had been saved by one of the tenants, who had 
 hidden him under some straw, telling the child to faire Ic 
 mort, but Madame de Limoelan had perished. All the little 
 boy remembered of this catastrophe was, that his mother had 
 pushed him through a narrow window upon the ground-floor, 
 which looked into the garden having in all probability sacri- 
 ficed her own life to save his. 
 
 He was afterwards carried by his father to the army of the 
 Vendeans ; and I will now describe to you M. de Limoelan 
 a little more in detail. His appearance "was striking ; he was 
 very tali and thin, but sinewy and robust his face long and 
 thin, of a dark ruddy hue with aquiline nose sparkling eyes, 
 and grey frizkled hair. His speech was brief, his gestures 
 abrupt, his manner proud and reserved ; but he was generally 
 beloved, in spite of the severity of his outward character, 
 because he had the reputation of being just and benevolent. 
 Men of this stamp please the lower orders, especially who 
 associate external rudeness with ideas of frankness and sincerity. 
 It was a proverb in the country '* Quand les Limoelan out 
 quclque ohose en tete la tete a bsau tomber." 
 
92 LI5I0ELAN. 
 
 The position M. de Limoelan occupied in the Vendean ariay 
 was obscure enough ; he was acquainted with few of the chiefs, 
 ho was silent in the councils, and those who witnessed his de- 
 meanour upon the field of battle, found it difficult to explain 
 the sanguinary rage with which he seemed to be animated. 
 Sword in hand, he became quite another man; his face assumed 
 ti deep crimson hue, and his eyes seemed to flash forth flames 
 of livid fire : it was there alone, that the force of his character 
 could be duly estimated. 
 
 The farmer who had saved the life of the little Henri, had 
 conjured his master to leave him under his care, pleading 
 the sufferings which a child, almost still a mere baby, would 
 have to endure during a campaign. But M. de Limoelan was 
 deaf to all he could urge, and dismissed the peasant to return 
 to the ruins of Lagrange, for the young man (his name was 
 Langevin) had received a wound in the arm, which incapaci- 
 tated him from following the armies. 
 
 On march, Henri travelled, perched upon his father's saddle. 
 In an engagement Limoe'lan committed him to the care of some 
 woman or other, or sometimes only hide him behind a hedge, 
 telling the child to be quiet and lie still till he came back 
 again ; to which manner of providing for him the little fellow 
 became soon so well accustomed, that he quietly slept the time 
 away amid the roar and tumult of the combat. The affair 
 over, the count would come in search of him, and while the 
 sweat streamed from his forehead, the little hand closed in his 
 would lead him forth to visit the field of battle. 
 
 As the child was excessively beloved in the regiment, some 
 one or other among his numerous friends and acquaintances was 
 sure to be found among the dead, Limoelan would stop at 
 each well known corpse, would wipe the blood from the pallid 
 face, and cry in a low and hurried voice " See! this is our 
 good friend Deshardes, who has a thousand times carried you 
 in his arms this very morning I saw you sitting upon his 
 knee; you know him again by his great boots." On leading 
 the horror-struck child forward to another, it might be "There 
 is poor Coustard, who gave you a piece of his bread yesterday, 
 you may go and pray for him the Ileus* have murdered him. 
 
 The child pale, and his hair almost erect with terror, would 
 stamp his little feet, and catch at the sabre of his father, to 
 revenge his good and kind friends Coustard, Deshardes, &c. 
 
 If the detachment happened to enter a town, after les Ileus 
 had passed through it, Limoelan led his son from door to door ; 
 pointing out the smoking roofs, the children lying about with 
 their throats cut, and all the dismal ravages around; remind- 
 
 * It is probably unnecessary to remind (ho render, that the revolutionary 
 
 soldiers were style.d les blcu-s in tho royal r./:nr:. 
 
LIMOELAN. 93 
 
 ing him that this was the work of les Ileus, and that such 
 cruelties had been committed at his own home at Lagrnnge, 
 where his own mother had perished. Thus educated like 
 Hannibal, to execrate the very name of his enemies, the men- 
 tion even of one of the republican soldiers would throw Lira 
 into a rage ; and it became difficult to keep him from rushing 
 toward, and following his father into an engagement. 
 
 At the close of the year the father and son passed the Loire, 
 and returned home, having escaped, as if by miracle, from the 
 defeat of Savenay. No sooner, however, was the war rekindled 
 than the Count de Limoelan joined Charette. 
 
 Henri was now a great boy, and capable of charging on 
 horseback by the side of his father ; they both made part of 
 the etat major of the Yendean array in 1796, and with it entered 
 Nantes after the pacification of La Jaunaye. Charette dead, 
 Limoelan, who was not the man to lay down his arms, raised 
 a troop of his own, in La Vendee, and became one of the most 
 terrible among the unknown chiefs of the Chouannerie. Even 
 to this day, some of his exploits are remembered. 
 
 One day two considerable convoys were expected to pass 
 upon the road to Rennes ; Limcelan at the head of twenty 
 men hastened to intercept their passage: but before such su- 
 perior numbers his troop began to hesitate. The Count 
 walked up alone straight to the commander of the republican 
 forces, who seizing a musket, aimed at his head ; Limoelan 
 evaded the ball, sprang upon the officer, and plunged his long 
 knife into his breast. The Chouans rallied followed and 
 the convoy was carried off. 
 
 Some time afterwards, being accidentally separated from 
 his company, Limoelan met a peasant in the fields, and asked 
 the news. The man told him that M. de Bourmont had just 
 surprised Mans. "Very well," said Limoelan, "then I will 
 take Loue." 
 
 Going on a little farther, he met with three of his Chouans, 
 and engaged them to march with him upon Loue ; they being 
 on foot, were soon, however, left behind, and he entering the 
 town alone, and at full gallop, dismounted at the house where 
 the republican functionaries were assembled. The room was 
 full of muskets. "Deliver your arms, in the king's name," 
 cries he, "you know General Bourmont has taken Mans; his 
 avant-garde is coming up I want billets." 
 
 The functionaries obeyed ; Limoelan leaded a cart with two 
 hundred muskets, and carried them away with him. Three 
 leagues farther on, he distributed the arms among his company, 
 and dismissed the carter, saying, "Go and report to your 
 citizen mayor, that General Bourmont, with his troop/ has 
 taken Mans, and I have taken Loue without mine." 
 
94 LIMOELAN. 
 
 Such was Limoelan during the civil wars. For six years he 
 had not rested four nights in his house of Lagrange, which 
 had, however, been repaired, almost, indeed, rebuilt from the 
 ruins. The insurrection in Brittany was at last put down ; 
 most of the chiefs slain or taken prisoners, and the bands of 
 Chouans' dispersed: various negotiations and armistices con- 
 tributed to the pacification of the unhappy country, and 
 Limoelan reappeared at Lagrange, which he finished and 
 rendered habitable ; the government of that day leaving him 
 undisturbed, as their object was at every expense to paeify, 
 and to extinguish animosity besides the real character of the 
 count was little known. The obscurity that enveloped men 
 and actions, which under other circumstances would have filled 
 the breath of fame, was a very remarkable feature in those wars. 
 The manner of life of Limoelan contributed yet more to re- - 
 assure the government : he passed his time in complete retire- 
 ment, only occupied with, the education of his son, and his 
 reconciliation with the established order of things was still 
 farther confirmed by the following circumstance. 
 
 Henri had pursued his studies under the eye of his father 
 in profound retirement, with no other amusement than a day's 
 hunting or shooting now and then the perusal of a few old 
 romances, and the society of Langevin, who was now become 
 his father's steward. The long civil war had almost depopu- 
 lated that part of the country; the most part of the gentle- 
 men had disappeared, added to which, all communication was 
 rendered hazardous and disagreeable, under the surveillance 
 of a jealous and watchful police. 
 
 Lagrange, situated in a wild and solitary part of the country, 
 near the ancient chateau of Beaulieu, was rendered still more 
 gloomy as the seat of various ancient popular superstitions: 
 the sombre and reserved temper of the count, who seldom 
 ever saw his son, except at his studies and at meal-times, 
 added to the melancholy of the place. The solitude in which 
 he lived the wild and savage country around and, above 
 all, the dark associations of his childhood, threw a shade over 
 the character of the young man he was at once ardent and 
 enthusiastic heroic and melancholy. 
 
 One day his father called him into his own private sitting- 
 room an event so rare that it filled Henri with expectation. 
 He found M. de Limoelan sitting before a deal table; he 
 took out some papers from a small box, turned towards his 
 son, now standing by his side, and said 
 
 " A military school has just been established at Paris. It 
 will be the means of forming excellent officers I am going to 
 send you there." 
 
 Henri looked astonished. 
 
LIMOELAJ*. 95 
 
 "You will wear the uniform of the republic you will adopt 
 the tricoloured cockade you will obey your commanding 
 olHcers as if it were myself you will submit to everything 
 I command you to do so." 
 
 At the word republic, the hot colour flew into the young 
 man's face. 
 
 11 You will pursue the form of study which best suits your 
 taste," pursued Limoelan, " either as a military engineer, or 
 as a good artillery officer. Learn all you can that at some 
 future time, should need be, you may make yourself useful. 
 I particularly recommend to you practice in fencing. 
 Learn to handle your sword perfectly you are a good horse- 
 man and a good marksman attend to and improve in both, 
 and when you shall have become an accomplished officer " 
 
 Henri, his eyes sparkling, was about to reply, but his father, 
 irritated at his suspicions, stopped him rudely. 
 
 " What are you afraid of? When you are become an 
 accomplished officer I shall put you under the king's orders." 
 At these words the young man cast down his eyes with a 
 look of embarrassment. 
 
 ' ' Whether we take up arms again or pursue more pacific 
 plans," continued M. de Limoelan, "the king will always be 
 in need of good servants, I will tell you bv-and-by how things 
 go; only be you ready to second my views. It is enough 
 now to know that you may be made of use, and to prepare 
 yourself to support my plans. You may guess of the urgency 
 of my motives, by what this present step costs me." 
 The effort was visible enough. The count proceeded. 
 *' A ten years' war has deciminated the royalists both 
 abroad and at home. The affair of Quiberon, alone, destroyed 
 at one blow the elite of the royal army. We, the scanty sur- 
 vivors, are no longer young ; and what else have we to depend 
 upon? A few ignorant peasants poor faithful creatures, who 
 know nothing but how to die for their master but we want 
 chiefs we want officers you are only losing your time here. 
 The face of affairs may alter, at all events a career will be 
 opened to you." 
 
 Henri had no reply to make in fact the plan delighted him. 
 To terminate this long and dreary life of inactivity, to travel ! 
 to see Paris! to begin that education which should open the 
 way to gain his epaulettes it was exactly all he could have 
 wished. The count speedily carried into execution what he 
 had so promptly decided upon : and the separation was fixed 
 for the morrow; Langevin was not informed of it till the 
 horses were ordered, and the poor fellow with tears in his 
 eyes begged permission to accompany M. Henri to Saint 
 Florent "If it were only to see the last of him." 
 
96 LIMOELAN. 
 
 M de Limoelau was present while all the necessary prepara- 
 tions were going on, preserving his usual cold tranquillity of 
 manner ; but when bis son, much affected, flung himself into 
 his arms to take leave, the old man clasped him to his bosom, 
 with almost wild violence, then suddenly turning himself away, 
 entered the house abruptly, and closed the door after him. 
 
 In the evening Langevin returned, looking very sorrowful. 
 This separation left him absolutely alone at Lagrange, for M. de 
 Limoelan chose to retain in his service only one single female 
 dependant, and she was stone deaf. He did not bestow much 
 of his confidence upon Langevin, whom he accused justly 
 or unjustly, of not having shown any very remarkable courage 
 during the wars; and the. count, either in dislike or derision, 
 had lodged him in an old ruinous habitation, separated from 
 Lagrange by a track of uncultivated ground and the ruins of 
 the old castle. To tell truth, Langevin was not insensible to 
 the various rumours which were afloat, about this old castle of 
 Beaulieu. And any one who may please to visit these ruins, 
 which yet exist, will not marvel that they were made the 
 special theatre for all tales of superstition and traditions of 
 diablerie throughout the country. 
 
 This ancient heap of stones, which had passed by marriage 
 into the family of Limoelan, had not been inhabited for two 
 centuries, and Lagrange, which had been at that time erected, 
 had then obtained, and had since preserved its name of Chateau- 
 neuf, though it had been thrown down and rebuilt at various 
 times since. The last time it had been destroyed was when 
 burned in 1793; M. de Limoelan on his return, finding nothing 
 but four bare walls, upon which the sculptured chimneypieces 
 of some few apartments alone remained visible. He had con- 
 tented himself with covering these walls with a roof. 
 * A meadow, which extended in front of what had once been 
 the principal faade, was transformed into a yard for trampling 
 out the grain, according to the manner of the country, while on 
 the other side, the large kitchen-garden, now all wild, weedy, 
 and uncultivated, fell by a gentle descent to the river, and 
 reached the ditch of the old castle. 
 
 The castle of Beaulieu, of which one lofty tower alone is 
 visible at a distance, is in reality so vast in extent that its courts 
 and ramparts, thrown into cultivation, compose the principal 
 part of the farm of Lagrange. The great tower, which rises 
 on the extreme point of a precipitous hill, descends down one 
 side of the steep precipice till its foundations are level with the 
 river ; and from the parapets the deep valley is seen, through 
 which winds the silent stream gleaming at intervals between 
 the thickets of wild tangled underwood, which clothe its sides. 
 This savage solitude gave rise to a thousand imaginary inven- 
 
LIMOET.AN. 97 
 
 tions, but the true history of the place was in itself terrible 
 enough. It was here, that, once lived Foulques cle Sancerre, 
 that ferocious chatelain, addicted to all dark and magical 
 crimes, and who here, on the faith of some wicked necromancer, 
 had slaughtered young children in order to discover the great 
 secret. Ever since then, it was reported that dreadful appari- 
 tions haunted the deep souterrains of the edifice, and according to 
 tradition these souterrains extended to an immense distance, 
 and penetrating the rocks passed under the river, opening 
 into the distant fields which extended to the banks of the 
 Loire. Whether it were so or not, one thing is certain, no 
 curious explorer in that part of the country had ever ventured 
 /j attempt to verify the report. 
 
 These subterranean passages, if in fact they existed, might no 
 doubt account for the extraordinary promptitude with which 
 during the hostilities, the Count de Limoelan would appear, 
 now on the one, now on the other side of the Loire, In 1793 
 the attempt was frequently made to burn down Beaulieu, but 
 the old wall was proof against fire, and the soldiers of the 
 republic added the tale of their hideous escapes to all the 
 ancient superstitious traditions attached to the place. 
 
 When M. de Limoelan was interrogated upon the subject 
 of these mysteries, he affected to speak of them with the 
 greatest contempt. Yet, his imagination excited by the 
 tales of his infancy, he had often endeavoured to penetrate 
 into the interior of the building, but he had found grates placed 
 at all the* issues, and access rendered impossible. 
 
 If the terrors of Langevin were now revived, it was not 
 entirely without, reason ; his house was situated at an equal 
 distance from Lagrange and from the old castle, and he 
 certainly had several times been troubled with very extraor- 
 dinary apparitions. One night in particular, he had been 
 awakened by the noise of a hammer which shook his windows 
 violently, and, looking out, he distinctly saw a long line of 
 light, springing as it were, from the valley behind the tower 
 of Beaulieu. This fire, which was not accompanied with the 
 slightest noise, had not the least resemblance to lightning, 
 and Langevin could only believe it to be the effect of some 
 magical operations at other times, but always at night, he 
 had seen, as he thought, dark shadows gliding round the walls 
 of Beaulieu but as his master seemed always displeased when 
 he mentioned any of his observations, he thought it as well to 
 hold his peace. Every day M. de Limoelan seemed to become 
 more reserved and preoccupied ; and Langevin scarcely ever 
 saw him, except when he brought him a letter from Paris. 
 He guessed that these letters came from M. Henri, but the 
 count received them in a way which made it impossible 
 
98 LIMOELAA. 
 
 for him, in spite of his ardent desire to hear news of his young 
 master, to ask even one question about him. Two or three 
 letters, which are now to be communicated, will explain to 
 you what was passing between the father and son. 
 
 Limoelan had sent his son to Paris, without perhaps having 
 sufficiently weighed certain considerations which did not 
 strike his mind until after the irrecoverable step had been 
 taken, and reflection was no longer of any avail. France 
 was reeling with the intoxication of victory Europe, forming 
 in vain one vast coalition, had been driven back on every 
 side whilst the marvellous campaigns of Italy and of Egypt 
 and the defeat of the last insurrection, had conspired to 
 establish the conviction that the republic a republic indeed 
 no longer except in name had vanquished her enemies both 
 foreign and domestic. Enthusiasm was at its height, was 
 indescribable, and the excitement within the military schools, 
 among those youths who considered themselves called upon to 
 aspire, in their turn, to emulate the glorious deeds of their 
 companions. The rapid promotions in the army the triumph- 
 ant fortunes of Bonaparte the exclusive study of the physical 
 sciences the incessant perusal of those numerous works written 
 in the first ardour of revolutionary enthusiasm, all contributed 
 to nourish among these young eleves an exaltation of feeling, 
 which was still animated by the idea of a republic an illusion 
 which the party then in power did not think it expedient to 
 dispel, intending sooner or later to turn it to profit. 
 Henri de Limoelan had plunged himself at once into this fever 
 of excitement. 
 
 At the moment of his entering the school, a conspiracy 
 under the conduct of a certain Marius Malseigne, was upon 
 the point of being formed; this young man was fiery, rash, 
 daring, and carried away by the violence of his opinions, had 
 managed to obtain very considerable influence over his com- 
 panions. His height, for his person was tall his loud voice, 
 and certain magnificent airs of generosity and resolution, may 
 perhaps account for this influence. However that may be, 
 certain it is that it existed ; and what is less easily explained, 
 Henri became, in a very short time, most particularly intimate 
 with and attached to this young man. Probably this friendship 
 took its rise, as it most often does, from conformity of senti- 
 ments and opposition of character. At this period the republican 
 party, that is to say, the remains of the old Jacobins of '93, 
 were yet contending the ground with a government still far 
 from being firmly established. And their animosity had 
 already been marked by certain obscure attempts at assassi- 
 nation, against the person of the first Consul. His suspicions 
 were at last directed to the military school, and its nest of 
 
LIMOELAN. 99 
 
 embryo republicans. It was discovered that some old 
 members of the Mountain, were at the bottom of an affair in 
 agitation among the young heroes ; the plot became of some 
 importance, the police began to be upon the alert, while 
 Marius Malseigne had in the mean time established himself as 
 leader in the conspiracy. 
 
 It was upon the eleventh Brumaire an dix (2d November, 
 1802, that M. de Limoelan wrote thus to his son. 
 
 " Your studies are now nearly completed. If you have obeyed my directions, 
 you must be, by this time, what I desire you to be. At all events, very pressing 
 reasons lead me to beg nay, to command you to leave Paris immediately; and 
 upon receiving this letter, to come and rejoin me at La G., where I will further 
 explain my intentions. 
 
 "G. DE L." 
 
 Henri answered 
 
 " MY MOST HONOURED FATHER, You have educated me for truth and loy- 
 alty, and I trust you will forgive me if I show myself worthy of your lessons 
 and example. You do me the honour to summon me to your side for reasons 
 that I know, or at least that I guess. Dare I confess that my conscience for- 
 bids me to accede to them? It is not for me to enter into discussion with a 
 respected father, to whom, I fear, I am already a source of affliction and dis- 
 appointment ; but the cause in which he is engaged no longer appears to me a 
 righteous cause. If I must speak out and this is my only excuse lama 
 Republican, and ready to shed my blood in the maintenance of those principles, 
 which, to me, appear the hope and salvation of the human race. To my 
 country I owe the fruits of that education which she has bestowed upon me. 
 Europe attacks us and against Europe my sword must be drawn. A lieuten- 
 ancy in the artillery is open to me on leaving school ; and may I not hope that, 
 with sentiments and feelings such as mine, you would advise me to accept it ? 
 If, in spite of this confession, which I could delay no longer, you permit me to 
 return home for a short time, and be once more received into your arms, every 
 Avish I can form will be fulfilled. "Whatever may betide me, believe me to be, 
 dear and noble father, 
 
 " Your affectionate and dutiful son, 
 
 " HENRI DE L." 
 
 By return of post Henri received these few words 
 
 " You have no longer the right to appear at La G., except, indeed, as an 
 enemy. 1 hope, for your sake, never to behold you there again." 
 
 Henri had deceived himself with respect to the consequences 
 of his confession. Absence, and the influence of those who 
 surrounded him, had led him, under a very common illusion, 
 to fancy that convictions contrary to his own, were becoming 
 weaker on all sides ; he had hoped, too, that his honourable 
 intentions, and courageous avowal of his sentiments, would 
 not be without their effect upon his father. The count's letter 
 cruelly awakened him from his delusion; but he understood 
 the inflexible severity of his father's character far too well, to 
 venture upon any reply. He was much wounded, much 
 touched, and he confided his distress to his friend Malseigne, 
 who did not fail to take advantage of his present feelings, in 
 
100 LIMOELAN. 
 
 order to engage him more deeply in his projects. He taught 
 him to look upon such painful sacrifices, as the most generous 
 offering to the cause of liberty ; and such republican stoicism 
 was but too well formed to seduce the noble heart and imagi- 
 nation of the young Limoelan. 
 
 The change in his principles is ea sily explained. His youth 
 the seductions that surrounded him his strong attachment to 
 Malseigne, had all contributed their share, and but a short 
 time had sufficed to convert to the republican theory, the 
 energetic fidelity, and noble purposes which glowed. in the old 
 Breton blood. He, however, had long refused to take part in 
 the conspiracy of Malseigne, though restrained indeed, only by 
 private considerations: for he still considered himself justified 
 in the adoption of .principles, inconsistent with those of his 
 father. Indeed, for, a mind so full of truth and honour as 
 his there was no alternative ; but he scrupled about exposing 
 his ancient and honourable home, to the chances of that 
 disgrace which might attach to a public trial. His father's 
 last letter, however, decided him; he entered into the plot, 
 and took the second part after Malseigne, in carrying it into 
 execution. 
 
 This execution of the scheme was deferred until the moment 
 when the eleves, ready for the first promotion, among whom 
 were Malseigne, Henri, and their accomplices, should leave 
 school to await the decision of the minister, and be nominated 
 to the different corps-d'armee. The plan was simply to react 
 the scenes of the 1st Prairial namely, to raise the faubourgs, 
 and support and strengthen the insurrection by the presence 
 of military officers. The officers gained over were very few 
 in number, but they calculated upon their appearance in 
 uniform for bringing over their several men. The Consuls 
 were to be seized, the corps Ugislatif dissolved, and a fresh 
 National Convention be convoked, to carry out the consti- 
 tution of '93. This raw project was just what might have been 
 expected from such youthful conspirators, and such of the old 
 republicans as thought proper to encourage it, kept themselves 
 completely in the background, in case of a failure. The truth 
 was, the police were perfectly aware of what was going on, 
 followed the progress of the enterprise step by step, and let it 
 ripen at leisure; seeing in it only an opportunity which 
 the existing government might seize to confirm its authority, 
 and calculating that the punishment of a few of these rash 
 young men would not be without its beneficial effect upon the 
 army. 
 
 The moment for leaving the military school arrived, and 
 the young men spread themselves through Paris ; but various 
 jealousies and divisions, the cause of which Henri understood 
 
LIMOELAN. 
 
 101 
 
 too lute, occasioned delay. He was now in lodging in the street 
 of Saint Hyacinthe, and felt equally discouraged and disgusted 
 by the cowardice and defection which he could not but observe 
 on all sides. At length there wanted but two days of the time 
 when the conspiracy' was to explode, but on that very evening 
 Henri, returning home after a harassing day, was suddenly 
 seized upon by two men who lay in ambush upon the stair- 
 case ; there were others standing on the outside of the house, 
 ready with a hackney carriage ; and he was immediately con- 
 ducted to the Conciergerie, while his room was broken into 
 and his papers seized. 
 
 After a brief interrogatory before the police, he was led to 
 one of the military prisons, without being able to obtain any 
 intelligence with regard to the fate of Malseigne, Simon, or 
 any of his other accomplices. How little did he suspect that 
 his friend, his brother in arms, Malseigne! yielding to the 
 temptation of those promises which were held out to seduce 
 him, had told all his secrets to the Minister of the Police! 
 But the simple arrest, without this aggravation, was sufficient 
 to break down his spirit, and complete the deep melancholy 
 of his feelings. Nothing was found in his apartment but a 
 few insignificant papers; but unhappily a letter of his had 
 been seized elsewhere, which was laid before the first Consul. 
 It is given at full length here, because it paints his character, 
 ' his views, and his invincible repugnance to many of the men 
 with whom this intrigue had brought him into communication. 
 The letter was addressed to Malseigne. 
 
 " MY DEAII FRIEND, Simon will give you this letter in the name of ona 
 Durand do not answer it, or if you do, let it be by some other channel, 
 must open my heai't to you. I am disgusted beyond measure. If it were not 
 for you, I should believe that neither generous nor gentlemanlike feelings existed 
 in the world. Do not think I give it up, however. Let the worst come to the 
 worst, one can but die. Only think of A , this matador, this enthusiast for 
 equality passing over and entering the etat-major of the great Csesa^, in the 
 mere hope of some idle recompense or another, which has been held out to him 
 as a bait. Happily he is not let into our secret ; but he very easily may be ; 
 and the idea is enough to make one tremble. And so you see all these hideous, 
 filthy, sans-culottes covering themselves over with gold-lace, and going, one 
 after the other, to make then- congees at the Tuileries! And this last effort to 
 recover our liberties will produce nothing but a fresh crop of servile slaves, to 
 sell themselves to the first tyrant who will give them their price ! The same 
 story over again the same cowardice the same dishonour among those who 
 pretend to belong to us ! I was talking a long time, the other day, with one or 
 two that remain of the old Mountain ; they make one sick they have not ad- 
 vanced one step out of the extravagancies of '93. They regret nothing of t"::e 
 old convention but the orgies of Hebert at Auteuil, and have nothing in their 
 mouths but two or three atrocious and sanguinary expressions, such as '? 
 couisau fie la, loi, la justice dn peupleT Butchers ! I understand them well 
 enough. All they want is to play the part of the tyrant themselvesplenty af 
 j : old, and plonty of blood and all united to the most revolting cynicism. They 
 
102 UMOKLAN. 
 
 are ignorant to a joke, and without the smallest capacity ; intoxicated with the 
 recollection of their reign of a day; and burning to pursue their course of sen- 
 suality and crime: there is something absolutely terrific in their language. 
 What can we have in common with them ? What do they intend ? And what 
 do we ourselves intend? Everything was blameable in the conduct of the 
 revolution. Among all those who conducted it or, rather, who debased and 
 pullied it by their detestable actions I do not know one man worthy of respect, 
 or even of pity. I say nothing of Mirabeau, who only wanted two things 
 money, and to make a sensation ; and who was very deservedly put out of the 
 way when he was of no further use. The Girondins ! demi-rascals ! dcmi- 
 cowards ! that neither knew where all this was leading to, nor what they would 
 be at ; and like children that have set a great machine a-going which they can- 
 not stop, stood staring and stupid till they are crushed to pieces. They were 
 ready enough to palliate crime, till crime threatened them in their turn, and 
 then they suffered themselves to be slaughtered like a flock of stupid sheep. As 
 for Danton I dare scarcely paint to myself that sanguinary declaimer, in the 
 pay of the court of the faction of everybody reposing after his great butchery, 
 glass in hand, in the hotels of the pillaged nobility, and there reviving those very 
 orgies for which they were so justly denounced at least, they did not massacre 
 their countrymen by the gross. Or shall we speak of that venemous serpent, 
 Robespierre, who sacrificed even his own accomplices to his beastly vanity : 
 sacrificed even Danton and Desmoulins whose blood did choke him. Liberty! 
 Patriotism! what are they but words? prostituted, as they were, by that 
 execrable reptile suffocated, at last, in the blood he had shed in torrents! 
 
 " Well, what do you think of all this? Did ever a more abject and detest- 
 able tyranny sully the history of man? And all for what? Constitution 
 succeeding constitution ! tyrant destroying tyrant ! and wherefore ? To end 
 by crowning five wretches with hats and white feathers, a la Henri quatre! 
 Oh, shame! Oh, France! Oh, sacred name of liberty, dishonoured by such 
 monsters' crimes! Oh, cause of humanity for ever and ever disgraced ! And 
 is it for this that France has been deluged in blood? Alas! France has been 
 duped and thus I explain it to myself : it is because the mass of assemblies 
 have always been composed of feeble and inexperienced men, whom a few daring 
 spirits just led as they pleased. 
 
 " Only recollect the Convention ; recollect that abject centre that is to say, 
 the majority voting with the poniard glaring, as it were, before their eyes, and 
 within sight of the guillotine. They have had enough of the revolution ; and 
 what are they do?ng now ? Selling themselves to the highest bidder. The 
 nation is wearied, exhausted, disgusted, discouraged. And where, if you please, 
 are we to look for the pretended revolutionary enthusiasm, which they make 
 such a noise about ? I deny that it ever existed at all among the majority of 
 the masses ; and as for the minority, I refuse to acknowledge them a set of 
 rascals ! enough to make one blush at the very name of liberty. If you have 
 any doubts of the evil state of France, just consider into whose ai'ms, in mere dis- 
 gust, she is flinging herself. If I did not know you so well as I do, I should be 
 afraid to discourage you by all this ; but Virtue ! Virtue ! that is our rallying 
 word at least our endeavour, at least, is, that she too shall triumph in her turn; 
 and to secure that final triumph, it would be sweet and glorious to die. 
 " Salut et fraternite.'' 
 
 This letter was given up by Malseigne himself, whose treason 
 cost him nothing in the way either of remorse or regret. Am- 
 bition that species of weakness, which takes refuge in violent 
 exaggerations his very opinions themselves, all had led him 
 into the enemies' camp. The government did not even conde- 
 
L1MOELAN. 103 
 
 scend to give publicity to an affair which was of so little real 
 importance, but Malseigne was rapidly made captain and 
 adjutant, and in these capacities was despatched to the army 
 in the west or La Vendee. Every paper connected with this 
 imprudent plot having been either seized or surrendered, 
 amongst others was the following letter, addressed by Henri 
 from prison to one of his young friends, honest Simon, who had 
 not even been arrested. 
 
 " There is nothing more to be done, dear Simon, but to give up the ghost. 
 "Who would have btlieved it ? 1 think myself in a wild dream when I write 
 these words ' Malseigne has betrayed us!' I have only one consolation that 
 it is pretty nearly certain that I shall bo shot in less than a week! The dictator 
 triumphs! It was not enough, it seems, to destroy us, but he must dishonour 
 us too. The scoundrel ! he has succeeded but too well. Oh, shame ! My 
 eyes are at last opened; but it is too late ; however I send you my farewell 
 warning, in spite of the vigilance of my jailers. 1 am waiting for death but I 
 ghall at least die faithful to those principles which I have adopted. 
 " VivelaRepublique!" 
 
 This letter, like the other, was placed in the hands of the 
 first Consul one who understood mankind, and knew how to 
 appreciate a character such as this. Bonaparte, who took the 
 greatest interest in the military schools, was resolved to go to 
 the very bottom of this conspiracy, and perceiving that it was 
 the mere effect of youthful effervescence, he saw no reason 
 for depriving himself, upon this account, of the services of 
 those who he doubted not, in future, would prove gallant and 
 useful officers. The conspirators whom the government had 
 disdained to honour by an arrest, v/ere dispersed into different 
 regiments, but Henri deLimoelan, who appeared more consider- 
 able than the rest, was thrown into prison, and the opportunity 
 was taken to shut up two old turbulent Jacobins for life, in 
 the Chateau dTf de Marseilles. 
 
 The letter last laid before you gives but a faint picture of 
 Henri's despair. These long machinations carried on with 
 men whom for the most part in his heart he thoroughly de- 
 spised the situation of public affairs to him so completely dis- 
 couraging, the triumphs of a government which his old and 
 new principles led him equally to detest, and which he saw 
 triumphant not more by the transcendent glory and genius of 
 one most extraordinary man, than by the miserable cowardice 
 and weakness of its adversaries all seemed united to fill him 
 with the deepest discouragement and despondency: the incon- 
 ceivable and unexampled treachery of Malseigne gave the 
 finishing stroke to these melancholy feelings. His first impulse 
 was to destroy himself in prison, and thus terminate at once 
 his unfortunate career, but his deep hatred to the new Caesar, 
 
104 LIMOELAN. 
 
 led to a little further reflection. Ho resolved that no act of 
 his should spare him the reproach which the blood flowing 
 even from one additional victim would cast upon his already 
 deeply dyed sceptre and perhaps, also, he wished to prove to 
 his father, by such a death, that he was not altogether unworthy 
 of his family. 
 
 With these sentiments and resolutions, he patiently awaited 
 the issue of the military commission by which he expected to 
 be tried. 
 
 Two days had already elapsed, and it was upon the evening 
 of the second, that he heard the bolts of his prison door hastily 
 withdrawn. The jailor stopped upon the threshold, and a 
 man of short stature wrapped in a coarse cloak entered his 
 face being so much concealed that it was impossible to recog- 
 nise him. Henri believed himself destined to one of those 
 secret executions, of which the consular government had been 
 at times accused, or at least, that this would prove to be some 
 attempt, upon the part of the police, to entrap him into further 
 revelations than he had at present chosen to make : but the 
 stranger, without giving him time to speak, asked him, in an 
 abrupt manner, whether he had not been conspiring with the 
 Chouans in favour of the house of Bourbon? 
 
 This question disconcerted him to such a degree, that for the 
 moment he was unable to answer. 
 
 "As this is the case," resumed the man, "you will of course 
 have no objection to serve in the west where war has broken 
 out again." 
 
 " General," said Henri, who now recognised the speaker, 
 1 * is that a mode of inquiring whether I am capable of treachery ?" 
 
 "If I thought you capable of treachery, I should have had 
 you shot without further ceremony, but I suppose it possible 
 that four-and-twenty hours' reflection in a dungeon may have 
 opened your eyes to the madness of an enterprise which has 
 already been abandoned by all your accomplices. As for 
 treachery those who bear your name are not in the habit of 
 betraying their friends." 
 
 "Therefore, General," answered Henri, "I will die or live, 
 as it may chance to be devoted to my principles." 
 
 It is well known that Bonaparte had begun that system of 
 insinuation and seduction with the French nobility, which he 
 carried out to so great an extent afterwards. The splendour 
 of the ancient home of Limoelan had struck him, as much as 
 the character of the young man who bore it. 
 
 "Well sir, we shall try to utilise your principles. In the 
 mean time France claims your sword. Do your opinions 
 command you to refuse to draw that in your country's service?" 
 
 "No, General." 
 
LIMOELAtf. 105 
 
 The man went up to the prisoner, and gave him a little ami- 
 cable blow upon the shoulder. 
 
 "It is because I suspected as much, M. de Liinoelan, that I 
 am come in person to make the proposal to you. I knew well 
 enough what your answer would be. A man like you is se- 
 cured when he is to be led against the common enemy." 
 
 Without giving Henri time to answer, he went on 
 
 "From this moment you are free you will find your com- 
 mission at the war-office. Set out immediately I shall not 
 forget you." 
 
 The officer retired as abruptly as he had entered, leaving 
 Henri in a state of the greatest anxiety and irresolution. Re- 
 flecting upon the union of impatience, authority, and good 
 will, in the few words that had been uttered he was mortified 
 to have found nothing to say in reply and yet he did not very 
 clearly see what he could have said or done, to resist this very 
 suspicious species of manoeuvre. 
 
 However, the next day, to his extreme joy he found himself 
 released from prison, and his commission waiting for him at 
 the war-office ; with an order to quit Paris immediately, and 
 join his cctrps in cantonments at Chateaubriant, in the de- 
 partment of the Loire Inferieure. The only humiliation he 
 had to suffer, and which indeed the high rank conferred upon 
 him seemed intended to compensate, was, that he was not, at 
 least for the present, admitted either into the artillery or the 
 engineers; he was named captain of infantry. 
 
 It had been a part of the policy of the then government to 
 send into the west, at that time threatened with a new outburst 
 of the Chouannerie, all the young officers engaged in the late 
 conspiracy ; it being deemed advisable to expend and exhaust 
 this republican enthusiasm against the bitterest enemies of the 
 revolution. 
 
 Three days afterwards Henri arrived at his post, and believ- 
 ing, by the report of the public papers, that this insurrection 
 of 'the Chouans had long been subdued, he was astonished on 
 his arrival to find the country all in confusion. What sur- 
 prised him the most, and struck him with a sort of melancholy 
 presentiment, was to learn that the regiment in which he 
 served, with some others in short, that all the troops in that 
 district, were under the orders of Malseigne, that treacherous 
 friend who had made his way so rapidly. The officer in com- 
 mand at Chateaubriant, however, received him with great 
 civility, and said 
 
 " Captain, I have arranged a reception for you worthy of 
 your reputation, and which will soon make you and your men 
 acquainted. There are five hundred Chouans at Segre ; I have 
 selected yon to disperse them at the head of your company. 
 
 H 
 
10(3 LlMOELAN. 
 
 I can only allow you, besides, a picket of hussars I have not 
 many men, and am obliged to be very sparing, so as not to 
 scatter them too much. We are already weaker here than I 
 like to be; besides, I have no doubfc but that this detach- 
 ment will be as much as you will want. This expedition will 
 in a manner gain you your spurs. In an hour's time I will in- 
 troduce you to your men, and you shall set forward at nightfall. 
 A propos, you will find an old friend here, the Lieutenant Simon, 
 you will be glad to meet again ; he is always talking of you." 
 
 Henri, full of what he had heard of the command being in 
 the hands of Malseignc, went out, saying to himself 
 
 " I see it all well enough; their intention is to finish with 
 me ; they set about it in a respectable manner. Enough ; it 
 serves their purpose and mine too." 
 
 After he had been introduced to his company, he went to 
 take a few hours' rest, for he was tired with his journey, and 
 he had no time to make inquiries after Simon, whom he would 
 have been very glad to have seen again. In the evening he 
 assembled his party, ordered the men to load their muskets, 
 and then set forward in silence, accompanied by two or three 
 peasants who were to serve as guides. 
 
 To conceal their advance, they skirted the woods and hedges 
 till nightfall, the mounted men alone keeping the high-road. 
 After dark they entered some extensive landes or open plains, 
 and at length arrived at the place where, from the intelligence 
 they had received, they expected to find an assembly of 
 Chouans ; they found no one ; they beat the country round, 
 they reconnoitred on all sides, but without any result. And 
 after some hours of fatigue and effort, the captain placed his 
 sentinels, and allowed his men to lie down, their arms by 
 their sides, to snatch a few hours' repose. 
 
 It was about three o'clock in the morning, that Henri sud- 
 denly started from his uneasy slumbers. His hurried journey, 
 and the events which had succeeded each other so rapidly 
 during the last three days, had greatly troubled him. He 
 rose from his heathy couch, and walked slowly up and down 
 round his sleeping troops ; separated by a small space of grass, 
 and a few bushes, from the sentinels. Then for the first time 
 his actual presence, in a part of the country so near his own 
 home, struck him in its full force. 
 
 The dawn began to break upon the hill- tops, and gradually 
 to disclose these wooded valleys and yellow corn-fields valleys 
 and fields that recalled so many memories of his infancy, with 
 all its scenes of bloodshed and horror. He had before 
 slumbered upon these landes, his companions all reposing 
 around him; but in what cause engaged? and under what 
 banner? 
 
LIMOEL&N, 107 
 
 Abandoned to these painful recollections, and calculating 
 how soon an end would be put to all, he shuddered in spite of 
 himself, and a sort of icy coldness spread through his veins, as 
 he stood exposed to the chill air of the morning. " 
 
 All at once a distant noise excited his attention. He ad- 
 vanced rapidly through the osiers, and just pushed through 
 this little thicket of underwood time enough to see the flash 
 of a musket, and the sentinel turn round suddenly, and fall 
 without uttering a cry. 
 
 The explosion was followed by the alert of a small handful 
 of sentinels, who were seen retreating. In an instant the air 
 was filled with wild savage cries, the novelty of which always 
 produced a great effect upon the soldiers, and which Henri 
 himself could not listen to unmoved. The Chouans instantly 
 attacked Henri, who prepared by this accident for what was 
 to come, made his troop retreat under the shelter of the copses, 
 where he had time to restore order, and take up an advan- 
 tageous position in front of the wood. The hussars hidden 
 behind a thicket, were commanded to remain perfectly quiet 
 till further orders, supporting the detachment in the rear, 
 and affording a corps-de-reserve of which the enemy were 
 ignorant. 
 
 The assailants, according to their accustomed tactics, fol- 
 lowed the march of the Ileus (the uniform of the old royal 
 army was white) through the woods, firing and uttering the 
 same wild and savage cries. This sort of attack was much to 
 be dreaded, for the enemy observed no sort of order, but 
 taking advantage of every accident which presented itself of 
 hillock, rock, thicket, from under shelter of which they poured 
 forth their unerring bullets soon threw the best disciplined 
 troops into confusion ; obliging them to break their ranks and 
 fight like themselves, man to man. 
 
 In such a combat the advantage was chiefly upon the side 
 of the peasants, who were lightly armed, without baggage 
 active, vigorous, indefatigable, and well acquainted with the 
 ground. They had dispersed themselves upon all sides among 
 the trees, dividing the attention of the troop, and answering 
 their ill-directed fire by an irregular, but most effective fusil- 
 lade. 
 
 But now, seeing no trace of the cavalry, of which they had 
 received information, and judging the men sufficiently thrown 
 into disorder, they sprang from their hiding-places, and fell 
 upon them with furious cries. The melee grew warm, but the 
 cavalry, by order of their young captain, now debouching one 
 by one a plan, which made their numbers appear double 
 what they really were made a diversion, and saved the day. 
 It was at the moment when Henri, advancing c-n his side, was 
 
108 LIMGELAST. 
 
 issuing an order to \hQmar echalde logis., that a man dressed like 
 a sailor, and wearing a black mask, turned round and attacked 
 him, firing a pistol, the ball of which passed through his cap. 
 Henri raised his sword, but the man, quick as lightning^ 
 struck at him a furious blow with a huge cutlass, which, how- 
 ever, glancing aside, the shock threw him forward into the 
 very arms, as it were, of his adversary. The gripe he received 
 was horrible, but the captain seized the blade of the seaman's 
 sword with such violence, that he broke it round his body, 
 and redoubling his efforts as the other reeled under the blow, 
 he threw his enemy upon the ground, and kneeling upon his 
 throat, drew a pistol from his girdle. But the mask had fallen 
 off in the struggle, and as Henri was looking down, he thought 
 the excitement of the struggle must have disordered his senses, 
 for, in the man lying prostrate beneath his feet, with his coun- 
 tenance distorted with rage and despair, he recognised his 
 father! 
 
 "No quarter at least!" said the count, in a low hoarse 
 voice, and the foam issuing from his mouth. 
 
 Henri cast round him one wild distracted look, then pick- 
 ing up the hilt of his father's sword, he presented it to him, 
 but the old man sprang to his feet, fumbled with a trembling 
 convulsed hand in his bosom, drew out a tremendous knife, 
 and with a sort of shudder, grinding his teeth, and seeming to 
 restrain himself by a violent effort, he cried, ' ' Begone ! Would 
 you force me to murder you? Begone, I say, the temptation 
 is too strong. If we meet again " 
 
 And, tearing himself with violence away, he rejoined his 
 companions. 
 
 The Chouans were already dispersing, and the sergeant of 
 the troop, who was hastening up to the assistance of his 
 captain, stopped in astonishment at the scene he witnessed ; 
 but thinking his officer wounded, he cried out, turning to his 
 comrades 
 
 " Fire upon the rascal!" 
 
 " Stop! stop!" cried Henri, pale as death, and flinging 
 himself before them, "not a step." 
 
 "But, Captain, that black mask is one of their chiefs." 
 
 Henri struck up the man's musket. 
 
 " Silence, I say; if you fire you are a dead man." 
 
 He did not perceive, in his horrible agitation, how strange 
 and incomprehensible his conduct must appear in the eyes 
 of his men: the sergeant said in a low voice, turning to his 
 comrades 
 
 " The captain and he understand one another! The black 
 mask is the very man we are come after." 
 
 " Did you hear what they said together, sergeant?" asked 
 
LIMOEJLAN. 109 
 
 a young soldier, enlisted the evening before, and who passed 
 for a spy. 
 
 "Nothing but compliments, I dare say, and then they 
 parted as civilly as possible." 
 
 The cavalry, which had completely dispersed the Chouans in 
 the landes, now returned ; they had lost two men ; and their 
 well-timed charge had decided the success of what had ap- 
 peared at first a very doubtful affair, owing to the small 
 number of the troop. 
 
 When Henri found himself alone upon the field of battle, 
 now covered with the dead, the bloody sword in his hand, 
 reeking from the abominable strife, he was seized with an in- 
 vincible transport of horror ; he hastily collected his company 
 together, and at the head of his detachment, resumed in silence 
 the way which led to the cantonment ; his manner and deport- 
 ment during this short march furnishing fresh subject for 
 astonishment to his soldiers. 
 
 The whole adventure was detailed in whispers among the 
 ranks, as they marched along, and they related all they had 
 heard from those who had served longest in these parts, about 
 the Masque Noir, who had appeared with so much effect in 
 previous affairs. It was a custom among the Chouans, to dis- 
 tinguish their chiefs by some nom-de-guerre names which often 
 acquired a too terrific reputation. The one called the Mas- 
 que Noir, was among the most terrible of all, not only for his 
 extraordinary bravery, but for the prodigious rapidity of his 
 attacks, which seemed to multiply upon themselves. Twenty 
 times had fruitless schemes been formed to take this dreaded 
 being prisoner, but none had succeeded. No one had ever 
 seen his face, and the imagination of the soldiers beginning to 
 be excited, it was whispered, that he was one of the most 
 considerable among the emigrants; in short no less than a 
 prince of the house of Bourbon itself, v 
 
 Henri continued his way, his head bent downwards, lost 
 in thought. Having had no news of his father for so long, ho 
 had imagined him quietly living at Lagrange ; he was per- 
 plexed to account for his again taking up arms, and as he 
 ruminated upon the subject, his shudderings and involuntary 
 gestures of distress betrayed his excessive agitation. 
 
 Returning from so successful an affair, Henri was, however, 
 received with much civility by the officer in command, either 
 because his otherwise brilliant conduct had served to diminish 
 the suspicions which had been entertained, or that under so 
 friendly a reception his commander was concealing his real 
 sentiments. Henri, still agitated and trembling, seized the 
 favourable moment "Commandant," said he, "I conjure 
 you send me away from hence ; give me some civil employ- 
 
HO LiMOELAN. 
 
 ment I ain not fit for this war I was born in this 
 country; I cannot see these peasants killed around me without 
 my heart failing me altogether. Better speak out at once, 
 you will appreciate my motives ; let them send me to the 
 frontiers." 
 
 The old commandant seemed touched with these reasons. 
 
 "But what can I do? I am very short of officers, as you 
 know ; but I will consult the adjutant-general, who has just 
 arrived." 
 
 " Malseigne!" said Henri. 
 
 "Ah, yes! He is an acquaintance of yours; you were at 
 school together : he is quite a young man, but is getting on fast." 
 
 "An additional reason," said Henri, "for sending me 
 away. Malseigne and I are not particularly fond of being 
 together. Present my requisition to him; you will see he 
 will be of niy opinion." 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied the commandant, with a meaning look; 
 "I have heard something of what passed at school." 
 
 " But what is he come here for?" 
 
 "Nobody very well understands. Some mission of import- 
 ance. He comes with full power over all the constituted 
 authorities of the department ; probably some negotiation with 
 the Chouans something proceeding from the quarter of the 
 high police ; they say Fouche has a hand in it." 
 
 "I understand," said Henri, with a contemptuous smile; 
 " mention me or not as seems necessary; only keep us out of 
 sight of one another. I want no promotion." 
 
 The presence of Limoelan in the army of the west did, in 
 fact, embitter the hatred of Malseigne, and it was very easy 
 for the adjutant-general to turn one of the family secrets 
 with which he was acquainted to his disadvantage, and to 
 whisper about the part his father had played in the wars of 
 La Vendee. He took care, also, to insinuate among the 
 officers of the etat major, what had passed at school had 
 taken rise in his conviction, that Limoelan was secretly labour- 
 ing for the Bourbons. He had been informed of the suspicious 
 scene which had taken place upon the landes, and he was, in 
 fact, discussing it when the commandant presented Henri's 
 petition. Malseigne immediately gave orders upon the subject 
 to a superior officer, and then began to develop the measures, 
 to stifle the war at once, with which, he said, he was 
 charged, it being on the point of bursting forth upon the 
 left bank, in consequence of a most formidable intrigue. 
 
 The next day the commandant sent for Henri, and told 
 him that his request was granted. He explained to him that 
 he was deputed to guard the course of the Loire, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Varades and Arcemris; that the country was 
 
LIMOELAN. 1 1 i 
 
 perfectly tranquil in that direction in short, that the post 
 was made for him, arid that he would have plenty of time to 
 amuse himself with sketching the scenery, which was beautiful 
 in those parts. The commandant was not really a bad-hearted 
 man, in spite of the awkward pleasantry with which he at- 
 tempted to conceal the insidious motives of this appointment ; 
 but Henri remarked something not altogether natural in his 
 jokes. The commandant, however, recovered all his gravity 
 when he took leave of the young man, wishing him with some 
 emphasis, bon voyage. 
 
 The very same day Henri set forward with half his company, 
 but the commission which brought him so near his native place, 
 was not of a nature to calm the agitation he felt upon ap- 
 proaching it. The road he was pursuing was the very same 
 he had passed over with his father in the rear of the Vendean 
 army, in the expedition of Outre-Loire, and the contrast of his 
 past and present position struck him at every step. Besides, 
 he was not without considerable anxiety as to the effect of the 
 demand he had made. He began to fear that the commander 
 had not understood the true motives of his repugnance, and 
 that he held him for a coward, and nothing less than a coward, 
 anxious to escape all dangerous enterprises And then every 
 report that reached him with respect to the Masque Noir, 
 proved that his father was more and more deeply engaged in 
 this horrible war. Who could say? It might be his fate to 
 meet him once more upon the field of battle, and vainly en- 
 deavour to save him. And what, what could he do better 
 disabused as he was from all his illusions of patriotism than 
 devote himself to his father's safety, and heal the fatal breach 
 between them? 
 
 Again and again, as he advanced, he looked at the order 
 which commanded him to occupy certain points upon the 
 course of the Loire, and station himself there. This order 
 suddenly aroused all his old terrors ; for this part of the coun- 
 try was described as being the very centre of the seditious 
 proceedings of which he had heard so much. Yet agitated 
 as he was, he was little prepared for the excessive emotion 
 with which he was seized upon his second day's march.* It 
 was whilst viewing, amid a thousand confused and tender senti- 
 ments, those well-known banks of the Loire, as they fleeted by 
 that scenery engraved in characters so dear upon his memory 
 he suddenly beheld that great oak, that immense tree, which, 
 to every man acquainted with the country, marked the situa- 
 tion of the chateau of Lagrange, standing on the other side 
 of the river, not more than a quarter of a league from the 
 place where he stood. 
 
 At this sight his heart began to beat so rapidly that he 
 
LIMOELAN. 
 
 1.19 
 
 could hardly breathe ; and he felt it would be difficult, nay 
 impossible, to approach this beloved spot and not attempt to 
 visit it once more, even at a distance. Nothing seemed more 
 easy, since, provided he followed the course of the Loire with 
 his detachment, he was at liberty to halt whenever he pleased 
 between Varades and Arcennis. His father, too, being occu- 
 pied upon the other side of the Loire, there was not the 
 slightest risk of meeting him. He therefore commanded the 
 halt to be made half a league from Varades, near a few scat- 
 tered houses, and exactly opposite the Chateau of Lagrange, 
 the road to which was well known to him. Interrogating the 
 inhabitants, he found the country round was perfectly tran- 
 quil, and had been so for some time. It proved, then, as it had 
 been represented to him, that this was a mere post of observa- 
 tion which he was to occupy, altogether removed from the 
 theatre of war. 
 
 After having arranged the halt, with a mind agitated 
 by a thousand indistinct feelings of uneasiness, he began to 
 think how he could carry his scheme of visiting his home into 
 execution. He was, in fact, about to do neither more nor 
 less than to quit his post, subject matter enough in itselt 
 to make him hesitate; but he felt that, if reproached with this, 
 he could always allege in his defence that it was because he was 
 too far from his commander to request that leave which he 
 was certain, if demanded, to have obtained. One single day's 
 absence would be enough, and his lieutenant could very well 
 take his place for so short a time. 
 
 It was a few hours after the arrival of the troops at the 
 little village they occupied, that a soldier the very man who 
 had questioned the sergeant upon the landes, and who passed 
 for a spy rejoined the company, as if he had been left by 
 accident behind. He brought news from the cantonment; 
 he said there had been a good deal of skirmishing, and that 
 they had taken a Chouan chief, whom there was good reason 
 to believe was actually the famous Masque Noir. The sol- 
 diers who surrounded him clapped their hands at this intelli- 
 gence ; and Henri suspecting that his father was really a 
 prisoner, and anxious to assure himself of the fact, hesitated 
 no longer in his resolution to go to Lagrange. 
 
 That very evening he sent for his lieutenant, invested him 
 with the command, confiding his project in part to him, and 
 saying that a day's absence would be all he should require. 
 An hour afterwards, at nightfall, he passed the Loire in a 
 little boat, the boatman amusing him, as he rowed, by pointing 
 out various places, made famous in the grand war, by the 
 passage of the Vendeans. As his passenger only replied by 
 monosyllables and affirmative signs 
 
L1MOELAN. 113 
 
 * ; No doubt, you were fighting, at that very time, against 
 the Brigands," said the man. 
 
 "No; I was very young, and served on their side." 
 
 He left the boatman upon the bank, all in astonishment to 
 see a Vendean who was crossing the Loire in a blue uniform, 
 and hastily began his march, for it was already night, and he 
 had a long league to make over difficult roads but well he 
 knew these roads. He walked fast, and his agitation mani- 
 fested itself by the rapidity of his steps, and by sighs and excla- 
 mations of joy, regret, or grief which escaped him, as he looked 
 upon the various objects that presented themselves as he passed. 
 
 There was the ruin of a mill, standing like some isolated 
 tower upon the summit of the bank ; there blackened walls of 
 some farm-house all bearing the traces of the sword and fire 
 and of the ravages of the invading columns. His emotion 
 redoubled at every step, his eyes filled with tears, till leach- 
 ing, at length, the boundary of the domain, he lightly sprang 
 over the pleached hedges, which he had so often in infancy 
 amused himself by leaping. 
 
 His first intention had been only to look once more, and 
 from a distance, upon the roof which had sheltered his father, 
 walk round the house, like a stranger, and then return whence 
 he come. But now he felt determined, at least, to question 
 some peasant, make himself known, and learn how it went at 
 the chateau. All at once he perceived the great old tower of 
 Beaulieu, standing a black, detached mass, against the deep 
 azure of the sky ; the moon shone upon the landscape, tinting 
 with a line of light the vast profile of the ramparts. Henri 
 paused for a moment to take breath and gaze; he recollected the 
 masses of verdure which rose above the tower, where, when a 
 brave and enterprising child, he had sought for birds' nests. 
 In a sort of ecstasy his eye followed the outline of these 
 ancient walls, his memory supplying the parts still hidden 
 from his sight. Behind that battlement stands the little 
 raised building of the farm, a broken wall sufficed to mark the 
 ancient platform that had been the kitchen-garden ; and that 
 bastion of stone hides the forbidden entry which leads to the 
 souterrains of the castle. At last he perceived the little 
 winding hollow road, which led to the chateau, and the yawn- 
 ing and dismantled Gothic gateway, through which the blue 
 heaven was visible, looking, in its ruined state, something like 
 a triumphal arch. 
 
 But at this moment his eye was attracted by a bright 
 reflection ; he looked down hastily at himself with some terror, 
 beheld the hilt of his sabre and his brilliant uniform shining 
 in the moonbeams, either of which might easily betray him in 
 this exposed situation. He resumed ids walk immediately, 
 
114 LIMOELAN. 
 
 for } most of all, he longed to look upon the peaked and slated 
 roofs of the more modern chateau of Lagrange, and upon the 
 ancient chapel situated at the angle of the building that 
 chapel which had alone survived the incendiary fires of 
 '93 ; to revisit that plot of ground once the garden, 
 where even in his time some few simple flowers and vine- 
 stalks might be seen; and, above all, the cottage of Langevin. 
 
 Still promising himself to resist the feelings that were urg- 
 ing him forwards, he continued to advance, stopping, from 
 time to time, and looking round at the least noise that he 
 fancied he heard. At length, turning the flanks of the old 
 castle, he passed over the slippery stones across the river at 
 its feet ; mounted the road which ascended to the great tower, 
 and soon discerned a feeble light. He stood for a moment mo- 
 tonless, his heart palpitating between joy, fear, and curiosity. 
 It was the home of Langevin he was not twenty paces from 
 it ; he was nearer than he had imagined. 
 
 The moon, silvering the roof of the little abode, left the 
 front in shadow, and through a window on that side the 
 %ht was shining. He stopped, scarcely able to breathe, 
 divided between the apprehension of consequences and the 
 desire to embrace Langevin once more. Soon he heard the 
 grumbling and growling of a dog, then the dog burst into a 
 loud bark. It was old Sultan, his father's dog. Langevin's 
 door opens. Henri, afraid to stir, hid himself as well as he 
 could behind the bushes. Langevin came out and stood a 
 short --time in the shadow, then, guided by the dog, who kept 
 hurrying forward, yelping and barking, he advanced a few 
 steps, his gun in his hand, crying 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 Henri, seeing the good fellow levelling his piece at his head, 
 rushed forward, crying 
 
 " Stop! stop! Langevin, it is I!" 
 
 At this exclamation Langevin stood still, without however 
 lowering his gun ; he seemed petrified with terror and asto- 
 nishment. But Henri sprang forwards, and caught him in his 
 arms. 
 
 ' ' Is it you, M. Henri ! you ! or is it some wicked spirit in 
 your shape?" 
 
 While he said this, he kept making the sign of the cross with 
 great rapidity. 
 
 " Well, well, I was very near killing you; as sure as my 
 name is Langevin, I was just going to shoot you.' 
 
 "Is my father at Lagrange?" asked Henri. 
 
 " If he's not there, he's no great way off." 
 
 " But they tell me he has been arrested." 
 
 "Not a bit of it." 
 
L1MOEJLAN. 115 
 
 Then dropping bis gun, resting on it, and speaking with 
 great emotion and hurry, he said : 
 
 " Mais c'est egal! Why you're lost all the same. Come 
 in, come in quickly, and let me shut the door; there is no 
 safety for you hereabouts." 
 
 " I know that too well," said Henri. 
 
 " Come in, come in, and let me shut the door." 
 
 Langevin dragged him into the house, with an agitation 
 which bespoke extreme terror. When the door was shut, the 
 peasant turned round, and, casting his eyes upon Henri, by 
 the light of the candle, he first discerned what uniform it was 
 that he wore. 
 
 " Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "it's all true, then you are in 
 the uniform of the Republic ; oh, they know all about it here. 
 Ay ! ay ! M. Henri, you are the son of our master, but there 
 is not one of them hereabouts that would not shoot you, as 
 readily as they would a leveret and your father would be it 
 as soon as any especially at this moment." 
 
 " At this moment! What has happened?" 
 
 " What has happened! Wait a little and you'll see. All 
 the country will be up, and we shall have blood and fire, as in 
 the time of the grand war. They don't let me into the secret, 
 but I have eyes and ears. Don't tempt a poor fellow to peach 
 all I tell you is only for your own good; but woe upon you 
 if they find you here! Night and day people are up and 
 about, going and coming in this country. Everybody has got 
 their gun out ; besides people have come among us, strangers 
 to us all, that we know nothing about. Ay, ay, never be- 
 lieve me but there will be the devil to pay ! I've seen things 
 not exactly as some people think they should be and I was 
 not dreaming neither." 
 
 " Are you sure that nothing has happened to iny ather?" 
 said Henri. 
 
 "Well, but sit down, then, M. Henri," continued Lange- 
 vin, pushing a stool forward " I forget everything I'm so 
 troubled; but you must want something to eat and drink 
 to think of my never asking you ; I am beside myself, I 
 think." 
 
 "I am neither hungry nor thirsty, my good fellow; but 
 what have you seen so very terrible?" 
 
 Langevin crept stealthily to the door, to assure himself 
 that it was closely fastened. 
 
 " Terrible things, indeed, I have," said he in a low voice; 
 
 " and yet I know what fighting is, as you may remember; 
 
 but what I have seen with these eyes ! You know the little 
 
 path which leads to the ditch, on the side next the fields- yon 
 
 might see it now through the window if it were light enough. 
 
116 LIMOELAN. 
 
 Well, in an evening, as sure as you're alive, I I myself 
 I've seen files of men marching, still as death ay, ay, just 
 like the souls in purgatory. Sometimes these creatures come 
 out from the little door; and then, on some days, you hear a 
 loud clap of thunder like, and then a stream of light from the 
 guard tower." 
 
 "A musket-shot?" said 'Henri. 
 
 "No, not at all; it glides along, as it were, through the 
 air not a musket-shot at all I know very well what I am 
 talking about, M. Henri." 
 
 Henri was at first neither much surprised nor much annoyed 
 at this relation; he recollected Langevin's somewhat supersti- 
 tious propensities; bufwithout suffering himself to be satisfied 
 with such ideas, he began seriously to consider what could 
 be the real origin of these appearances. 
 
 Langevin, who had been looking at him for some time with 
 the tears in his eyes, at last said: 
 
 " God knows whether or not I am glad to see you, M. 
 Henri ; but I'd give worlds you were anywhere but where you 
 are just now." 
 
 Then getting up with haste, as if suddenly recollecting him- 
 self, he began to blow up the fire and throw on fresh vine- 
 stalks, and then he brought out something to eat, which he put 
 upon the table. 
 
 " Quite true," said Henri, lifting up his head as one re- 
 covering from a deep reverie "I might bring you into 
 trouble. You have satisfied my uneasiness ; I had better go 
 back again." 
 
 ' 'Ah! M. Henri, don't say that. I saved your life once 
 before ; I am quite ready to save it again. What ! don't you 
 know Langevin? I'd throw myself into the fire for you you 
 know I would. Besides, I must take care of you back ; you 
 would run the greatest risk just now. It is a miracle you have 
 escaped as you did, from the snares that are set on all sides. 
 Stay here as long as you like ; you shall sleep in my bed ; I 
 will sit up by the fire." 
 
 In spite of all the opposition he could make, Henri was 
 forced to submit to this arrangement, he throwing himself 
 upon the poor fellow's bed. 
 
 "In short, do you see," continued Langevin, as he pattered 
 about, busy with his little preparations, " anybody would think 
 Lagrange is a mere desert ; but it is all alive with eyes and 
 ears. You go and knock at the door very well. M. le 
 Comte is not at home; but look about you, and you'll see 
 plenty of people going and coming, it's all one ; I am telling 
 you more than I ought, and I don't understand it all myself, 
 but there is the devil to pay assuredly. I have said so a long 
 
LIMOELAN. 117 
 
 time this old chateau of Beaulieu is a villanous old place 
 and, sooner or later, it will be a mischief for Lagrange." 
 
 But while he chattered away, the young captain, quite over- 
 powered by the fatigues of the day, had already fallen asleep. 
 Langevin lighted his pipe, put out his lamp, sat down by the 
 corner of the fire, and was soon asleep himself. 
 
 It was still dark when Henri felt himself roughly shaken, 
 and, starting up, heard Langevin saying: 
 
 "M. Henri, make haste! make haste! get up!" 
 
 " But it is not morning yet." 
 
 "I ana very sorry to be forced to waken you so early, but 
 it is time to be off." 
 
 Henri sprang from his bed, Langevin was standing at the 
 foot of it, and looking terribly frightened. 
 
 " Well my good fellow, I'm going to do as you bid me. 
 I'm yoing to set out." 
 
 But Langevin caught him in his arms. 
 
 "For God's sake, M. Henri, don't! God knows what 
 might come of it. Don't leave me, I am going to pufc you in 
 a safe hiding-place, for you must stay here no longer how 
 lucky it was I wakened look there ! D'ye see, there is a light 
 in the little window at Lagrange ?" 
 
 " Well, and what if there is?" 
 
 " Whenever there is a light in that little window sure as 
 
 you stand there some devilry is about. The spectres go and 
 
 come all round the place God forgive me if I say amiss. But 
 
 , we have no time to lose. M. le Comte in person will make 
 
 the rounds this way." 
 
 "What would you have me do?" 
 
 "You are a brave man, you M. Henri that was in the 
 family. I am going to hide you in a place where the devil 
 himself dare not come and seek you that is to say, if he is 
 not there already." 
 
 "At Beaulieu, I suppose," said Henri, smiling. 
 
 "Exactly so; and by a road that I believe nobody on earth 
 knows but myself Our old cure once made me go with him 
 to seek for soine papers, which belonged to the old lords of the 
 place. I cry your mercy, but I believe there are one or two of 
 them buried in that place." 
 
 "I remember," said Henri, "that the first staircase of the 
 tower is fastened up by a grating. What a rage I was in, 
 when I was a boy, because I could not get in." 
 
 " The grate is open now, and has been for a long time. I 
 found it out one clay I was going after Sultan, no good sign 
 that are you ready? 1 ' 
 
 Saying this, Langevin took up his lanthorn, \vhich was not 
 lighted, putting at the same time his tinder-box into his 
 
118 LIMOELAN. 
 
 pocket. " Better get through this way," said he, opening the 
 window; "this is a more sheltered path." 
 
 The window was two feet from the ground, and looked 
 upon the back of the house. They jumped out, and crossed 
 a little garden surrounded by a thick hedge, in which a few 
 vegetables were growing 
 
 The faint dawn was now visible in the horizon; gra- 
 dually the chateau, the fields, the neighbouring hills, began to 
 appear, bathed in the mists of morning. Henri gazed upon 
 the well-known landscape with a sort of ecstasy, but Langevin 
 urged him forward in whispers. There was an open field to 
 be crossed before they could reach Beaulieu ; but Langevin, 
 with excessive caution, crept along by the hedge, 
 
 The captain, as he followed him, took almost a childish 
 pleasure in considering the dear and well-known objects that 
 surrounded him. There were the ruined walls over which he 
 had so often clambered ; the huge stones which had served 
 him for steps everything was as it used to be, only more 
 covered with moss, more overgrown with briars and fern. 
 Langevin was every moment obliged to touch his arm, and 
 remind him to be prudent. At last they arrived at a low 
 postern door half buried in the earth, and covered over with 
 bramble-branches. The soil was a little raised before it; 
 Langevin parted the ivy and creeping plants which obstructed 
 the way, and then with some difficulty crept in on hands and 
 knees, followed by Henri they got into a space that was 
 open overheard. 
 
 "Do you see," said Langevin, "people might think that 
 this only led to the platform, and that's the reason the bleus 
 never troubled themselves with this lower part of the castle; 
 but we shall see." 
 
 He struck his flint and steel, lighted his lanthorn, and de- 
 scending jebop* some broken steps, they came to a grate. 
 Langevin pulled out a stone which covered the fastening which 
 was fixed in the wall, and pushing the grate vigorously, it 
 yielded without noise. They found a turning staircase before 
 them, which appeared to be endless, and was so narrow that 
 only one man could descend at once, and it was so low in 
 places that it required great care to prevent the head striking 
 against the ceiling. This staircase terminated in a sort of 
 narrow gallery, which Langevin, who went first, entered upon 
 his hands and knees. 
 
 "Here we are," said he, "in the thickness of the walls; 
 these passages served, in old times, for the soldiers to run 
 about and defend the castle." 
 
 As he spoke, his lanthorn was nearly extinguished by the 
 wind made by a prodigious number of hideous bats, which flew 
 
LIMOELAN. 119 
 
 past them almost striking against their faces as they passed. 
 Henri shuddered, for he held these animals in abhorrence, but 
 Langevin, who kept his head down, said, laughing: 
 
 "Ah! ah! you're afraid of the bats, M. Henri. True, do 
 you recollect when I nailed one over the great door, you would 
 never go under it afterwards?" 
 
 They next entered a large square sort of hall, with a lofty 
 arched roof; the sides were all blackened over with grim and 
 grotesque figures scrawled with charcoal upon the wails. 
 
 "Here," said Langevin, raising his lanthorn, " they used 
 to put the prisoners as they tell me look up at the roof 
 there, do you see two hooks they'd hang them up there at 
 times in the middle of their companions, for to serve as an 
 example, d'ye see? The poor wretches had no light but 
 through that grating there, cut in the door as you see, and 
 which is marked by a wall of earth. I can leave you here, or 
 if you like it better, in a place which is not quite so dismal, 
 which is here hard by." 
 
 They advanced into the second gallery, which led by a 
 gentle descent to a corps-de-garde, where anciently the men 
 at arms were wont to assemble for the defence of the ramparts. 
 
 "Here at least, it won't be quite so dark; at all events, I 
 will leave you the lanthorn in either place, I'll defy them to 
 find you out." . 
 
 " But," said Henri, smiling, " what do you expect I should 
 live upon here?" 
 
 " Never fear for that, M. Henri; I shall come again in two 
 hours, either to take you out, or bring you something to eat. 
 Be easy, I shall think of nothing else, and if we contrive to 
 get away, I'm thinking 111 go with you to Saint Florent." 
 
 The good fellow, with a gesture tempered by much respect, 
 stretched out his hand candidly to Henri. 
 
 " C'est egal," said he, trying to hide his feelings, "you 
 will be dreadfully dull here, but what can we do?" 
 
 " Strange enough," said Henri, raising his eyes to the roof, 
 "to be a prisoner in one's own castle but 1 shall pass away 
 the time as well as I can." 
 
 Then he took out of his pocket a small volume. Langevin 
 went back without suffering the captain to light him, saying, 
 he knew his way perfectly, and Henri long heard his retreat- 
 ing and uncertain steps reverberating in the narrow and gloomy 
 passages. 
 
 When the sound had altogether ceased, the first moment of 
 dead silence in this gloomy place affected him very disagree- 
 ably; but he could not help smiling at himself, when he 
 recollected those fashionable romances of the day, which he, 
 in common with all the world, had studied; and felt how 
 
120 LIMOELAN. 
 
 exactly his situation was in keeping with them Anne Radcliffe 
 herself had never described a more gloomy castle more 
 desert, more dark, more terrible, than this old pils of Beaulieu 
 which had filled him with such a shivering sort of curiosity 
 in his infancy, and now he was actually experiencing the 
 nonsense of such romances ; in real life What was there 
 after all in these formidable walls? Dust and filthy birds of 
 night nothing more. The very prestige of historic recollec- 
 tions had here faded away, and this edifice, where so many 
 mailed and gallant knights had fought and bled, was now 
 nothing but an old tumble-down ruin, only fit to frighten 
 children. 
 
 Adverting to his present situation, he began to think that 
 ridiculous enough. Here he was, probably for no sufficient 
 reason, hidden in a vault, doomed to spend the stupidest and 
 most heroic day of his existence and he began very heartily 
 to repent that he had yielded so easily to the terrors of Langevin, 
 whom he knew to be the greatest poltroon living. Then he 
 began to feel uneasy at the length of time he should be absent 
 from his post, and this very serious anxiety increasing as the 
 time passed away, he began to determine that he would wait 
 no longer, but set out at once, leaving to chance his meeting 
 with some peasant, by whom he might inform Langevin, of 
 what had become of him. 
 
 His head full of these ideas, he walked mechanically to a 
 loop-hole in the wall, from whence he could command a view 
 of a portion of the surrounding country. The first rays of 
 the sun were now shining upon this lovely landscape, and a 
 peasant, his spade over his shoulder, singing as he went, was 
 passing through a field of broom. Well did he recollect such 
 quiet scenes scenes so very, very dear. The heavens were 
 bright, and without a cloud, and this sweet picture, framed 
 as it were by the stone wall of the opening, contrasted forcibly 
 with the profound obscurity of the place in which he lay con- 
 cealed. He stood there a moment, gazing at the spectacle 
 before him, and lost in mingled reflections. 
 
 In the mean time Langevin, having happily effected his 
 escape from the tower by the secret passages, had hurried 
 home, made a recognisance two or three times round his fields, 
 and in consequence of the movements which he thought he 
 still perceived at Lagrange, had judged it prudent to lie some 
 time perdu in his house. At last, believing the castle of 
 Beaulieu to be now entirely deserted, he ventured to proceed 
 that way, going about as if making his usual rounds. In fact, 
 the most profound silence reigned in the place, all the avenues 
 wore closed, and having finished his inspection, he deemed it 
 
LIMOELAN. 121 
 
 advisable to attempt Henri's escape, through the by-lanes ; 
 so taking his gourd filled with wine, and a little bread in his 
 hand, he slipped as before stealthily through the postern. 
 
 He was impatient to propose his scheme to the young captain; 
 and as he hurried along kept calling him in a subdued voice, 
 but the echo of the vaults only returned the sound of his own 
 words ; he still proceeded calling and listening : hearing 
 nothing, he began to feel alarmed, and drawing out his tinder- 
 box, striking a light, hurried to the corps-de-garde, but 
 Henri was no longer there. The only trace remaining of him was 
 the little volume which Langevin had seen in his hands, and 
 which now lay upon the ground. This was enough to excite 
 at once all the superstitious terrors of the poor Langevin, 
 and hastily running back the way he came, he hastily shouted, 
 "M. Henri! M. Henri!" 
 
 When, however, he emerged to the light of day still without 
 finding him, he felt persuaded that his young master had fallen 
 a victim to some of the wicked spirits which haunted the place, 
 and resolved to search for him in the very bowels of the old 
 edifice, if necessary his eyes blinded with the tears that were 
 running down his cheeks, and forgetting in the ecstasy of 
 his distress all his precautions, the poor fellow ran home, 
 resolved to call for assistance from the very first person he 
 should chance to meet, be b$ who he might. He arrived at 
 his own house, but nearly ran against a soldier, who, his 
 musket over his shoulder, was knocking at his door. 
 Langevin, almost beside himself with terror, thought his last 
 hour was arrived, but the soldier accosting him with a frank 
 and cordial air only said, "Did not our captain, the citizen 
 Henri Limoelan, sleep here last night?" 
 
 Langevin, according to his usual habit, was about to deny 
 the fact, but struck with the idea of the almost providential 
 assistance^tius offered to his young master, he cried out, 
 blubbering as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, dear! oh, dear! perhaps he's dead this very moment, 
 
 and if you would save him, there is not an instant to be lost." 
 
 The soldier began to interrogate him closely, and Langevin, 
 
 who was almost inarticulate with terror, pointed to the tower, 
 
 and the road which led to the castle ditch. 
 
 "Wait here!" said the soldier hastily, and clearing the 
 hedge at a spring, he reappeared with a handful of his com- 
 panions, who seemed to have been lying in ambush near the 
 spot. They all hastened to the tower in silence guided by 
 Langevin, groaning and sighing as he went. 
 
 In the mean time, the young captain, whose uneasiness had 
 been only increased by the prolonged absence of Langevin, 
 having relighted his lantern, had resolved to seek some issue, 
 
122 LIMOELAN. 
 
 were it only lo amuse himself and divert the tedious time; he had 
 therefore ascended to the gallery, which was lighted at differ- 
 ent places by loop-holes, and soon found himself at the entrance 
 of the prison, which he recollected perfectly by the strange 
 old drawings upon the walls. They were evidently of so 
 very ancient a date, that he had some curiosity to examine 
 them, but in order to do this, it was necessary to descend to 
 the floor of the room by a little staircase without banisters, 
 which made an angle from the wall: he soon reached the 
 dusty floor, which covered perhaps many a dead body, hidden 
 under these dark vaults, round which his lanthorn cast a 
 flickering and uncertain light. He shuddered in spite of him- 
 self; and his excitable imagination called up in array, 
 the most terrible visions; but, endeavouring to recover 
 his spirits, he began to laugh at the strange terrors 
 vhich had seized him. Then raising the lanthorn, he tried 
 to distinguish the paintings that had excited his curiosity. 
 They were strange grotesque figures, rendered perfectly 
 horrible by the want of skill in the artist; mingled, with 
 them were inscriptions more or less legible, the characters 
 and orthography of all evidently of a very remote antiquity. 
 Among others, Henri succeeded in deciphering the following 
 
 " Dans un temps qui est loing du nostro, 
 Mon vengeur naistra de ceans. 
 Traistre! tes petits enfants 
 Se deschireront, 1'ung 1'autre. 
 
 "JEAN DELA CHASTRE, 
 " De ceuld de Monsieur de Roquebrime " 
 " A distant time shall come, 
 From these the avenger shall arise. 
 Traitor ! the children of thy house 
 Shall rend each other in pieces. 
 
 " JEAN DE LA CHASTRE, 
 "A follower of Monsieur de Roquebrune." 
 
 A follower of Monsieur de Roquebrune! Henri paused, 
 struck with sentences which seemed prophetic of the present 
 state of his unhappy family ; but another inscription close by, 
 aroused his attention still further, and an involuntary excla- 
 mation escaped him, which reverberated through the vaulted 
 roofs with a melancholy and foreboding sound. 
 
 In letters newly inscribed, and characters of quite a recent 
 date, was written 
 
 " Liberte, egalite, ou la mort ! 
 Vive la republique une et indivisible ! 
 
 " TRI.TAC, 
 
 " Du bataillon de Farn et Garonn?." 
 * Liberty, equality, or death ! 
 
 Long live the republic, one and indivisible !'* 
 
UMOELAN. 123 
 
 This was an irrefragable proof that the soldiers of the 
 republic, vvhatever Langevin might say to the contrary, had 
 penetrated into the depths of the castle. But was this during 
 the war? or lately? Had they come as conquerors or plun- 
 derers? or had the author of this inscription, a prisoner like 
 his predecessor centuries earlier met here with a violent 
 death? 
 
 Musing as he moved along, his foot suddenly struck against 
 something hard, and lowering his lanthorn, he discovered 
 with excessive disgust, that the floor was covered with human 
 bones. This was too horrible ; he hastily remounted the 
 stairs, and then discovered for the first time, exactly opposite 
 to him, and side by side with the door by which he had 
 entered, a second door lined with iron and barred by a 
 wooden beam, which appeared at each end to be fastened into 
 the wall. This wooden bar reminded him of the custom of his 
 country he understood the secret, pushed the bar which 
 slided into the wall, and the door opened. Opposite ap- 
 peared another staircase, corresponding in a reverse sense 
 with the one he had ascended. So, in hopes of discovering 
 some other outlet, and having assured himself that the door 
 could not close behind him, he began to descend into the 
 darkness below. He counted fifty-seven steps, and then felt 
 by the dampness of the soil, that he must be considerably 
 below the level of the ground. 
 
 At this point another passage stretched out before him to a 
 great distance; he hesitated a moment whether to pursue it, 
 the rather that this gallery at the end branched out into many 
 others, and there was some danger of his losing himself in the 
 darkness of this labyrinth; a thing that would, to say the 
 least of it, have been extremely disagreeable. 
 
 At last curiosity prevailed; he noted the place of the 
 staircase, and the divisions of this little square where the 
 galleries met, and then boldly adventured down one of them, 
 promising himself that he would be satisfied with this attempt, 
 and having explored the passage, would return immediately. 
 He went on, feeling the wall with his hand, but as he looked 
 forward into the obscurity before him, he thought his eyes 
 must be deceived; for he imagined he perceived a point of light 
 gleaming at a considerable distance. 
 
 He hid his lanthorn behind him, to try whether some 
 reflection might not have been caught upon a point of the 
 walls, but the red light remained still there it was evident 
 there was some one besides himself in the place. At first 
 he felt inclined to return from whence he came, fearing 
 to meet some of the peasants of Lagrange, who might be 
 employed here in some way or other, but curiosity got the 
 
I *24 LIMOELAN. 
 
 better of prudence, and. almost irresistibly impelled onward, 
 he approached the spot, treading cautiously over the floor 
 of the gallery. 
 
 " As he advanced, his suspicions began to change their 
 object. It certainly was not usual to find any human beings 
 employed at such an hour amid ancient ruins like these, pro* 
 teeted as they were by the prevailing superstitions of the 
 country. For the first time he began to think about his arms, 
 and recollected, with no little satisfaction, that he had his 
 sabre hanging at his side, an encumbrance which he had cursed 
 a thousand times during his nocturnal expedition. At last he 
 reached the point from whence the light streamed, and found 
 himself opposite a very narrow opening in the wall, which had 
 evidently been lately made by a pickaxe, the traces of which 
 were quite recent. The light he had seen proceeded from a 
 lamp placed upon the other side of this opening, as if to illu- 
 minate the passage ; and this lamp, exactly of that form which 
 the peasantry were used to hang over their chimneys, con- 
 vinced Henri that the castle was not altogether so abandoned 
 to bats and evil spirits, as it had been represented to him to 
 be. He passed his head through the opening, but all beyond 
 where the rays of the lamp extended lay in profound dark- 
 ness. He was hesitating as to what next to do, when he heard 
 what seemed like the murmuring of human voices at some 
 little distance. He listened attentively he was not deceived; 
 some persons were certainly approaching. He put down his 
 lantern behind him, and resolutely pushed himself through 
 the entrance of the wall, before the persons he heard speak- 
 ing could come up. He then threw himself upon his face, not 
 only the more perfectly to conceal himself, but that he might 
 the better overhear what might be said ; and, in this position, 
 he caught the mingled sentences of a conversation which was 
 carried on by a number of persons. 
 
 Astonished at what he overheard, he continued to creep for- 
 wards upon his hands and knees by the side of the wall, till 
 he beheld a sudden flash of light proceeding from a sort 
 of flambeau which a man carried in his hand, and which 
 flambeau appeared suddenly to multiply itself, by the instant 
 ignition of many others of the same description. And now 
 Henri, as he looked between the heavy pillars which supported 
 the roof of the apartment, could make out what was going 
 on. A number of men were before him standing in groups, 
 and talking in low voices to each other. The coolness of the 
 air, which blew upon his face, persuaded him that he was now 
 in a very spacious chamber, but he could not, through the dark- 
 ness that pervaded its remoter parts, ascertain its precise 
 dimensions. He was, however, not a little astonished, and he 
 
JJMOELAN. 125 
 
 involuntarily clapped his hand upon the hilt of his sword, when 
 he perceived that all the men who stood there were armed to 
 the teeth. 
 
 Presently there was, as it were, a sort of agitation observable 
 among these strange personages, the number of whom seemed 
 every moment to augment ; and then a voice was heard above 
 the others, but unfortunately the roof was so lofty, and the 
 words so confused by its echoes, that the captain could not 
 distinguish a single syllable said. Recovering, however, from 
 his first surprise at this spectacle, which looked more like a 
 vision than a reality, and uncertain whether to declare 
 himself to personages so questionable, he set himself seriously 
 to consider what he should do. Armed against superstitious 
 terrors by true philosophy, and the study of the exact 
 sciences, he was not for a moment really a prey to any 
 ridiculous apprehensions, though it must be confessed that the 
 recollections of his childhood, aroused in so lively a manner at 
 this scene, had troubled him at the first moment. His reason 
 had already conquered such fancies, and he began to reflect 
 upon the many natural causes which gave rise to the wonderful 
 legends current among the common people. He recollected 
 those brigands, who, under colour of the civil wars, had desolated 
 the western provinces, and the companies of coiners, of whom 
 he had heard so many tales, both of whom chose such places 
 for carrying on their operations ; so he began to feel in his 
 belt for his pistols, but he had left them at the head of his bed 
 in Langevin's cottage. Pie had nothing left but his sabre, and 
 a poignard which he always carried in his bosom. It was the 
 one his father had thrown at his feet at the lande of Saint 
 Genie's these arms were enough to secure him from danger. 
 
 The men, who were at first confusedly dispersed about, at 
 last seemed to have taken their places. Then the most pro- 
 found silence succeeded, and this assembly now reminded him 
 of those secret assemblies for religious purposes, of which the 
 English history furnishes so many examples. Soon the voice 
 which had attracted his attention was heard again above the 
 rest; but still Henri only caught the confused echo of its 
 tones. At last, determined to unravel the mystery, he stole 
 behind a pillar, whose shadow effectually concealed him in 
 this imperfect light ; and encouraged by the success with which 
 he had effected this movement, he ventured to glide from 
 pillar to pillar till he got close to the company. 
 
 Here, holding his breath, he listened with the utmost at- 
 tention, and then he thought he caught the sound of a voice 
 most agitating to his feelings, but the singularity of his posi- 
 tion prevented him from paying any great attention even to 
 this at first; he was like one suddenly brought into a theatre, 
 
126 -UMGI5LAN. 
 
 who is dazzled and bewildered by the blazing lights, the 
 scenery, &c. and regards not the actors on the stage.; however 
 it was not' long before, recovering from his first surprise, he 
 beheld with dismay indescribable the leading actor in the drama, 
 which was now, in all its details, displayed before him. 
 
 Upon an elevated sort of dais stood a long table, and at it 
 three men were seated: around them some standing, some 
 sitting in all about twenty men were assembled; some of 
 these were dressed as peasants, some as sailors the arms 
 which they each carried glittering in the light of the torches. 
 One of the men in the. middle of the group, standing by a 
 torch, was holding a packet of papers in his hand, which he 
 unfolded one by one, and read the contents aloud to the as- 
 sembled company. It was the monotonous reading of this man 
 which the captain had heard so far off. 
 
 He was scarcely recovered from his astonishment, when this 
 reader stopped : a confused murmur of approbation followed, 
 but silence was soon restored, and then one of the principal 
 personages began to speak and could Henri have refused to 
 believe the testimony of his eyes, this voice, which vibrated 
 to his very heart-strings, would have convinced him, that the 
 whole was indeed no vision, but a dreadful reality, and that 
 the person before him was no less than M. de Limoelan him- 
 self. And now, struggling with his emotion, and forcing 
 himself to remain still, Henri listened to a discourse which at 
 once explained to him the nature of the projects in agitation. 
 
 "We have been informed," said the count, "that some 
 vague suspicions of the operations preparing on both banks of 
 the Loire, have reached the police at Paris. A detachment, 
 under the command of the Lieutenant Simon, crossed the 
 river yesterday, to watch and anticipate the movement they 
 are in expectation of; whilst a second company, under the 
 command of the Lieutenant Limoelan, occupies the opposite 
 bank." 
 
 Neither did the voice neither did the iron visage of the 
 father, mark, by the slightest change of expression or inflec- 
 tion of tone, as he pronounced it, that this was the name of 
 his only son ; but Henri, perhaps deceived by his own emo- 
 tions, fancied he could perceive that it excited some little feel- 
 ing in the men who surrounded the speaker. He was a good 
 deal surprised that they were so exactly aware of the situation 
 of his company, but he could not believe what was reported of 
 the occupation by Lieutenant Simon; this intelligence was, 
 indeed, news to him. 
 
 The orator continued 
 
 "It is of consequence not to await the result of these 
 manoeuvres, and, on that account, to hurry forward fcho 
 
LIMOEJLAN. 127 
 
 execution of that scheme which has been resolved upon. The 
 association relies implicitly upon you all, and it holds as a pledge 
 of your courage and fidelity the actions you have so lately 
 achieved ; and I may repeat, for the general satisfaction, that 
 there is not one among your chiefs who has not, at some time or 
 other, cheerfully exposed his life and fortune for the cause not 
 one who is not ready, for that cause, to make the sacrifice of 
 everything most dear to him in the world . I proceed to the deci- 
 sions of the Council: 29th June, anniversary of St. Peter and 
 St, Paul, is marked as the day for the enterprise of St. Rejiend 
 upon the Tuileries and the ministers. The first division, 
 en pelotons, is to occupy the leffc bank of the river. Arms 
 are to be disembarked and distributed opposite to St. Fiorent. 
 I recommend the greatest promptitude in this movement, 
 upon which the success of the first day depends. The distri- 
 bution of the forces will be made at day-break, and the march 
 commence at four o'clock; junction effected with the troops 
 from Poictou, at the Point de Ce ; a general rising upon the 
 same day, headed by George a Morlaix, by Franceuil afc 
 Lannes, by Guillaume at Mans, Joseph at Hernes, and 
 Thomas at Angers. The different corps will communicate by 
 estafettes, distinguished by a green ribbon. Two rockets 
 sent up from Laroche will be the signal for the movement to 
 commence, a single one will signify a counter-order. After 
 the reunion of the detached posts, we march upon Paris. The 
 General Couetas will command at St. Florent; I shall be 
 found at the right moment at Laroche. I am going to call 
 over the roll, according to the signatures." 
 
 Among the names, though disguised by nick-names, Henri 
 recognised those of the principal gentlemen in the neighbour- 
 hood, many of whom he had believed to be out of the king- 
 dom. After every one had answered to the roll-call, the 
 count pronounced himself the name of Limoelin, and, bowing 
 in his turn, simply added 
 
 "Who has the honour to command you." 
 
 Then he read the following formula. 
 
 "In the name of God and the king, I swear, by my honour 
 and conscience, obedience to my acknowledged chiefs. I will 
 keep this secret at the expense of my life, and of that of any 
 person whomsoever that could endanger this alliance." 
 
 At that instant Henri could not help feeling as if his father's 
 eye fell upon his face. 
 
 Then a man opened the book of the Holy Gospels, which lay 
 upon the table, and every one present took the oath, and the 
 count rose and stretching out his hand upon the book which 
 was presented to him, said . 
 
 "I swear." 
 
128 LIMOE.LAN. 
 
 After which every one replaced his hat upon liis head. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this meeting is ended. I have only one more 
 word to say." 
 
 A profound silence. 
 
 "We are betrayed." 
 
 And in the first excitement of this revelation, the count 
 continued in a tone of passion 
 
 "Here, at this very place, at this very moment, a spy is 
 listening no disturbance, I beg ; he is in our power and , 
 be he who he may, he shall not escape our justice." 
 
 The conspirators looked at each other in silence. 
 
 "^Before I point him out, I demand that judgment shall 
 be immediately pronounced upon him, in order that every 
 one may give sentence impartially." 
 
 Henri, finding himself discovered, remained perfectly quiet 
 in his place, as did every one present. 
 
 Then a voice said 
 
 "It is for you, M. le Comte, to give the first opinion." 
 
 "Death!" said M. de Limoelan, with decision. 
 
 "Death!" repeated all the others. 
 
 "Point him out," said the first voice. 
 
 The count, his arm extended, was about to speak, but 
 Henri would not allow him; he advanced at once into the 
 full light of the torches. 
 
 " I am doubtless the person you allude to, but I am neither 
 a spy nor a traitor." 
 
 " Your name!" said another voice. 
 
 "Henri de Limoelan. I was born in this place, and I am 
 here by accident." 
 
 The captain pronounced these words with as much compos- 
 ure as his father ; they produced a very evident effect upon 
 all present an emotion of mingled admiration and terror. 
 One, however, among the rest, who had approached a little 
 nearer, now turned to the count with an air of some embar- 
 rassment, as if to interrogate him. 
 
 "Major, you know the sentence," said the count, in a low, 
 deep, and steady voice. 
 
 " And the time," said the man. 
 
 "Immediately." 
 
 There was a dead silence ; but this silence expressed what 
 was passing in their hearts, Henri drew his sword, and pre- 
 sented it by the hilt. 
 
 "I very well understand, gentlemen, that my death appears 
 necessary, but I am no spy, I am only an enemy, and I have 
 got possession of your secrets without any previous intention 
 on my part. Let me as an enemy alone receive execution at 
 your hands; here are my arms Vive la Republique !" 
 
LIMOELAN. lfc<) 
 
 His eyes were fixed steadily upon his father's face as he 
 spoke, and it seemed as if he addressed this speech to and 
 thought only of him. The man who was called the major, 
 then asked him if he had nothing else to say. Henri put his 
 hand within his uniform, drew out a knife, flung it upon the 
 table, and said: 
 
 "I had forgotten this." 
 
 Then two men, with a certain respect, placed a hand upon 
 each of his shoulders, while others silently grouped themselves 
 en peloton behind the pillars. The two men who held him, 
 placed him against the opposite wall,, and in deep silence this 
 deed of horror was about to be perpetrated, when distant 
 sounds were at the very moment heard among the caverns. 
 
 The count rose hastily. 
 
 "Fire upon the traitor!" he cried; but as he spoke, he 
 beheld men in uniform passing hastily through the opening, 
 with their muskets in their hands and fixed bayonets. The 
 count sprung from his seat and flinging himself upon Henri, 
 was just raising his sword, when, uttering the most piercing 
 cries, a man arrested his arm; this was Langevin. 
 
 " Rendez-vous ! rendez-vous ! defence is impossible!" the 
 firing of muskets followed; the cavern was soon filled with 
 smoke; two or three men fell. All this was but the affair of 
 a moment. Henri flung himself before his soldiers, a ball 
 passed through his arm. "Stop! stop!" he cried, "obey 
 your captain 1" 
 
 " Captain!" exclaimed the lieutenant, his eyes flashing with 
 rage, "you are rather impudent, methinks, to call yourself 
 our captain. You are our prisoner deliver your sword." 
 
 Two soldiers seized Henri, while the others, urged by the 
 officers, quickly dispersed themselves on all sides, but the 
 greater part of the conspirators had already escaped by the 
 grate. 
 
 They picked up only two or three men who had fallen down, 
 and who immediately fell a sacrifice to their fury. While the 
 soldiers were shaking at the grate, and endeavouring to force 
 it open, Henri turned round, and saw Langevin quite beside 
 himself, clinging to his clothes; he pushed him away, and 
 addressing the officer, said: 
 
 * ' No doubt it is my presence in this place, which forms the 
 subject matter of the accusation against me, lieutenant." 
 
 "I have no answer to give, Captain; you will account for 
 your proceedings at the proper time." 
 
 The soldiers by this time had rushed into the gallery, the 
 grates having already given way. They hurried through long 
 passages till they entered upon a platform which ended in the 
 ditch, at a place where the rampart was demolished. Those 
 
130 UMOELAN. 
 
 who went first cried out that the Chouans had escaped, and 
 then they all took the road to Lagrange, which was already 
 occupied by a strong detachment. Henri was marching 
 in the rear surrounded by the men who guarded him, when the 
 commandant met him. 
 
 " What the devil, Captain haye you resolved to betray us 
 too?" 
 
 "That is to say," said Henri, passionately, "that every- 
 thing conspires to betray me; as for myself, I have betrayed 
 no one, as I shall easily prove." 
 
 The commandant shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "My orders are to cause you to be immediately tried 
 before a council of war very sorry all of us very sorry. 
 The adjutant-general writes me word that it must either be 
 to-night or to-morrow morning ; he intends to use the greatest 
 dispatch in this affair which, unluckily for you, has occupied 
 the superior authorities for some time." 
 
 He turned towards his officers. 
 
 "You hear, gentlemen get your men together, and have 
 everything ready." 
 
 The Lieutenant Simon approached the commandant, and 
 said in a low voice: 
 
 "I cannot, and do not believe that Limoelan can be guilty. 
 He's a good republican proud and obstinate if you will, but 
 .no traitor!" 
 
 "I am sure I wish nothing so much as to save him," 
 replied the commandant ; " but that, I fear, will be difficult in 
 the mean time we must obey orders." 
 
 Henri was shut up in a room on the ground-floor of his 
 own house. 
 
 This event, however, had caused great sensation among 
 the soldiers. The loud beating of the drums, and confused 
 noises around the castle, showed that various movements were 
 going on. Henri listened some time to these sounds, and then 
 he began to look round upon all the familiar objects in the 
 room about him, sinking at length into so deep and melancholy 
 a reverie, that he did not even hear the door open. It was 
 the Lieutenant Simon, who now entered, and found him lost 
 in thought, standing considering a little medallion, in which 
 were the portraits of his mother, his grandfather, and his 
 father, dressed in the royal uniform. 
 
 " Come, Captain," cried Simon, " you have no time to lose, 
 if you mean to get away from this," 
 
 Henri flew towards him. 
 
 "Are any of the others arrested?" 
 
 "Nobody but yourself." 
 
 " So much the better." 
 
JL1MOEJLAN. 131 
 
 " So much the worse, my good friend; I'd be glad every 
 one of them were arrested, and you yourself at liberty ; for 
 this is a very awkward affair, let me tell you, my poor fellow." 
 
 4 'And what do you mean to do?" 
 
 "This is what I mean to do, my old friend and, entre 
 nous, I'm not making this attempt without being backed in a 
 certain place. I have dropped a word or two to the command- 
 ant, who does not choose to put himself forward, but who is 
 behind the scenes. You know that a royalist insurrection 
 has been expected some time. Malseigne took upon himself 
 to track the whole business and I rather wonder, knowing 
 that, that you chose to have anything to do with it. Well, 
 the thing is done, but the police knows nothing certain as yefc 
 there is everything to fear ; our failure this morning which 
 will prove to the Chouans that we are but very ill informed 
 as to their proceedings, will augment their audacity, and 
 hasten the execution of their measures. Tell us what you 
 know, and you will be rewarded rather than punished." 
 
 Henri held down his head ; he was considering whether the 
 conspirators, already half betrayed, would not, of themselves, 
 renounce their enterprise. 
 
 "Answer quickly," said Simon, " you have no engagements 
 with those people. As for yourself, everything is known 
 and is excused: you conspired with your father very na- 
 tural well, nobody is taken ; so you have only to save your- 
 self." 
 
 'But," said Henri, v/ith a sorrowful smile, "I did not 
 conspire a minute later, and you would not have found me 
 there. They were going to shoot me. But it is a long 
 story, which there is no use in telling even to you, my good 
 friend." 
 
 Saying this, he took his hand affectionately. 
 
 "Oh, yes I know you," cried Simon, passionately. "I 
 know you well I believe you but give your reasons to the 
 council." 
 
 "I cannot," said Henry, gently. 
 
 " Limoelan, don't behave like a child; you were the dupe 
 of all these fine feelings in the affair with Malseigne. Besides, 
 it is to do a good service to the army to your comrades ; it's 
 a duty every way." 
 
 "Thank you, Simon; I will think about it." 
 
 "That means to say that you will do nothing at all; but 
 consider you will leave behind you, among your comrades, the 
 reputation of having been a traitor." 
 
 " Ay, that's it that's what pains me and I grieve too for 
 you, dear Simon, because I know you have a good heart, and 
 will regrc-t me sincerely." 
 
132 LIMOELAN. 
 
 " May be so but I know some that will be glad enough 
 of your death ; for. after all, this has been prepared to entrap 
 you. A man in your company played the spy they sought 
 occasions to make you commit yourself the commandant has 
 confessed all' to me. But the council is just going to assem- 
 ble ; don't forget what I say." 
 
 Pie stretched out his hand as he went away, and Henri 
 pressed it warmly. He soon heard the troop assembling, and 
 presently some men of his company came to lead him forth. 
 The officers, who composed the military commission, were 
 standing before the door of the chateau, the troops were ranged 
 in two lines upon each side of them ; and some peasants, whom 
 it was impossible to drive away, had gathered round the place, 
 upon the report that it was M. Henri, the son of their master, 
 who was about to be tried. There was a profound silence on 
 all sides, yet, in spite of this apparent tranquillity, some little 
 things betrayed the interest with which Henri was regarded. 
 As he entered the circle he looked round him, smiled at Simon, 
 and then stood still in front of the officers of the commission. 
 
 The drums beat. 
 
 After the usual questions with regard to age, quality, &c. 
 the commandant, Bescher, roughly continued : 
 
 " You are accused of having taken part in a plot to over- 
 throw the government, and, consequently, to have doubly 
 betrayed your country, both as a citizen and as a soldier." 
 
 Henri coloured slightly, and raising his head, said : 
 
 " Commandant, the accusation is false; I have betrayed no 
 one." 
 
 " You left your post yesterday." 
 
 "And that is the only point upon which I am guilty." 
 
 "You were seized yesterday, at a meeting of the rebels." 
 
 " I was very innocently there." 
 
 11 That's quite true," cried Langevin, who was retained as 
 a witness ; but they commanded him to be silent. 
 
 "Declare what passed there," said the commandant. 
 
 '* Commandant, that is what I cannot do." 
 
 " The facts speak for themselves; you have only to justify 
 yourself, if that is possible." 
 
 "Commandant," replied the young man, firmly, "it is 
 useless to urge me." 
 
 "But Limcelan," cried the other with impatience, " this is 
 as good as owning yourself guilty ; the sentence is certain, for 
 you are a traitor." 
 
 Voices were heard from the crowd, crying, "No, no, no;" 
 and these voices were mingled with a sort of involuntary 
 applause. 
 
 *' Clear away the people," said the commandant, and while 
 
LTMOELAN. 133 
 
 tlie sentinels were thus employed, he turned with a very 
 agitated countenance towards the officers, who were murmur- 
 ing in a low voice among themselves. 
 
 "My orders are pressing," he said; "we have already 
 delayed too long ; an immediate execution without a sentence 
 is required; it is excessively embarrassing." 
 
 The officers spoke among themselves with increased vivacity ; 
 then the commandant, turning towards Henri, said : 
 
 "Limoelan, you are condemned to death; but I take 
 upon myself to suspend execution till the arrival of the adju- 
 tant-general. Sergeant, take away this man, but detain him 
 in custody. 
 
 The beating of the drums drowned the sort of murmured 
 agitation with which these words were received. Henri was re- 
 conducted to the room which he had before occupied, and, as the 
 pain of his wound and the mental agitation he had undergone, 
 had much weakened him, he took a little food with which 
 he was supplied. As the evening drew on, finding himself 
 alone, he went to the window, from whence the distant hills 
 might, be seen, behind which under a heavy black cloud, the 
 sun was now setting ; the red light fell upon Laroche, a town 
 situated upon one of the heights on the opposite side of the 
 valley, and from whence the signal to the conspirators was to 
 be given. 
 
 Henri knew his father well, and the strength of his resolution 
 made him tremble, and he anticipated with horror all the 
 miseries which this threatened insurrection might occasion; 
 but his confession might send the count to the scaffold, and be- 
 sides he could not think himself justified in revealing a secret 
 thus surprised. As for his own life, he never once thought of 
 it ; but he remained long with his head leaning against the 
 bar of the window, absorbed in the combat of conflicting 
 duties. It was now quite dark, his repeater struck and he 
 found, that in ten minutes more his fate would be decided. 
 His eyes, However, continued fixed upon Laroche, the dark 
 outline of which was still faintly to be distinguished against 
 the somewhat paler black of the heavens. At last he thought 
 he perceived a faint light upon the dark groundwork of the 
 hill ; a moment afterwards, and a light streak of light passed 
 swiftly through the air. It was the first rocket, two being 
 necessary to complete the signal. Henri scarcely breathed. 
 After some seconds, which seemed to him hours, a second 
 stream of light announced the fatal sign. His knees knocked 
 together, and he was about to quit the window, when he saw 
 a third rocket float through the heavens immediately after the 
 second. He was not prepared for this third, and felt assured, 
 as the execution was to be marked by two rockets, that the 
 
134 LTMOELAK. 
 
 third must be intended to mark some change of measures 
 probably a counter-order dictated by the new circumstances 
 which had arisen. 
 
 He clasped his hands in transport, as if thanking heaven 
 that he was, at least, the only one to die. Then a new anxiety 
 presented itself, he was afraid the sentinels might have per- 
 ceived the signal, and given the alarm; he listened with a 
 beating heart, but all was quiet, he only heard the click of 
 the, musket and the step of the grenadier, who marched up 
 and down the passage before the door of his room; but, as 
 often happens in the darkness, this silence and this listening 
 attention seemed to fill him with a sort of childish, nervous 
 terror, and while he shuddered, with this sort of involuntary 
 emotion, he heard a voice speaking, as it were, close to his ear : 
 
 " Make no noise; some one is coming up to you." 
 
 This Yoice ! in this hall 1 I know not what confused recollec- 
 tions of his ancestors shook his composure for a moment. 
 
 "Come near," he said, with some slight trepidation; he 
 thought he now recollected the voice. 
 
 A very slight noise was heard close by the wall, it was fol- 
 lowed by a light, and a stealthy footfall, and the person whom 
 the captain now felt close by him, said 
 
 "Do you know me?" 
 
 "Yes, father.-" 
 
 "Fear nothing, then; I am come to save you." 
 " It is you who must be saved," said Henri, in much agita- 
 tion. " Escape to a place of safety; there is yet time." 
 
 " I know all," interrupted the count, " you are to be shot 
 because you refused to denounce us, and I am come to save 
 you ; let us lose no time. I only think of you ; I know that 
 you have here one hundred men ; but in five minutes there 
 will not be one breathing. I have only to flash this pistol 
 from the roof of the house, and my friends, who are lying in 
 wait all around us, will be in the place. It will be impossible , 
 to resist them, and you will infallibly be rescued. You 
 will acknowledge or not, as you think proper at some future 
 time, this conduct of the Republic towards you. In the mean 
 time, you are not required to take any part in our affair; 
 however, in any event, here are your arms." 
 
 As he spoke, the count presented in the darkness a brace 
 of pistols, which trembled as he held them ; but Henri quietly 
 put them back. 
 
 "It is useless, sir I have resolved to die ; but I will die 
 alone, and without deserving the accusation for which I suffer. 
 I have given my oath to the Republic ; I should deserve the 
 name of traitor if I endeavoured to escape." 
 
 The father was silent for a moment ; then 
 
LIMOELAN. 135 
 
 "I understand you; you will allow of no violence. Let 
 us run our fortunes then together; you see how easily I have 
 penetrated thus far. Behind the mantel-piece there is a pass- 
 age which has several issues, besides communicating with the 
 roof of the house. Only follow me ; we will escape or perish 
 together." 
 
 Henri answered with a faltering voice 
 
 4 'It is an infinite consolation to die in the possession of 
 your esteem but I must not forfeit that of my comrades. 
 Escape alone, my dear father; I cannot follow you." 
 
 " You are right," answered the count, abruptly; "I regret 
 that such a man as you are should have joined such a rascally 
 cause; but is that all I can do for you?" 
 
 " I would wish once more to embrace you, my father." 
 
 The count extended his arms, and Henri, as he fell upon 
 his bosom, felt that the face of the old man was bathed with 
 tears. Between two such men a word more was unnecessary; 
 the count quietly disengaged himself from his son and re- 
 turned by the way he came. 
 
 Henri, left alone, and consoled upon that one great point 
 which had so deeply wounded him, sank upon a chair and 
 the silence continuing, fell fast asleep. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning a sergeant came to arouse 
 him, and told him, with considerable agitation, that the exe- 
 -eution which had been fixed for six o'clock, had been post- 
 poned an hour, to await the arrival of the adjutant-general, 
 who was not yet come. 
 
 "But I thought," added the man, "mon Capitaine, thai 
 you would not be sorry to have an hour before you." 
 
 Henri ascertained that there had been no alarm during the 
 night. 
 
 "But, Captain," added the sergeant, "there is a poor devil 
 of a peasant who has been crying outside the door all night, 
 but they would not let him come in." 
 
 "I should have seen him with pleasure; he is an old friend; 
 but orders must be obeyed. Besides, this poor Langevin's grief 
 would have affected me. Tell him from me to go away." 
 
 After this Henri remained alone; not one of the officers 
 felt courage enough to visit their comrade, till at six 
 o'clock a picket came to fetch him; two non-commissioned 
 officers placed themselves one upon each side, and they began 
 their march in silence. The troops were drawn up in front 
 of the chateau, upon the elevated little plain on which it 
 was built, and which commanded a view of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 The Adjutant- General Malseigne had just arrived, which 
 was the signal they were waiting for. The picket appeared 
 
136 LIMOELAN. 
 
 upon the place of execution, while the general officer installed 
 himself in the very room Henri had just quitted. As he 
 passed before the ranks, Henri sought to meet the eyes of 
 some of his ancient comrades; but not one of them could 
 bear to look upon him, every head was turned away. All at 
 once some disorder was visible among the officers; a man 
 decorated with epaulettes, though without a uniform, and his 
 coat bespattered with mud, threw himself among them, and 
 demanded imperiously to speak to the superior officer. 
 
 "Here!" said Ihe commandant Bescher, "but who are 
 you? and what have you to say to me at a moment like this?" 
 
 "I am come to save the best officer of the Kepublic, and 
 am only just in time; I am the Count de Limoelan your 
 soldiers know me well." 
 
 " Seize that man," said the commandant. 
 
 "I am come for that purpose; examine me and sentence 
 me on the spot ; I am ready to give the intelligence you are 
 in search of. As for this officer, I was myself upon the point 
 of having him shot for surprising us ; I myself wounded him 
 on the arm. You have nothing more to fear from the plot ; 
 those who should have seconded me are all safe but I come 
 to deliver up the chief of the conspirators ; this young man is 
 innocent." 
 
 Henri, who till then had retained his firmness, now turned 
 deadly pale ; he could not hear what his father was saying, 
 but he guessed it too well. The officers, already prepossessed 
 in his favour, began to comprehend the truth, and to admire 
 the astonishing magnanimity of these two men. They crowded 
 round the commandant, who was himself very much moved, 
 and at last said 
 
 "The adjutant-general is there; this is his business, not 
 mine. Go and tell him what has passed, and demand orders." 
 
 An officer went immediately, the rest gathered round 
 Henri. The count, standing erect between two grenadiers, 
 awaited the event with perfect calmness. The lieutenant re- 
 appeared in an instant, and every one of the spectators 
 watched his approach with breathless impatience. He pre- 
 sented a paper to the commandant, who opened, read it and 
 muttering an oath between his teeth, flung it upon the 
 ground as he gave the order. These words were traced in 
 pencil upon a paper. 
 
 "It's all a farce a family of conspirators; execute them 
 both immediately I take the whole upon myself." 
 
 The grenadiers who escorted the count, marched him up to 
 his son ; executing the movement with the ordinary military 
 steadiness and composure. But the feelings of the com- 
 mandant transpired in these two words 
 
LtMOELAN. 137 
 
 " Be quick!" 
 
 In fact, the preparations were so rapid that they neglected 
 even to bind the eyes of the prisoners. The word of 
 command was given. The father and son turned suddenly 
 round, looked in each other's face, and fell, locked in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 The adjutant-general Malseigne, took considerable pains at 
 breakfast, to explain the reasons for what he had done to the 
 officers of the e fat-major ; he spoke much of the strict orders 
 
 he had received, of the formidable plot, &c. &c and in fact 
 
 his conduct was afterwards highly applauded by the authorities 
 at Paris : he had crushed by his prompt decision, it was said, 
 the last enterprise which threatened to rekindle the war in the 
 western provinces. 
 
 At the end of the autumn of 1844, two travellers visited 
 the ruins of Beaulieu, and heard these details of the family of 
 Limoelan. The guide was an inhabitant of Saint Florent, 
 and he addressed himself to a peasant who cultivated a little 
 corner of ground hard by, for leave to enter the old place. 
 This man, furnished with a bunch of keys, led the gentlemen 
 into the souterrains where so many of the events above related 
 had taken place, pointing out the different spots as he went 
 along, the travellers walked under the sombre arches, lighted 
 only by a lanthorn, as Henri de Limoelan had done himself. 
 While the old peasant gave them the most exact details, 
 employing as he did so the first person plural, which the tra- 
 vellers mistook for a form of patois; but as they ascended to 
 daylight, one of them asked what the name of the man was. 
 
 " Why, sir it is Langevin himself, the very Langevin 
 who served the Messieurs de Limoelan, and I dare say that 
 may be the very lanthorn that lighted M. Henri." The tra- 
 veller turned to the peasant with an air of interest and 
 curiosity; but it was only to feel shocked, as often in the course 
 of his life he had been before, with the forgetfulness, the 
 apathy, the indifference, of men who have witnessed memor- 
 able or affecting events; not a syllable, not a sigh, not a 
 gesture, which could mark the memory of the past, escaped the 
 old man when they had left the castle the traveller said : 
 
 " You were present at this catastrophe." 
 
 The peasant looked up in a sort of stupid manner, but when 
 the other traveller explained the meaning of what was said, 
 he replied, " Oui, monsieur." 
 
 " But tell me how the blues managed to penetrate into the 
 K 
 
138 LIMOELAN. 
 
 tower, which was so difficult of access, and the ways to it so 
 little known." 
 
 The other traveller seconded the question. 
 
 11 It was I who led them in, and was the destruction of both 
 my masters ; I thought they were come to look for our young 
 master, but there were a hundred of them there, spying out 
 what was going on ; every one of them followed me happily 
 for my masters they shot them both indeed they did there 
 upon that field there." 
 
 They gave Langevin some money, and when they were at 
 some little distance, I said to the guide 
 
 " Then he was, after all, the cause cf his masters' death?" 
 
 "Exactly so; but he does not perceive it he was exces- 
 sively attached to them, and thinks he did for the best ; besides 
 impressions are but faint at that age." 
 
 END OF UMOELAN. 
 
A SOLDIEK'S FOBTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BUS ANNE. 
 
 PARIS It is about six o'clock in the morning, in the 
 beginning of the month of August, 1815. 
 
 The sun was rising, and steeping the golden dome of the 
 Invalides in a flood of light ; a soft breeze gently stirred the 
 trees within the garden of the Luxembourg, and the birds 
 mingled their busy morning chirpings with the pleasant 
 rustlings of the leaves; and while the glorious sun was rising 
 and diffusing the glow of life and light over the glad creation, 
 while the breeze was gently whispering among the branches, 
 and the small busy birds chattering merrily among the trees, 
 a very poor and very sweet-looking little girl, not less inno- 
 cent, nor less active than the little birds themselves, was 
 rising also; but not joyful as they, not playful as the breeze 
 among the branches, and yet, poor little creature, she was 
 scarcely fourteen years of age. This little girl was dressed 
 in a gown of common brown stuff, which had evidently seen 
 much service, and was subject, too, to other inconveniences 
 incident to the wardrobes of little girls just bursting into 
 womanhood, and springing upwards like the slender saplings 
 of the forest. It was a little too short, and a little too tight; 
 and sleeves, which had once been long, were now cut off at 
 the elbow, because that troublesome member had taken the 
 liberty de se faire jour, as the French say, through the well- 
 worn material. The portion thus obtained had been devoted 
 to the service of enlarging the body of the dress, that little 
 simple frock body, which sat close round the neck, unrelieved 
 by frill or collerette. Her stockings were of coarse grey, but 
 were perfectly clean, and clumsy, heavy shoes encumbered 
 two delicate little feet. Her hair, confined in a simple knot 
 behind, was drawn in two simple braids, from a forehead 
 pure, ingenuous, and fair. Her arms and hands were beau- 
 tifully formed, and their delicacy ill accorded with her sordid 
 dress. Her figure, slender, elastic, erect, spoke of health and 
 activity, and the expression of her countenance was that of 
 truth, simplicity, gentleness, and innocence itself. This 
 
140 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 pretty child, for very pretty she looked, in spite of the 
 plainness, nay, coarseness of her apparel, was seated upon 
 the side of a wooden bedstead, on which lay a single flock 
 mattress, covering a little straw ; and between her soft and 
 dimpled fingers she was pressing the thin and withered hand 
 of a man, somewhat past the middle age, who lay stretched 
 upon the pallet, evidently suffering from serious illness. The 
 face of the invalid, though grievously emaciated, still retained 
 traces of that manly beauty, for which it had once been 
 remarkable ; the hair, thinned by many an hour of arduous 
 toil, scantily shaded the well-formed head, but the dark 
 moustache was only slightly tinged with grey. The cha- 
 racter of the countenance was such as left not a doubt upon 
 the mind that he, who lay stretched upon that miserable 
 couch, apparently sinking in the last stage of a decline, 
 clasping with his bronzed and withered hand the soft, white 
 fingers of his little girl, was an old soldier an invalid. The 
 garret, for it was no better, thus occupied, betrayed the 
 extreme of poverty and destitution; the walls were wretch- 
 edly bare, covered by no kind of hanging, and unrelieved by 
 the slightest ornament, save one a species of trophy sus- 
 pended against the wall, opposite the foot of the bed, and 
 which was composed of a singular assemblage of different 
 materials: two drum-sticks, a musket, a cartridge-box, a 
 sabre, a grenadier's cap, a sword, and a pair of epaulettes. 
 It was a history in itself; and told, significantly enough, the 
 tale of the sick man's career, drum-boy, private soldier, 
 grenadier, corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, and captain; the 
 remaining furniture, or" rather no furniture, of the room 
 finished the story an invalid ! 
 
 The old soldier had been some time awake, but the little 
 girl had but just entered the room, and he still feigning sleep, 
 kept his eyes closed, and remained silent. The little creature 
 continued gently to press his hand, but kept silence, too; 
 though an air of mingled impatience and suppressed exulta- 
 tion animated her pretty features ; her eyes were fixed upon 
 the sick man she seemed anxiously watching till he should 
 awaken. 
 
 At length the beams of the sun, now rising from the 
 horizon, burst through the holes of a wretched piece of dark 
 cotton, the apology for a window-curtain; a bright ray fell 
 upon the face of the sick man, he opened his eyes, and met 
 those of his child, fixed earnestly upon him. The large 
 sinewy hand of the father now returned the pressure from the 
 soft fingers of his little girl; and drawing her gently towards 
 him, he kissed the forehead of this his hovering angel ; then 
 turning away his eyes, and letting his head drop languidly 
 
A SOLDIER'S FOIITUNE. 141 
 
 upon Ms pillow, lie smothered a sigh, and resumed his former 
 attitude. 
 
 The girl released her hand, sprang from her seat, and 
 hastily left the room; in an instant she returned, carrying, 
 with some difficulty, a coarse, brownish-red, earthen pitcher, 
 full of a liquor whose savoury steam soon filled the apart- 
 ment, with the delicious odour of a warm nourishing broth ; 
 a slice of bread, delicately toasted, was balanced upon the 
 edge of the bowl. As for tray, napkin, or the superfluity 
 even of plate or spoon, there was none ; the dimpled hands of 
 the child alone supported this substantial breakfast, as she 
 placed it before her father upon the bed. 
 
 The soldier raised his head at this spectacle, and regarded 
 it with unfeigned astonishment, while she, all crimsoning with 
 impatience and pleasure, cried out 
 
 "Papa, this is for your breakfast, you are not to fast any 
 more; you are to drink no more water. Your friend the 
 surgeon orders you to live well. You are to have good 
 broths, good wine not too much at once, but a little, little, 
 little, just by degrees, to give you strength; and then three 
 times a day a strengthening draught such a nice draught ! 
 You will never believe that it comes out of the apothecary's 
 shop. Come, dear, dear papa, do begin; it burns my hands; 
 it will do you good ; you will soon be able to walk : come, 
 dearest papa, do ; do take your broth while I pour out your 
 wine; I have got the bottle at the door." 
 
 Instead of answering this pressing invitation by beginning 
 his breakfast, the old soldier remained passive ; looking first 
 at the pitcher and then at the happy face of his little girl. 
 Three times his moustache curled as if he were about to 
 speak ; three times he essayed in vain ; at length 
 
 "Diable! What's this? Just Heavens!" 
 
 Then he lifted the pitcher, looked at it as if he doubted his 
 senses, and carrying it to his lips, swallowed its contents with 
 the avidity of one ravenous through extreme hunger. 
 
 And the colour now, in a faint glow, spread over his pale 
 and emaciated features ; while those faint gleams of life and 
 light, which, during the last few days, had only animated his 
 dying countenance, when he turned it upon his little daughter, 
 brightened his dark eye ; and a tear slowly rolling down his 
 withered cheek, fell upon the hand of his little girl ; who was 
 now busy presenting him with a pewter cup, in which she had 
 carefully measured out his due proportion of wine. 
 
 Not thin, miserable stuff, such as may be purchased in France 
 for sixteen sous a bottle, but warm, generous fluid, which to 
 the veteran tasted like Chateau Margault itself. 
 
 The cordial spread a genial warmth through the bosom of 
 
142 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 the sinking man; he raised himself from his pillow, caught his 
 little daughter in his arms and pressed her to his heart ; then 
 sank back, gazing fondly upon her with an expression of 
 peace and comfort in his whole aspect, to which it had long 
 been a stranger. 
 
 " But Susanne, my pretty one, how is this? How have you 
 contrived? By what miracle where have you found it all, 
 my love?" 
 
 This was but a simple repast to occasion so much excite- 
 ment, it may be thought by many, who are murmuring 
 thoughtlessly amid all the comforts of life. But this father 
 had been lying on his sick bed for three days, sinking under 
 the sickening exhaustion of absolute want of food ; a little 
 cold water had alone moistened his lips he had lain without 
 complaint; not daring to ask for food; lest he should increase 
 the anguish of his poor child, who he well knew to be without 
 the means of satisfying either her father's hunger or her 
 own. 
 
 He was dying of want yet he refused with constancy the 
 food which still remained, and which had been earnestly and 
 unceasingly pressed upon him food that he would have shed 
 his life-blood to taste, so great were the pangs of his necessity; 
 and yet he had been able to answer with apparent indifference, 
 "No, my dear, I cannot indeed," that the last morsel might 
 be spared for his child. 
 
 This is what Gerard what this soldier had done, for three 
 long days. 
 
 But now the urgent wants of nature appeased, new 
 anxieties pressed upon him Susanne had not yet answered 
 his question ; she only smiled, blushed, and turned her head 
 away. 
 
 "But, Susanne, my dear," raising himself, "you had no 
 money." 
 
 " None, papa." 
 
 " Then you have been to that Jew of a usurer that Arab 
 that pitiless Croesus and he has at last agreed to advance 
 a quarter of my pension at 20 per cent." 
 
 tc I should have tried him again, papa, but he is gone from 
 home." 
 
 " Then, my child, our neighbours have had pity upon your 
 tears upon the extremity of our misery, and have given you 
 credit." 
 
 " I dared not even ask it, papa; we know nobody here- 
 nobody in Paris you come from such a long way off." 
 
 " True, too true, my child except the usurer, who, to do 
 him justice, has saved us from starving and the worthy 
 surgeon of our regiment, our excellent Dervieux, who cut oif 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 143 
 
 my leg but alas, Dervieux is almost as ill off as ourselves. 
 I hope it was not Dervieux?" 
 
 "JsTo, papa* not Mr. Dervieux." 
 
 '* Then who, in the devil's name, did give you money to buy 
 soup and wine?" 
 
 " Oh, that's not all, papa look at the bottle," and she 
 shook it before his eyes, smiling innocently in his face. 
 " This is a very expensive medicine, you must know, and you 
 are to take a dose in an hour's time." 
 
 "I will take it when you like, Susanne; but, what the 
 d 1 ? are my wits manoeuvring in a fog ? I don't think I 
 have any fever; yet I must be dreaming with my eyes open, 
 as it seems to me. Why, child, you say you have no money, 
 and no credit ; and yet you are able to buy provisions and 
 expensive medicines. The deuce! Susanne, but you make 
 out a strange story of it." 
 
 Susanne now looked a little frightened, and dropping her 
 eyes timidly, she said 
 
 "Papa! dear papa ! promise me now that you won't be angry, 
 and I will tell you everything." 
 
 " Why, what the d 1, Susanne! am I ever angry? Now 
 thy poor mother is gone, and no one left to spoil thee. 
 Angry! I believe by my soul, I dare not be angry with thee ; 
 why, thou art my little colonel. I would rather face ten 
 thousand of those cursed Cossacks, who have cut me all to 
 pieces already, than one tear of thine poor child. But come 
 come, kiss me, and then let me hear what thou hast been 
 doing to help thy poor father." 
 
 Susanne stooped down and kissed her father tenderly; then 
 composing her attitude, and still sitting upon the side of his 
 bed, she began 
 
 "Papa!" 
 
 "Well, my darling." 
 
 " Papa, something very extraordinary has happened." 
 
 "'Od, so! extraordinary! what do you mean, child?" 
 
 " Oh, papa! such an adventure!" 
 
 The soldier looked up sharply and anxiously; some old 
 recollection seemed to cross his mind: he seized her hand 
 his brow contracted he looked earnestly into her face. 
 
 " Well, well speak out; only speak out." 
 
 " Well, papa, then ; yesterday, when Mr. Dervieux went 
 away I followed him to the street-door, as, indeed, I always 
 do, to ask how you really are, and so on ; and when you will 
 be able to walk but yesterday I had another reason." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " Papa, I was surprised and uneasy, because for the last 
 two days he had ordered you nothing ; I had observed that 
 
144 A SOIDIEIl's FORTUNE. 
 
 you sent me away and talked together ; and that when I came 
 back, you looked more sorrowful than ever, and that tears 
 were in his eyes. So when he was gone down so far that you 
 could not hear us, I stopped him, and begged him to tell me 
 at once what he thought of you ; he spoke so oddly and con- 
 fusedly, that I was sure there was something; some sorrowful 
 secret oh, papa ! I thought you were going to die, so I cried 
 terribly, and begged him to tell me the whole truth and 
 then he began to cry too and at last must I tell all, papa?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "Well then, at last oh, papa! he confessed that you had 
 forbidden him to write any prescription before me, till you 
 had some money; for that you could not pay for it, and you 
 would not break my heart by letting me find that out; and 
 and he said: ' It is not his wounds that keep him in bed now; 
 it is another malady.' Ah papa, I went almost upon my 
 knees ; I knew what he meant ; I begged and prayed him to 
 write, to prescribe. I was resolved, papa, to get you what 
 you wanted. Then your old friend said, ' My poor little girl, 
 it is of no use for me to prescribe, unless I had a little money 
 to prescribe too; I have prescribed that every day, or you 
 would not, poor little one ! have had what is necessary 
 for your father ; I have done what I could for an old fellow- 
 soldier. Have we not eaten fire together? but now, dear little 
 thing, the truth may as well be told at once ; I have not a sou 
 left :' and he turned his pockets inside out. He need not have 
 done that, papa. You know what a shabby uniform he wears." 
 
 " Ay, poor Dervieux ay, ay, poor fellow the Waterloo 
 powder has singed your epaulettes as well as mine ! Well, my 
 darling so what next?" 
 
 ' Papa, I told a story I pretended I had a little money 
 that you did not know of. 'Ah! so much the better,' cried 
 he, 'it is the only thing that can save his life. Why did you 
 never tell us this before, child? You might have spared him 
 some terrible moments.' Luckily, papa, I did not deserve 
 that he should say that but I took care not to let him know 
 it. So, then, he took out pencil and paper, and he wrote 
 what you were to take and when he had done, I jumped 
 round his neck, and he kissed me almost as kindly as you do 
 and then I took 'my shawl and I went out and oh, papa! 
 don't look in that way don't look angry." 
 
 " No no only a spasm in the leg I have lost go on, go 
 on well, you went out?" 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " At what o'clock?" 
 
 " Seven o'clock it was broad daylight well, papa, I went 
 first to your agent." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FOUTUKE. 145 
 
 " Very well, I thought as much and he gave you money." 
 
 " No, papa; did I not tell you that he was gone from 
 home his maid-servant was almost as cross to me as he is 
 himself, and she shut the door in my face, because I could not 
 help crying a little." 
 
 "Shut the door in your face! the d 1! and you a 
 captain's daughter ah, child! if I had but been there but 
 heavens and earth!" 
 
 "Now papa, papa, you are angry; I can tell you nothing 
 more when you make those great terrible faces.'' 
 
 " Well, well, child, I won't be angry any more." 
 
 "Well, papa, I cried more than ever, for I did not know 
 what to do, for we know nobody else in Paris ; and so I was 
 coming sorrowfully home, when, turning the corner of the 
 Rue St. Jacques, I looked down a narrow alley, and I saw an 
 old woman surrounded with heaps of old dirty things of all 
 sorts, and she was buying an apron and a collar from a maid- 
 servant, and she gave her three francs, papa ; I had stopped a 
 little at the end of the alley, for my heart beat, so I really 
 could not help stopping a little ; and so, as soon as the servant 
 got her money, I saw her run and put it into the lottery-office 
 opposite, and I because I felt a little ashamed, I went into 
 the alley, and I took off my shawl ; it was much better than 
 the servant's apron and collar, and dear papa, how you do 
 look; don't be angry." 
 
 But the child misconstrued the expression of his face he 
 already understood it all, he gulped down the curses against 
 himself and his helpless condition, which were rising to his 
 soldier lips. She felt a tear and a kiss at once upon her cheek. 
 
 "What, my little love! what, my treasure! thou hast sold 
 thy shawl, the last and only covering for thy poverty and 
 nakedness ; thou oughtest rather to have sold, my last garment ! 
 What wilt thou do now?" 
 
 "Oh, papa! it is warm weather, and I will go out after 
 dusk " 
 
 "Ah, child, child, that tears me in pieces/' 
 
 " But, papa, dear papa, hear it out first; I have not told 
 half yet." 
 
 "Ay, ay, go on, but sit there, let me look at you, my dar- 
 ling, while I hear you." 
 
 " But first you must have a spoonful of your stuff." 
 
 "Ay, ay, that will strengthen me. Alas ! alas ! it is time I 
 should gain strength, and come to thy assistance, my poor child!" 
 
 She gave him the elixir, and a new vigour was poured into 
 the empty veins of the exhausted soldier. She then went on. 
 
 " Papa, I thought I should at least have twenty francs for 
 my shawl, it was so pretty. Oh, dear no, no such thing. 
 
146 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 First the old woman took it up in such a disdainful way, turned 
 it about, looked at it ; then she threw it among a heap of 
 old things as if it were good for nothing at all ; and then she 
 offered me five francs for it, telling me it was more than it 
 was worth ; and that its colour it was such a pretty blue, 
 papa, that its colour would bring her into trouble. I was 
 quite red with surprise, and I stretched out my hand for my 
 shawl ; but then I thought again, and after all I was glad to 
 have five francs at all events ; and so I thanked the old woman, 
 took the money, and went away. 
 
 " As soon as I was in the street again, I looked at our friend's 
 prescription, here it is, a strengthening medicine, good broth 
 three times a day, and some Bourdeaux. I calculated that I 
 should get all this for five francs. First, for the apothecary, 
 I never had anything from him that cost me more than a franc ; 
 two pounds of beef, twenty-four sous, two francs for a bottle 
 of wine. You see, papa, there was enough left for the other 
 little things. I was so happy to think myself so rich; so I 
 ran straight to the apothecary to get the most important matter 
 done first. Now, now, papa, it's coming " 
 
 " Well, well, my own?" 
 
 " The apothecary's shop was full of people, and as soon as 
 I came in everybody seemed to stare at me. I felt very 
 uncomfortable, for you know I am so shy ; and then I had no 
 bonnet or shawl on. So I should have waited until the shop 
 was empty, but I was afraid you would be uneasy about me, 
 so I went up to one of the apprentices, and asked him in a 
 very low voice, if he would be so vsry good as to serve me as 
 quickly as he could. ' After Madame,' said he, pointing to a little 
 woman as black as a coal, who sat behind the door. I did not 
 perceive her as I came in, because she was behind the door. 
 Oh, papa! such a queer little woman! I could not look at 
 anything else ; and indeed I am afraid I could not have helped 
 laughing a little, and that would have been very naughty, you 
 know; only, I had just been so unhappy about you, that I 
 could not laugh at anything. Well, papa, this little woman 
 was a nun, and she was so little, that it seemed as if she must 
 have tucked up her legs under her gown. Then she had such a 
 long, long nose, as sharp as possible, more like a woodcock's 
 bill than anything I ever saw ; and two little eyes as round 
 and as brisk as mouse's eyes. And then her mouth was as 
 big as all the rest of her face put together ; yet she looked so 
 merry and good-humoured; but, really, she was more like 
 a great doll than a real nun, papa. Well I could not help 
 looking at this little nun, and I saw she was looking at me. 
 And she seemed to wonder to see me dressed in the way I 
 was. At last she got up that is, I think she got up, but I 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 147 
 
 cannot be quite sure, for she did not look a bit taller than she 
 was before. However, she said to the apothecary's boy, who 
 would not serve me before her 
 
 '* 'No, no, sir, serve this young lady first.' 
 
 "So, then, you may be sure, papa, I made a low curtsy, 
 and I was going to refuse through civility, but she put her 
 hand upon my shoulder, and said 
 
 " 'Let it be so, my good child;' and she smiled so sweetly 
 and so kindly, that it went into my very heart." 
 
 "She seemed a very kind lady, indeed, and you were quite 
 right to treat her civilly." 
 
 "Oh, papa! that's not all. Well, the young man in a few 
 minutes brought me the bottle of medicine ; and as I had only 
 my five-franc piece in my hand, I gave it to him at once, 
 thinking at least he would give me back four francs in change. 
 Oh, papa! he gave me nothing back. More than that he 
 kept holding out his hand, and at last he said there was another 
 franc to pay, and that the physic cost six. Oh, papa! six 
 francs! and I had only five in the whole world!" 
 
 ''Great heavens, what did you do?" 
 
 "Papa, I went so red, and I felt the tears come into my eyes." 
 
 "Poor child thou should'st have left the bottle." 
 
 "And what would have become of you? Oh, no, I would 
 not leave the bottle but I did not know what to do ; at last 
 the little woman, who had been looking at me all the while, 
 got up took the five-franc piece out of the young man's hand, 
 and said: 'The young lady did not know the price of the medi- 
 cine probably put it down to my account, sir I know all 
 about it.' 
 
 "The young man turned away, and I held the bottle and 
 the money together, so surprised and confused that I did not 
 know what to do. I dared not go away, but the little nun led 
 me to the door herself, and said, in a low voice, ' Who is the 
 medicine for, mademoiselle?' 'For my father, madam,' I said: 
 'I thought as much,' said she; 'but who, and what is your 
 father?' 'An old soldier, madam.' 'Ah, I understand, is 
 wounded.' 'Yes, madam, in the great battle a musket-ball 
 broke his leg.' * Ah, heavens! poor child; but your father 
 has he no family, no friends, no relations? Who takes care 
 of him, who nurses him?' 'I, madam,' and without thinking, 
 papa, I am afraid I said, 'nobody else.' 
 
 "Then the little woman pressed my hand, and she asked 
 me, in a still lower voice, for your address and you know, 
 papa, it was right to give it, because I owe her six francs ; so 
 I answered in a whisper, Pierce Adrien Gerard, Capitaine des 
 Grenadiers dans la Vieille Garde, Rue de Deux Eglises the 
 small house near the church of St. Jacques, the second floor. 
 
148 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 But people began to stare at us so she said hastily, * That's 
 enough, niy little dear ; make haste back to your father, and 
 don't be uneasy about him I have a little commission in that 
 neighbourhood, which I will execute to-morrow. Go home, 
 my dear, and may God bless you God will bless you ; and so 
 she pushed me almost out of the shop, and I had no time even 
 to make her a curtsy, for away she went directly. 
 
 "Indeed, dearest papa, I was very glad when I had got my 
 bottle, and my five francs safe to buy all my things ; so I ran 
 to get what I wanted, for it was very late : and when I came 
 in you were asleep, and I took care not to awaken you for 
 sleep always does you good ; and so I made my little cookery 
 quietly, and you heard nothing. Oh, now ! don't frown, I slept 
 a little between times and, oh! this morning I thought you 
 never, never, would awaken, dear papa." 
 
 "By Jove! my pretty Susanne that little woman of yours 
 seems an excellent person ; but I own I am a good deal sur- 
 prised to see a nun taking pity upon a poor soldier. However, 
 there is, perhaps, something more under all this than we quite 
 understand. But we will learn about this good little nun at 
 the apothecary's ; he must know her, as he gives her credit : 
 we shall easily find out where she lives, and pay her her six 
 francs again, as soon as our agent or some other such rogue 
 has been found to advance a quarter of my half-pay; for the 
 d 1 is in it if I don't get my half-pay." 
 
 "Dear papa, you forget, the little nun said she would come 
 and see you to-day. Did I not tell you that she said she had 
 a commission to you." 
 
 " So you said but d 1 take me if I believe one word of it. 
 You may depend upon it, it is only a pretence to cover her good 
 offices, and save your delicacy, little dear but we shall see." 
 
 "JSTo commission! yet, papa, she spoke so naturally." 
 
 "So it seemed to you; but you have not my experience, 
 dear child. What commission can a nun have to a poor 
 soldier?" 
 
 "Ah, but papa, you are an officer ." 
 
 "1 am nothing, my child; I am a poor helpless invalid; 
 but thou art all the world to me. If it will only please God 
 to restore my strength, I will work for thee. By heaven, I 
 will show thee what an old soldier of Wagram a grenadier of 
 Waterloo can do. These hands will not be ashamed to throw 
 the shuttle, and work at the loom for thee, my darling. No 
 one can be really despicable but the coward, or the beggar." 
 
 "Somebody rings at the bell, papa " 
 
 "The deuce! it's very early smooth the bed a little, take 
 the things off that chair there, open the door ; it can only be 
 Dervieux." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FOTITUNE. 149 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SHOWING WHO IT WAS THAT BANG AT THE DOOR. 
 
 THE reader understands, that the above little scene took place 
 in a small chamber, on the second floor of a house, near the 
 Church of St. Jacques du Haut-pas, Rue des Deux Eglises, at 
 six o'clock in the morning of the 7th of August, in the year of 
 181 5 dark and bloody year for France. It was a scene, alas ! 
 not unfrequent in Paris at that period. But probably the 
 reader, as he is now an English reader, does not know where the 
 Rue des Deux Eglises or the Church St. Jacques du Haut-pas, 
 is situated ; and, therefore, I am going to make him understand 
 as much of the topography of the place, as is necessary for his 
 right comprehension of the story. 
 
 La Rue des Deux Eglises is to be found that is, if you take 
 a great deal of pains to find it in the 12th Arrondissement, 
 47th Quartier, of the good and large town of Paris ; a little 
 beyond the old garden of the Luxembourg, which limits on 
 that side the llth Arrondissement, 43rd Quartier so that the 
 street in question is on the left hand of those who ascend the 
 Rue de 1'Enfer towards the Observatoire and the Rue des 
 Deux Eglises unites the Rue de 1'Enfer to that of the Fau- 
 bourg St. Jacques and has, in fact, the honour to form a 
 part of that faubourg itself: 
 
 The said street is narrow and long, but it is ventilated upon 
 one side by its neighbourhood to the new plantations of the 
 Luxembourg, and on the other by an open space left, vacant 
 in consequence of the demolition of certain convents and 
 churches whose Gothic piles of dark stone, as some think, 
 obstructed, and as others think, adorned, that quarter of the 
 town ; but which the march of intellect has tumbled down and 
 replaced by manufactories which, if not so ornamental, are, 
 perhaps, full as serviceable as the convents might be: but the 
 whole place has undergone a fresh metamorphosis since the 
 above events" happened in it and the house occupied by our 
 invalid is no more to be seen. 
 
 The houses of this little street were, at the time in question, 
 narrow, miserable, dark habitations palaces, hotels, and 
 handsome houses, not being at that moment exactly the places, 
 in which to seek for invalid officers of the Vieille Garde of 
 Napoleon le Grand. 
 
 As for the Capitaine Gerard, he had, with his daughter 
 Susanne, occupied for some weeks a little, confined lodging in 
 
150 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 the house with stood next to the Church of St. Jacques du 
 Haut-pas which house, as we said before, has now disap- 
 peared, having been replaced by a garden. 
 
 The apartment consisted of two small rooms, with bare un- 
 papered walls. In the largest, or rather in the one somewhat 
 
 less small than the other for it was about ten feet square 
 
 lay the invalid officer, deprived of one of his lower limbs. In 
 the second, a little longer and proportionably narrower, little 
 Susanne lay on a wretched flock-bed, with one single sheet, 
 one miserably small bolster, and neither counterpane nor 
 blankets but it was, happily, summer, and Susanne was 
 young and healthy. One solitary chair furnished forth each 
 of these cells ; the whole of their property, in this way, amount- 
 ing to two and in the corner of Susanne's chamber, near a 
 small window looking into a narrow court, she had arranged, 
 as neatly as she could, the few utensils which composed her 
 batterie de cuisine a few plates, basins, and utensils of common 
 stoneware, black and red a little stove, and a small chafing- 
 dish to be heated with braise. With these poor little Susanne 
 prepared, as neatly and economically as she could, her father's 
 
 meals ; when, indeed, there was any meal to prepare alas ! 
 
 for the three, last days the little stove had remained cold 
 
 and poor Susanne's tears had fallen upon those unemployed 
 hands, so actively and cheerfully busy when there was anything 
 to do. 
 
 Such was their abode, and such were their possessions. Why 
 they were in such wretched circumstances, and why they lodged 
 in this poor apartment; and in this- obscure quarter, is what I 
 shall relate as briefly as is convenient that is, when the 
 proper time arrives, but at present, it must suffice to say, that 
 nothing seemed less in keeping, than the fine, military head 
 of the Capitaine Gerard, and the pauper's bed on which he 
 lay, surrounded by every mark of the extremest want: and 
 that no contrast could be more complete or more touching, 
 than that between the grace, and beauty, the delicate features 
 and gentle and refined expression of his little daughter, the 
 coarse dress which covered her, and the cold, bare, miserable 
 walls by which she was surrounded. 
 
 It was but too plain that some recent event, some great 
 catastrophe, had changed the condition of these two unfortunate 
 beings ; thus left to starve in the very centre of a gay and 
 great metropolis: and who, surrounded by thousands and 
 thousands, rioting in wealth and luxury, were abandoned by 
 all the world; barely continuing to exist, and that in the 
 extremest wretchedness: 
 
 " And homeless, 'mid ten thousand homes they stood, 
 And 'mid ten thousand tables, pined, and wanted food.'' 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 151 
 
 Alas ! they were but two, among the thousands and thousands 
 of sufferers, by the same events. 
 
 But some one is ringing all this time at the bell Susanne 
 goes to the door Gerard half rises, expecting to see his 
 friend Dervieux Susanne comes back, looking a little hurried. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "PAPA! papa! I was right, and you were wrong; it is the 
 little black nun." 
 
 " Bah! the little nun who lent you six francs?" 
 
 "Yes, papa; and she very earnestly desires to see you. 
 Don't make her wait, papa; she is down below." 
 
 "Really, Susanne, I confess this is an embarrassing visit; 
 perhaps she is come to ask for her money again. Well, well, 
 it cannot be helped; we owe her some thanks for the loan at 
 that moment, at least. Pray beg her to come up, as civilly as 
 you can, and make my excuses for receiving her on my bed 
 but, stay, Susanne, stay a moment, how ought one to address 
 these reverend ladies? I have not had much dealing with 
 that sort of thing. Must I call her ma sceur or ma mere, ma 
 venerable, or ma reverende? Must I make the sign of the 
 cross when she speaks to me? the d 1 take me, if I know 
 how to treat these worthy recluses." 
 
 "Dear papa, I know no better than you do. I suppose 
 one must speak to them as one does to other people ; only 
 dear, dear papa if you could if you could, just say, you 
 know some little something not quite so often, when you 
 are speaking to her." 
 
 " The devil, but that's true, go, go I'll take care." 
 
 Susanne went down to the nun, and the good captain pre- 
 pared himself, as if it were his colonel that he was about to 
 receive ; and while he was arranging his nightcap, and passing 
 his fingers through his dark moustache, he kept thus solilo- 
 quising: 
 
 "My poor friend Gerard, be on the qui vive, thou under- 
 standest what it is to encounter a Pandour, a Croat, a Cossack, 
 a Mameluke ; thou fearest neither sword of Hulan, nor carbine 
 of Chasseur; but, heavens and earth! thou hast never en- 
 countered a reverend sister. Thou knowest nothing, poor old 
 soldier that thou art, either of scapulary or of Ave Maria; thou 
 hast only heard, that there do exist such things as wolves in 
 sheep's clothing. Therefore, attention, old fellow ! and if this 
 
152 A SOLDIER'S FOUTUNE. 
 
 holy sister be thinking to preach away thy little Susanne, thy 
 treasure, thy only treasure, the hope "of thy life, thy life itself 
 whose sweet little merry face proves clearly enough, that 
 she has no vocation for grates and confessionals, I say, by all 
 that's good, if it be a wolf in sheep's clothing looking after 
 thy little lamb " 
 
 Such was, it must be confessed, the species of prejudice, 
 which had made the good veteran frown not a little, while his 
 pretty Susanne related her adventures; and these were the 
 thoughts, wrong or right, that filled his head, as he sat up and 
 prepared himself for a visit from the nun. 
 
 There he sat, pale and thin, with a countenance cold and 
 severe, and figure as erect as if he were at drill, expecting 
 this Tartufe, with veil and rosary, whom he already pictured 
 to himself, as persuading the little darling of his heart to the 
 vow, and the melancholy grate. 
 
 At last the door opened, and the object of these dire appre- 
 hensions appeared. 
 
 A very small, lively-eyed woman, scarcely four feet four in 
 height, entered the room ; and making a little, short, familiar 
 curtsy, as if it had been the hundredth time that she had visited 
 this abode of sickness and misery, she went up straight to the 
 bed, took him by the shoulders, laid him down without cere- 
 mony on his pillow again, and said 
 
 "My good friend, you'll take cold; the season is warm, 
 and the air soft, but the mornings are always rather fresh ; 
 you have a broken pane in your window, and may get a chill. 
 My dear child, you should have the window mended imme- 
 diately ; the night air is not good for him ; but you need not 
 trouble yourself to go out upon that account, I will send my 
 own glazier." 
 
 The little nun, while uttering all this, in the most easy, 
 pleasant manner possible, was busied settling to her satisfaction 
 various little matters about the invalid's bed. She raised the 
 cover, tucked it round the sick man's shoulders, smoothed and 
 shook his pillow ; performing all these little operations with 
 the address, quietness, and nicety, of the tenderest and most 
 experienced of nurses. 
 
 The old officer, almost stupefied with surprise, was as passive 
 under her hands as an infant; while Susanne stood stock still; 
 opening wide the largest, and most beautiful eyes, that ever 
 astonished little girl stared with. 
 
 The nun, however, seemed not to trouble herself at the 
 astonishment either of father or daughter; but having settled 
 the bed, she took possession of the only chair in the room, 
 and drawing it close to the sick man, she sat down, saying 
 with a smile to Susanne 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 153 
 
 " My dear little woman, you have a pair of good legs, and 
 you are brisk and young, and are not running up and down 
 Paris from four o'clock in the morning till ten o'clock at 
 night ; so, my dear little friend, I am sure you will let me take 
 the chair." 
 
 " I was going to beg you to do so, madam." 
 
 " But do you know, here as I sit, with my short legs, black 
 stuff dress, and my forty years of age, where I have already 
 been this morning? I have been to visit my three blind 
 patients at the hospital of St. Louise, my sergeant-major of 
 gens-d'armes from the barracks of the Faubourg St. Martin, 
 and a poor paralytic patient in the Rue du Chemin Yert 
 perhaps you do not know what a long way that is from this 
 place, and I have a vast deal more to do before dinner. I 
 must go and see my prisoners at St. Pelagie, carry work to 
 the poor women at the Madelonettes, visit the widows and 
 mothers of my poor soldiers 
 
 "Ah! my dear mademoiselle, many are the tears that I see 
 shed before I close my eyes at night, but, thanks be to God, 
 and to the generous hearts of some good creatures, I am able 
 to wipe not a few away before I go to rest. Look at my little 
 bag! All here is for my poor, for my sick, that is for my 
 friends. Ah! lam expected in many a place. lam never 
 de trop, come when I will. Well, well, child, give me thy 
 hand! Oh! I know we shall soon be good friends, though 
 there are so many years between us, and though you are as 
 pretty as an angel, and I am like the little hunchback himself. 
 Well, well, enough of that, we must attend to the poor gentle- 
 man here; come, let us see what's the matter? Where 
 are your pains? what are you suffering from? Sorrow or 
 sickness? Sorrow is often worse than sickness; open your 
 heart to me, tell me all ; tell me as if I were your sister ; I 
 am in the confidence of more than one brave man like yourself, 
 and poor little nun though I be, I can feel for those who have 
 bled and suffered for their country." 
 
 "By all the cannons of Eylau, madam! were you ten 
 thousand times more a nun than the Abbess of Mount Carmel 
 herself, with whom I had the honour of dining in Palestine 
 after the battle of Mont Thabor, I could find in my heart to 
 give you as hearty a squeeze by the hand as if you sported a 
 brave grenadier's cap, instead of that ugly black veil." 
 
 And while he uttered this compliment in a loud voice, which 
 a regular devote might have thought not altogether the thing, 
 the captain seized the hand of the little black sister in his 
 immense fist, and pressed it till the good creature could hardly 
 help screaming ; but she laughed, and said 
 
 ' * Oh, my dear captain ! it is very good of you, indeed, to 
 :L 
 
154 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 treat me like a comrade ; but do recollect that I am not quite 
 so big as a drum-major." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, iny very dear sister, if that is the 
 proper way to call you ; but what you said resounded in my 
 heart like the last cannon after victory, and I squeezed your 
 hand, as one squeezes the hand of a brother soldier, when the 
 battle is over. But Susanne, as we do to-day, for a wonder, 
 possess a bottle of Bourdeaux, fetch it, child, give Madame a 
 glass. I own we have but two glasses, madam, but the child 
 shall drink out of mine et de par tons les diables, my dear 
 lady, it will be a droll thing enough to see an old soldier of 
 the Emperor's, pledging a reverend mother to the glory of 
 France, and the health of the braves that are left." 
 
 "With all my heart, captain; particularly as I have 
 trudged a good way this morning. But you must put a little 
 water into my glass, my dear, because I never drink wine alone." 
 Susanne did as her father desired ; and while handing the 
 glass to the captain, she bent down her head and took the 
 opportunity to whisper 
 
 " Don't swear now, dear, dear papa. Don't, pray, don't." 
 But she had reason to repent of her advice, for instantly 
 the brave old soldier cried out with a loud voice 
 
 " Par le corbleu! Dear child, thou art right; but, venire 
 mille cent bleu! I think, que le diable s'en mele, for you know 
 I swore " 
 
 "Yes, papa no, papa! See, Madame is holding out her glass." 
 "Your good health, my dear, honoured sister; and the 
 d 1, but this wine warms and does me good, and I am obliged 
 to you and to this dear child for it. I know, Madame la 
 Keligieuse, that I owe you six francs, and I hope soon to re- 
 pay you ; but I swear, by the honour of an old French soldier, 
 that to repay what I owe to your goodness and humanity is 
 impossible. You spared my Susanne's feelings at the apothe- 
 cary's, and you enabled this dear creature to profit by her 
 last sacrifice. Ah, madam! she had sold the last article of 
 decent clothing that she possessed in the word:" and the tears 
 stood in his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " Had you?" turning quickly to Susanne, " then you did 
 well. I think, however, that I guessed by your little face, 
 what was passing in your heart. God will repay you for your 
 piety to your father ; but let me visit your wounds, my good 
 friend. Are they severe? Are they closed yet? Your 
 daughter spoke of a cannon-ball : I have served in the hospital, 
 and I am almost as good as a surgeon." 
 
 " Thank you, my good mother, another time: I had been 
 wounded six times by lances, four times in my side, twice in 
 my limbs ; but I kept my place, nevertheless, and was com- 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 155 
 
 manding the regiment to form into a hollow square, with our 
 eagles, the hope and glory of la Vieille Garde, in our centre, 
 when a cannon-ball carried off my right leg, and procured me 
 the honour of falling on the field of battle. And there I 
 thought to remain, with those brave men, qui meurent et ne se 
 rendent pas ; but when I came to my senses, for I was stunned 
 at first, I found I had been carried, with the wounded, to a 
 village, and there the surgeon of the regiment, a clever man, 
 and the best friend I have in the world, cut off my leg in a 
 second, as if it had been a pullet's wing. 
 
 "My daughter joined me in a few days, and having, happily, 
 a few napoleons still left in my sash, we did very well at first. 
 But my wounds festered, my condition became dangerous, my 
 friend and surgeon was gone to Paris, so I got myself carried 
 thither, but at my own expense, mind. There economy soon 
 became the article of the most pressing necessity, so my friend 
 engaged me a lodging, not a very expensive one, as you see. 
 My little girl furnished it in a manner suitable to our resources, 
 and here she nurses me, like a ministering angel from Heaven, 
 as she is ; and here my worthy surgeon attends me, and dresses 
 my wounds. Thank Heaven and his care, they are at last 
 all closed, and soon I hope to possess a leg that will never be 
 troubled with the gout. And such, in a few words, is the 
 history of my last campaign, and of my last battle," added 
 the captain, with a short sigh. 
 
 The nun shook her head, and Susanne added 
 
 " Papa, you have not told all." 
 
 " Peace, child ! Madame understands that my pension is not 
 yet granted, and that I have hopes only of my half-pay; but 
 the pressure of affairs, the situation of things, the disorder 
 the the the it will come in time, my child, doubt it not ; 
 and in the meanwhile, I am sure Madame will wait." 
 
 "I am very glad, my dear Captain, that your wounds are 
 attended to, and that you only want strength and a new leg: 
 and since you have a good surgeon, I will not say anything of 
 myself, though I understand these matters well enough. So 
 now let us talk of business, for you must know, that I interfere 
 with everybody's business, and I have wider resources than you 
 would guess, in spite of my poor little black gown. But as 
 business is not very amusing to little girls, go, my dear, and 
 get some broth ready for your papa, I think he wants good 
 potages more than physic now, so I shall every now and then 
 just take a look after the affairs of the kitchen. But go away, 
 now, my little dear." 
 
 Susanne glanced at her father with an air that seemed to 
 say, "Well, you know what I said,'* and then with two bounds 
 she was out of the room. 
 
156 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LEGACY. 
 
 "I THOUGHT there was some devilry in this business," said the 
 captain to himself; "but the deuce take me if I can make out 
 what the little woman is at. What does she want to get out 
 of me Venire mille lieu! we shall see but I defy her to 
 make a saint of me." 
 
 While the old soldier was making these somewhat irreverent 
 remarks, the little black nun had shut the chamber-door, had 
 drawn her chair close to the bed's head, had put her large bag 
 of black cloth upon her knees, and introducing her withered 
 hand, seemed to be searching for something ; while with her 
 other hand she had taken that of the sick man, and for the 
 first time her brisk smiling eyes were bent to the ground. She 
 looked grave, and her sharp long nose became a little sharper 
 than usual. 
 
 "My dear sir," said she, with something almost like embar- 
 rassment in her manner; "my dear sir has your little 
 daughter told you that I had a commission to execute and 
 that, upon this account, I begged leave to do myself the honour 
 of calling upon you?" 
 
 "Yes, madam, Susanne did say so, but you will easily be- 
 lieve that I did not credit a word of the matter, and that I 
 understand this commission to be only a delicate and polite 
 pretext." 
 
 "You are mistaken, sir, what I said to your daughter was 
 perfectly true. You possess in that little girl an admirable 
 child, and you ought to thank Providence. There my brave 
 friend, take that, and do not thank me, for I have no merit in 
 this affair I am but as the hand of her wlio loved to serve the 
 wretched during her life, and who serves them even after her 
 death. Take it, take it, brave soldier. It is not an alms, it is 
 only a portion of the reward that would have been yours if if 
 but we will not think of that. Take it, Captain, and promise 
 me in return only one little prayer, and that as short a one as 
 you please, for the generous wife of him who was once your 
 leader." 
 
 While saying this, the little nun had drawn her left hand 
 out of the black bag, and passing it into the right hand of the 
 invalid, had conveyed therewith a rouleau containing twenty- 
 five franc pieces a trifling sum enough, most of my readers 
 may think, but to the soldier it was as the mines of Peru he 
 had been on the eve of actually perishing for hunger, and his 
 child had sold the last superfluity she possessed in the world. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 157 
 
 The countenance of the grenadier, pale and exhausted with 
 suffering, was suddenly suffused with scarlet; his hand trembled. 
 
 "What is it you say, my dear lady? Can it be possible 
 then? We were more than a hundred thousand brave men. 
 She could never have heard of me No ! no ! Peace to the 
 memory of the good Josephine, but de par tons Ics diables 
 my dear woman, this is a little invention of yours to spare " 
 
 "No such thing ! no such thing, my dear Captain. I don't 
 mean to be positive that a little charitable evasion, to succour 
 one's neighbour and spare his feelings, is a mortal sin yet I 
 would not be'guilty of even an evasion for the world ; because, 
 you know, God has forbidden deceit, without any exception, and 
 Holy Church makes none. Besides, my good friend, much as 
 I might wish it, I have no means of my own to enable me to 
 dispose of sums to this amount. My whole income is not equal 
 to eight times what I have brought to you ; and I have little 
 bits of charities of my own, which I keep separate from those 
 of which I ain only the depository. Take it, take it, without 
 hesitation, my dear Captain. This money came from a source 
 that should do away with scruples; and I do not deceive you, 
 when I assure you that for you it was intended. Perhaps I 
 shall have more for you. I shall know that, when I have had 
 time to make up my last year's accounts ; which are a little 
 behindhand, I have lately been so busy." 
 
 "I am not," she continued, "obliged tti lay these accounts 
 before any creature; nor to account to any living soul for 
 what should, properly, be done in secret ; but I owe this to 
 my own conscience. I would not have one farthing of that 
 which belongs to the poor, lying upon it. Oh, not for the 
 world ! And you well know, that I could not, if I would, 
 hide such a sin from God, who sees us all. I don't tell all this 
 to people in general ; but I say it to you, my worthy friend 
 first, because you are un brave, and understand what is meant 
 by honour and duty, and secondly, because I am sure, after 
 this, you will take the money without the slightest feeling of 
 humiliation indeed, with as much satisfaction as if it were 
 part of your own property." 
 
 "Well, well! my dear good little woman, I don't see all 
 this exactly proved. This, however, is certain, that you are 
 an excellent creature, and even if you are imposing upon me, 
 why I do not see how I can very well find cause to be offended." 
 
 "No, no! I tell you I am not imposing upon you, Captain; 
 and I do not see why you should refuse to offer your gratitude 
 where alone it is due." 
 
 "Well, well, 'I don't say I won't; but it must travel a good 
 way, I doubt, before it gets to her, my good mother!" 
 
 "Not so very far, my good friend. Listen to me. 
 
158 A SOLDlEll's FORTUNE. 
 
 "Even in the days of her greatest prosperity, I could pene- 
 trate as easily to her, seated as she was upon her throne, as I 
 can now do to the bed of the poorest and most miserable crea- 
 ture in this vast city. And such, as now you see me, though, 
 to be sure, I was rather younger, but just as ugly as I am now, 
 did I receive, dropped by her fingers glistening with jewels 
 rouleaux of gold, which I had to distribute to distressed fami- 
 lies, to hard-working, sorely-pressed artisans, to the sick and 
 to the hungry; to receive in return, the blessings of them 
 who were ready to perish ; blessings not trumpeted forth in 
 public prints or on public highways, because her goodness was 
 not the mere etiquette of her rank, nor the attribute of her 
 grandeur, but the pure fruit of Christian charity, springing 
 from a kind and feeling heart. 
 
 "Ah! in those days I had, indeed, my poor, my sick, and 
 my sorrowing, and of all ranks. Captain. Many a fine piece 
 of needlework, the labour of fair, and once noble hands, toiling 
 for very bread in secret, have I conveyed to your grand ladies 
 of the new order of things, whose antechambers were open to 
 me, because she bought. Ah! when I used to be very much 
 pressed for money, when some poor delicate creature, born for 
 better days, was sadly in want ah ! I needed only to run to 
 the Pont Louis XV. get a coucou* you may guess where I 
 went to. I never found the door closed to me, always an 
 audience up into her boudoir. Whatever I brought was 
 charming, whatever I asked, moderate a napoleon, two na- 
 poleons, or a hundred francs ! Sometimes the great man him- 
 self would come in, he used to laugh when he saw me. I was 
 not quite so fine a fellow as a grenadier of his guard, but more 
 than one of his fine grenadiers had had their wounds dressed 
 by my hands he knew that well enough, and he never forgot 
 it." 
 
 "Par le corbleu! Madam, is it possible? Can you be 
 the Sceur Sainte B.? I never saw her; but I have never 
 heard her mentioned without love and veneration." 
 
 "Even so, M. le Capitaine." 
 
 "That is enough." 
 
 "No, that is not enough. I have not told you what con- 
 cerns you the most in all this." 
 
 She fixed her eyes upon the old soldier, and a grave and 
 serious expression settled upon her usually merry countenance, 
 while with a voice lower than ordinary she thus went on: 
 
 "In those days, when it pleased Providence to visit with 
 
 reverses those he for so many years had loaded with favours, 
 
 I stood near I saw the tears that then were shed, and I 
 
 mingled mine with those of my Empress. God knows I do 
 
 * A little hack-carriage for one person. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 159 
 
 not say this from vanity, but to encourage others to resignation. 
 Many things were changed then; and if old wounds were 
 healed, new ones, alas ! were bleeding, and the joy of those 
 restored to their places could not hide from me the tears and 
 the groans of widows and children, weeping for those who had 
 made the battle-field red. She, from whose hands I had often 
 carried help to noble sufferers noble still, but suiferers no 
 longer ; and who, perhaps, have forgotten mil about it but 
 let that pass she, she did not forget in that dark hour the 
 friends and companions of her husband in his reverses as in 
 his glory. 'No one will reward them now,' said she, 'and 
 soon I shall not be here to help them. Take all I have left, 
 divide it among them, tell them it is no alms it is a poor 
 attempt to pay a debt impossible under any circumstances fully 
 to discharge.' Alas! it was time to appoint an executor, a 
 few days afterwards and we lost her and what could I do for 
 more than half my poor? 
 
 "As to this legacy destined to the unfortunate brave, I 
 have tried to dispose of it, as that great and good one intended. 
 I have had many calls upon it, I have divided it into many 
 portions, and that, you see " resuming her cheerfulness as she 
 returned to business ; " that is, you see, the reason the modicums 
 are so small; but still I am very glad when I have found out 
 and paid off one of my creditors, as I have done to-day ; and 
 so, when that happy event happens, I always have a mass said 
 at St. Joseph, at my own cost." 
 
 " Ventre cent mille bleu! My dear, excellent sister, do you 
 think they could carry me there on my mattress? Susanne! 
 Susanne, I say " 
 
 '* Ah, Heavens, papa! what is the matter?" 
 
 " Don't look so frightened, my dear child. Kneel down, and 
 kiss the hem of that dear little woman's garment, and get 
 ready to go with her to-morrow to mass ; to mass do you 
 understand? You must go and pray by her side. You will 
 lend her a book, madam, and tell her what she should do ; 
 she is but an ignorant, poor little thing. As for this money, 
 my dear madam, which I receive as un honneur insigne, I 
 swear by that sword, which you see there hanging against the 
 wall, and which is to an old soldier as sacred a relic as your 
 rosary is to you, I swear by that piece here, Susanne, put 
 it in my grenadier's cap, by the side of my croix dhonneur, 
 and my epaulettes. The day may come when I shall set it in 
 gold. And now, Madame la Religieuse, will it please you to 
 stoop down ; let me have the honour of once embracing you, 
 and pray excuse me de ri avoir pas fait ma barbe " 
 
 The little nun did not wait to be asked twice; she laughed, 
 and offered her two cheeks to the captain, who, with the 
 
160 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 greatest respect, kissed her then, after having given, with her 
 usual vivacity, two or three directions on half-a-dozen 
 different points, and having arranged with Susanne the hour 
 for going to mass the next morning, she begged permission to 
 take leave, as it was time to visit the poor prisoners, who were 
 impatiently expecting her. And so she departed, leaving the 
 captain still sitting up in his bed, and swearing away as hard 
 as he could, in dqgpair that he could not attend her to 'the door, 
 and pay her every honour and respect in the world. 
 
 Some will, perhaps, think this chapter merely a pretty, ro- 
 mantic invention ; they may undeceive themselves ; this little 
 nun is from the life ; and as for the legacy of the good 
 Josephine, it is a fact, as many could testify who were the 
 better for it. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was the next day, about ten o'clock in the morning, that 
 the good Dervieux, finding the key in the door, entered the 
 apartment of his old friend Gerard, without ceremony. 
 
 He was surprised to find the captain alone, and not to 
 hear the voice of the little Susanne, 
 
 Like an experienced and nice medical observer, as he was, 
 he noticed at a glance, upon the simple deal table, the strength- 
 ening medicine, the bottle of Burgundy, and the pitcher 
 smoking still, though emptied of its excellent contents. The 
 good surgeon, his heart relieved from a load of anxiety, smiled 
 and took the captain's hand. 
 
 " Well, old comrade capital come, come pulse excellent 
 countenance can't be better We shall soon walk if we can 
 persevere in these good ways," glancing at the table, and at 
 the medicine. 
 
 " D 1 take all your doctor's stuff, my good fellow ; I want 
 none of your pills and potions, my brave excellent old friend. 
 No, you will never guess, not in forty thousand million guesses, 
 the sort of Esculapius that has been about me. A nun ! a nun, 
 only think of that, doctor a nun, doctor!" 
 
 "A nun! what a tale!" 
 
 " Yes le diable iriemporte a little bit of a black nun, as 
 black and as short as un obus de campagne" 
 
 " You are mad; give me your hand perhaps you may be 
 a little feverish." 
 
 " Let my wrist alone, it's well enough, and go to the man 
 who makes legs, when old soldiers are short of that article, 
 and order me a good one ; because, do you see, r^on cher, I 
 have sworn my biggest oath to order a mass as soon as I can 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 161 
 
 stand ; and to sing a pro nobis myself, old soldier as I am. 
 You know what it means, I suppose, for you learned a little 
 Latin when they made a doctor of you, and taught you to 
 write all that stuff that nobody can understand. I don't under- 
 stand much more, mais cela m'est egal. Confiteor et cum 
 spiritu, &c., that's about as much of the manoeuvre as I recol- 
 lect ; when my regiment was commanded to assist at the 
 grand mass in the chapel at Dresden, where there was a so- 
 prano singing like a flageolet, and trumpets a clefs playing 
 like shepherds' pipes. I don't say that, for my own part, I 
 don't think a grand, strapping military march with full band, 
 fifes, clarionets, horns, double-drums, and all the rest, a better 
 thing. CorUeu! that makes one stir! I shall never, as long 
 as I live, forget that march drums beating, colours flying, 
 swords drawn, matches lighted ; when we entered the capital 
 of Austria by the noble Corinthian gate Venire cent mille 
 bleu! You were there, old comrade. We were neither of us 
 limping then, were we? But no more of that. I fancy to 
 myself, my dear friend, that spiritum sanctum dominum, means 
 bless God for all his mercies ; bless him for sending help to 
 your poor little girl, serve your country, and defy the devil. 
 I shall go in less than a week to mass, my dear fellow. Yes, 
 if it were only to please my dear little nun ; and if you wish 
 to oblige me, like a worthy, excellent old friend and fellow as 
 you are, you will go too, and we will sing together, Dixit 
 dominus, &e. 
 
 At this unexpected effusion, the good surgeon, perfectly 
 astonished, stood staring at his friend. He began seriously 
 to think there had been some lesion of the brain ; and divin- 
 ing, as he thought, the cause in the imprudent use of a some- 
 what too generous wine after so long an abstinence, he went 
 to the table, and was examining the bottle ; when the sound 
 of the light tripping step of little Susanne was heard : the 
 door opened, and in she came. 
 
 Radiant with innocent exultation, she ran to the bed, 
 "Papa! papa! look, look, I have got my shawl again, and 
 this pretty bonnet. I shall be able to go out in the day time 
 now to execute your commissions." 
 
 Susanne had, in fact, recovered her blue shawl, which now 
 hung round her shoulders, and her pure and open countenance, 
 adorned, when she went out that morning with nothing but 
 her ebon, shining, and somewhat disordered ringlets, was now 
 shaded by a simple straw bonnet, which had the prettiest effect 
 in the world, tied down with a blue ribbon under her little 
 dimpled chin. It was easy to see that the bonnet was not 
 perfectly new'; and did not by its shape announce the modiste 
 of the Rue Vivienne, or the Passage de I' Opera. But what 
 
162 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 is not pretty tied upon the head of fresh and innocent four- 
 teen ? 
 
 " Look! doctor, look!" cried the captain, " more good works 
 of my little nun." 
 
 The captain was right; at seven o'clock precisely the 
 Soeur Sainte B. had knocked at his door. Early and prompt 
 Susanne was ready. 
 
 " Has your father had a better night?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, an excellent night/' 
 
 " Did he take his medicine as soon as he was awake?" 
 
 " Yes. madam, I gave it to him." 
 
 " Is his breakfast ready ?" 
 
 " He has had a potage and half a glass of wine." 
 
 " How is he now?" 
 
 " He is asleep, oh! I ain sure he will soon be quite well." 
 
 " As that is the case, my dear little sister, don't let us a- 
 waken him he wants for nothing, he knows where you are 
 going. Ah ! he is not afraid to trust you with me." 
 
 " Oh, no! madam." 
 
 "Very well, put on your bonnet, my dear." 
 
 "I have no bonnet, madam." 
 
 "Well, well! your handkerchief, your shawl, then." 
 
 "I have none, madam." 
 
 "None ah, true! I remember Come then, dear little 
 
 creature, just as you are, with your innocent and excellent 
 heart, you are always fitly prepared to enter the house of God 
 and I'll settle all that; come along, my love." 
 
 The little black nun and her companion had scarcely walked 
 three or four minutes together, chattering, as cheerful old wo- 
 men and happy little girls are wont to do, before the nun was 
 mistress of all Susanne's little secrets. 
 
 " Should you know the alley again, where the woman lives 
 who bought your shawl?" 
 
 " Oh yes, madam, exactly opposite to the lottery office. 
 There is the old woman in the midst of all her chiffons. Ah! 
 there is my pretty blue shawl in her hand." 
 
 " That's right, my dear; follow me." 
 
 "Madam, at about seven o'clock the evening before yes- 
 terday, you bought a shawl from this young lady for five francs. 
 Considering the youth and inexperience of the young lady, 
 perhaps however, I would rather believe you were im- 
 pelled by a feeling of humanity, and that you did not exactly 
 consider the value of what you were purchasing. I offer you 
 twenty sous for your bargain, which is pretty good interest ; 
 and I hope, in consideration of this young lady, you will not 
 refuse the Soeur Sainte B." 
 
 At the first address, the vulgar, red face of the woman 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 163 
 
 looked angry, and still redder than usual ; but the name of 
 the Sceur Sainte B. acted like magic. 
 
 " Gracious, madam! are you the Soeur Sainte B.? I would 
 give six livres out of my pocket, any day, to see you pass even 
 at the end of the alley. I'll take no twenty sous from a holy 
 woman like you. Mademoiselle may take her shawl and wel- 
 come, as she is one of your acquaintance : though a bargain 
 is a bargain for all that." 
 
 All was soon concluded, and Susanne put on her pretty 
 blue shawl. 
 
 A step or two further, there was another merchant in the 
 same trade, but dealing in cast-offs of a somewhat better de- 
 scription. 
 
 " My good child," said the little nun, whose quick eye had 
 already made its selection, '* a young lady of your age and 
 station cannot go bare-headed, without making herself remark- 
 able, which we ought always to avoid if possible. The 
 daughter of a captain of la Vieille Garde," said she, smiling, 
 " ought at least to have a bonnet." 
 
 Susanne, smiling and blushing, submitted to have a bonnet 
 tied over her head, and pressed the hands of her benefactress, 
 with all the gratitude which a little French girl must feel upon 
 so important an occasion. 
 
 She could not speak at first, but as they entered the church, 
 she said in alow voice, "I thank you very much, madam; 
 I could not help feeling ashamed of being without a bonnet, 
 and I felt ashamed to say so. How shall I ever return " 
 
 " Let us thank God, my dear child; as for thanking me, 
 He will look to that." 
 
 When Susanne, sitting at the foot of her father's bed, had 
 finished this narration, made with her usual innocent and 
 childish grace, the good Dervieux, who had seen the Soeur 
 Sainte B. a hundred times in the military hospitals, began to 
 understand all about it ; and it was without astonishment, but 
 not without admiration and some emotion, that he too learned, 
 partly from the mouth of the old soldier, and partly from 
 that of his pretty little daughter, the meeting at the apothe- 
 cary's, the visit of the black nun, and all the consequences 
 thence and therefrom ensuing. 
 
 The military surgeon was an aged and respectable man ; 
 his blue coat was rather threadbare, the golden thread of his 
 epaulettes considerably worn, as Susanne had observed ; the 
 hilt of his sword tarnished, the ribbon of his decoration dis- 
 coloured, and the hair, which hung scantily round his forehead, 
 had been whitened by the smoke of twelve or fifteen campaigns. 
 He looked upon the captain as his brother; he loved the pretty 
 Susanne as his child. 
 
164 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " My good friend," said he, to the old soldier, "the Soeur 
 Sainte B. is a perfect model of Christian virtue ; and I believe 
 she practises the true faith according to the letter and 
 spirit of the Gospel, as a good understanding and an honest 
 conscience interpret it ; not as fanaticism and hypocrisy explain 
 it. But, my brave fellow, Heaven this time sent before her an 
 angel of light ; an angel of tenderness and filial piety." 
 
 The surgeon was no great speaker, perhaps this was the 
 longest harangue he had been guilty of for a very long time. 
 He ended it by fixing a look full of affection upon the soldier's 
 child ; then, as if mechanically, he took hold of the ribbon 
 which answered the purpose of a chain to his silver watch, 
 and at the end of which hung one little gilt watch-key ; but 
 he checked himself, coloured, and let it fall, suddenly recol- 
 lecting that the watch was pledged for twenty francs, destined 
 to increase the little resources of Susanne : then remembering 
 that he had the sum still in his pocket, he arose quickly, took 
 leave of the captain, under the pretext of his presence being 
 necessary at some important operation and relieved with 
 regard to the more pressing wants of his friend ; satisfied to 
 leave him, for a few days, at least, under the charitable pro- 
 tection of the Soeur Sainte B, he was off to the Faubourg 
 St. Martin, where he knew of an ingenious mechanic, an 
 artist in wooden legs. 
 
 Here, he ordered, after a model drawn by his own hand, a 
 limb of the very first quality ; whether we regard the sym- 
 metry of its form, or lightness and excellence of the wood 
 employed expressly agreed that it should be delivered on 
 the following Sunday and fearful of accidents, accidents not 
 very unusual to those with purses scanty as his, paid for it in 
 advance and then having seen his friend's future leg actually 
 put in hands, he continued his rounds and thought only of his 
 patients. 
 
 Of patients, in truth, he had a sufficient number, if number 
 were all that is required in patients ; but his clientele contri- 
 buted, alas ! but little to fill the good surgeon's purse ; being 
 chiefly composed of poor officers, wounded in the late cruel 
 campaign. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Six days had elapsed since the first visit of the little black 
 nun to the poor soldier. This visit had done much, yet the 
 general aspect of affairs in the apartment remained, as may 
 easily be believed, in ^reat measure the same. The succour 
 afforded by the good little reverend sister, had been sufficient 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 165 
 
 to relieve the extreme sufferings of this wretched family, but 
 not to afford anything approaching to ease or abundance. 
 
 The brave old soldier, hoYv r ever, continued to improve from 
 day to day. A little relief from the cutting anxieties of his 
 mind a nourishing diet two or three glasses of generous 
 wine, had restored, in great measure, his exhausted frame; 
 and the visits of Dervieux,. and of the dear long-nosed sister, 
 who had established herself directrice of the kitchen, added to 
 the tender cares of little Susanne, now all smiles and gaiety, 
 had entirely set at rest the honest heart of the grenadier; 
 accustomed as well by his profession as by his temper to let 
 the morrow '* take thought for the things of itself." 
 
 He could not yet leave his bed, he was waiting for his leg, 
 but every day his oaths burst forth with additional energy ; 
 and already, in order to pass away the time, and employ his 
 superabundant spirit of activity, he sat in his bed busied in 
 rubbing, cleaning, and polishing his arms, and brushing up 
 his uniform, aorainst the great occasion of his first appearance 
 
 T 1 
 
 in the living world again. 
 
 Six days, as has been said, had thus passed away; six 
 happy days a rare event to them had passed without tears, 
 either on the part of the good captain or of his daughter. 
 Yes, for six days, he who had fallen in the just cause of 
 defending his native soil, had no longer lain a poor unpitied 
 victim, deserted by every human being: his misfortunes had 
 been alleviated, but that was as yet all. 
 
 On the seventh day, it was upon a Sunday, the little nun 
 in her black dress, which was tucked up on one side, though 
 the weather was warm and the streets dry, was trotting and 
 bustling along with much expedition; making her way at 
 half-past four in the morning, from the Faubourg de Roule 
 to the Rue de VEnfer, anxious to visit the captain early 
 meditating, with countenance all animation, on a magnificent 
 project, which was working in her busy little brain. 
 
 She had no wish to surprise the captain, and would not, 
 for the pleasure of communicating all the grandest projects in 
 the world, have disturbed the sleep of the invalid ; no, it was 
 to the little Susanne that she came. She had observed, that 
 the outer door of this miserable house was never fastened, 
 and she had likewise observed, for she had seen it twenty 
 times during the three preceding days, that the door of 
 Susanne's closet, rather than room, opened upon the stairs 
 a practice common in poor apartments like these, because it 
 affords the proprietor an opportunity of letting these miserable 
 chambers to different families, if required. The good sister 
 was, therefore, certain that she might visit Susanne without 
 disturbing her father : so she knocked gently at the door ; 
 
166 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 for, though she scrupled about the invalid, she could not 
 comprehend the hardship of calling up, at five o'clock in the 
 morning, a little rosy girl full of health and spirits : besides, 
 she was full of her project and though the most excellent 
 creature in the universe, she was still a woman, and more, 
 she was a nun; and she must have her own way now and 
 then ; and she must talk of what was running in her head. 
 
 So at five o'clock she was at Susanne's door, she saluted 
 Saint Jacques du Haui-pas; as she passed, no one saw her, 
 everybody was asleep, it was an act of piety, of superstition 
 if you will, but ft was sincere. She pushed open the door, 
 she ascended the stairs, all was still and silent; but what was 
 her surprise to find that Susanne's door was already half- 
 open, the old piece of cloth which served for a curtain to the 
 window was lifted up; and the bright rays of the rising sun 
 were falling upon the bed, the wall, and the shining hair of 
 the little girl. The nun paused. Susanne was sitting near 
 the door, and upon her bed already neatly arranged lay 
 scissors, cotton, needles, and in her hands was a small piece 
 of embroidery, upon which she was engaged, and so busily 
 and industriously engaged, that she had not heard the steps 
 of her good friend as she came up the stairs. The sister 
 paused a moment, to watch the rapid motion of the busy and 
 agile little fingers, as they seemed scarcely to touch the deli- 
 cate lawn she held, then 
 
 "What are you doing there, my dear?" said she. 
 
 Susanne started, turned her head, saw the nun, pushed 
 her work under the cover of her bed, and blushed up to the 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, madam! I was only amusing myself." 
 
 " Amusing yourself with working at five o'clock in the 
 morning? I thought I should have found you as fast asleep 
 as a dormouse; but what's the matter? Why do you look so 
 very much ashamed? Why are you as red as a little rose?" 
 
 " I am afraid that you will not be pleased." 
 
 " That I shall not be pleased! why, my dear child?" 
 
 " Because, because it is Sunday. But indeed, I could 
 not get any work till very late last night and I was so 
 anxious to get something to do; and but if you think it 
 wrong, I will not touch it again." 
 
 The tenderness which the little nun had felt for Susanne, 
 had till then only been expressed by the affectionate tones of 
 her voice, and by the cordial pressure of her hand ; but now 
 she kissed her, and said 
 
 " My child, our Saviour healed the sick upon the Sabbath- 
 day; and upon the Sabbath-day it is permitted to do good. 
 This is no ordinary occasion ; nor will the good and righteous 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 167 
 
 God, whom we both serve, visit with his displeasure the 
 efforts of a kind and pious child to serve her father in his 
 necessity even at the expense, of what after all, my dear, is 
 a duty. But I will now not explain to you all I could say, 
 about relative duties, my dear little one. Enough that 
 what you are at this moment performing is the first and the 
 best. -But where did you get this work, my dear? who pro- 
 cured you employment? You told me, I think, that you 
 knew no one in Paris but the good surgeon, and the money- 
 lender and gentlemen of that sort do not usually want fine 
 needlework." 
 
 "No, certainly, madam our friend Mr. Dervieux does 
 not trouble himself much about such things; and I don't 
 think our man of business would give himself any trouble to 
 help us : but I will tell you the whole story, if you will please 
 to sit down a little, while I finish this tiny bit: I may finish 
 it?" The nun nodded. 
 
 1 'In the first place, you must know, I have wanted to do 
 something towards getting our living, for a long time. I felt 
 that it was quite right and quite necessary ; but how could I 
 do anything while papa was in such great danger that I had 
 to watch him day and night, and while I was so very unhappy 
 about him ? The thought that he might die, and leave me 
 alone in the wide world! Oh, madam! if he died, I wished to 
 die too. When the great danger was over, and Mr. Dervieux 
 said he thought he would live; when papa began to recover his 
 senses, and be able to speak and move, it was still more im- 
 possible to leave him for a single instant. If he was left to 
 himself for but a single half-hour, he began to rave about all 
 sorts of things : the great dreadful battle his fellow-soldiers 
 France; he seemed to see the eagles; the enemy; he cried out 
 that all was lost ; that France was betrayed ; he fell into the 
 most terrible agitation. When I came back he would be in a 
 high fever, agitated, burning. The surgeon said this was 
 most dangerous; so indeed I could think of nothing but him; 
 and sell one thing after another, waiting and hoping; but 
 while waiting and hoping Oh, madam ! how miserably 
 destitute we became at last. So poor, that I could not even 
 buy a little muslin and cotton to begin with, to show people 
 I knew how to work." 
 
 "Poor little thing! I understand it all; I have seen such 
 things too often. How I wish I had but met with you 
 sooner ; but that was not my fault, for I am every day at the 
 apothecary's." 
 
 " Oh ! it was Heaven itself that brought me to you ; and 
 indeed, madam, it was time. What would have become of 
 us! Well, as soon as things were going on better, I was in 
 
168 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 good spirits to set about getting some work. I cannot do 
 much; but at least it will save something. But there is a 
 great secret; pray, madam, don't tell papa." 
 
 " A secret! child, a secret from your father! Come, come, 
 I am sure there is no harm in any of your great secrets. You 
 may at least venture to tell me." 
 
 " Indeed I ought to tell you all my secrets; for you re the 
 greatest friend I ever had. Well, now papa is better, we 
 begin to look to the future a little, and think what we must 
 do, and what will become of us. Papa will have a pension, 
 it is but just that he should, he is an invalid; but he does not 
 think that can be enough for both of us ; and all his hope is 
 to be able to buy a loom and work for us both, as soon as he 
 gets up." 
 
 " A loom, my dear young lady! Your father! an officer of 
 la Vieille Garde! a loom! had he not better endeavour to obtain 
 some place?" 
 
 " A place! Oh, papa has no hopes of that sort, madam, 
 I know ; for every day when he and Mr. Dervieux talk over 
 their campaigns, and count their wounds and their services, 
 they end by saying there is nothing to be hoped for now." f 
 " I understand, my dear, I understand; but what can your 
 father learn to do with a loom, at his age?" 
 
 " O madam! you do not know that papa once in his life 
 was nothing in the world but a weaver, and that, before he 
 went to the American war, a long, long, long time ago, papa 
 had, when he was a child, learned that business, and he 
 thinks he could remember enough of it now to do very well : 
 and he would not be in the least bit ashamed of becoming a 
 good workman, though he is an old soldier. He says he will 
 set up his loom under the trophy of his arms ; and hang his 
 croix tfhonneur upon it." 
 
 "Your father is a brave, wise, and good man, my dear 
 voting lady. But, good Heavens ! the turn things sometimes 
 take!" 
 
 " But the difficult thing, madam, is to buy the loom, and 
 papa talks as if he had already got one. But I have been 
 thinking what must be done, so I bought a little muslin, I 
 embroidered a few flowers, and I carried my work to a great 
 magasin, where they sell such beautiful things ! I did not ask 
 much, and I promised to work very quick ; and so they gave 
 me three collars and two caps to do, and they promised me a 
 whole dress when these were done. You may suppose I have 
 no time to lose. Now that papa does not want my help much, 
 I can work away in his little room, and I can talk to him all 
 the time ; and I shall work when he is asleep and as he will 
 never ask me what I do with my work, I can do what I please 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 169 
 
 with what money I get, I shall divide it into two parts; one 
 half shall go to the house-keeping, and the other shall be laid 
 by till I have enough to buy a loom. Now pray, dear 
 madam, don't betray me. It will be such a pleasure to sur- 
 prise him." 
 
 "Dear child, I would not tell for the world! No, no, I 
 will help you to keep your secret, and perhaps I can help you 
 to accomplish your project a little sooner. Dear child! you 
 have justified all my hopes and expectations, and have, 
 indeed, just begun of your own head to do what I was meaning 
 to advise. Yes, my dear, I thought you were old enough to 
 maintain your father ; and that, after having nursed him so 
 tenderly, you would accomplish the duty of a good daughter 
 and of a sensible little girl, and that you would set to work, 
 so as at least to secure your father and yourself from a recur- 
 rence of the excessive misery into which you have fallen. And 
 therefore, my dear," showing her black bag stuffed with 
 commodities of one sort or other, " I have brought you some 
 work which- 1 would have sold for you, but you have done 
 better, my dear little girl ! Work, work away, dear and good 
 * creature. Work will save you from many a foolish thought, 
 from many an idle word. Labour is wholesome labour is 
 happy. But, my dear little sister, the more I look at your 
 work, the more I admire it. I never carried anything prettier 
 to Madame Josephine, and Heaven knows she paid me well, 
 if I whispered ' from some poor emigrant.' But you have had 
 a good education, mademoiselle?" 
 
 " Yes, madam; mamma was very accomplished; and I had 
 excellent masters till I was twelve years old." 
 
 " And what did you learn, my dear?" 
 
 "Dancing, music, and, oh! drawing, oh! drawing; I drew 
 nearly as well as mamma." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Oh, and then all was lost mamma died, and we became 
 very poor. I don't know how it happened, but it was unlucky, 
 for they said I really had a talent, especially for miniature 
 painting; and that in a few years I should be quite a distin- 
 guished artist. So mamma intended to bring me to Paris, to 
 give me the best masters; for she wished me to be an artist." 
 
 * * Alas, my dear, if your mother had no fortune to leave you, 
 her design was wise and good. Misfortunes arrived too soon. 
 Heaven tries you early. But you must keep up your spirits. 
 
 "Oh, easily, as long as I have papa; besides, we are at 
 Paris, where one can always get good masters when one will. 
 If we could only be a little, little richer, I would try to fulfil 
 mamma's wishes; I would try to become a great artist, as I 
 promised her when " 
 
170 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Little Susanne's eyes filled with tears, which fell fast and 
 still upon the muslin she held in her hand. The little nun 
 shook her head, clasped her fingers on her knees, and seemed 
 to have some new scheme in her thoughts. She soon got up to 
 go away, seeming in a great hurry; and the captain, awaken- 
 ing at the same moment, called Susanne, who hastened to 
 wipe her eyes, and then the friends, exchanging a significant 
 glance, parted; one rapidly descended the narrow and dirty 
 stairs, and entered the Rue St. Jacques, trotting as fast as 
 her short limbs would get over the ground ; and the other, 
 taking a cup in one hand, and the potion in another, with 
 a cheerful countenance presented his morning dose to the sick 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Two hours had elapsed, since the Sceur Sainte B. quitted 
 Susanne, the captain had drunk his potion, had breakfasted, 
 and had made his little toilette: and when he had cleaned his 
 chin from the black hairs, mingled with grey, that covered it ; 
 passed his comb through his moustaches; and tied his blue 
 and scarlet foulard, something in the way of a turban, over 
 his well-bronzed forehead the veteran of the Pyramids, of 
 Friedland, of Moscow his complexion heightened by the re- 
 novating potion, his heart gladdened by the smiles of his 
 daughter, retained little of the faded look, and the mournful 
 and exhausted air of some ten days ago. 
 
 The old Waterloo warrior was seated upon his truckle bed- 
 stead, as once Marius on the stone of Minturnas, his counte- 
 nance grave and serious, softened by an air of tranquil patience, 
 which gave an ineffable character of mingled firmness, dignity, 
 force, and goodness to its expression. And thus the brave 
 man resting on his bed, and contemplating calmly and tenderly 
 his sweet and beautiful child, might have been compared to 
 the reposing lion, fixing his majestic and melancholy eye upon 
 the little playful spaniel, who shared his captivity, and frolicked 
 round his chain. 
 
 'Susanne, bring me what is left of the little nun's money." 
 ' Here it is, papa." 
 
 ' Count it, my love how much is there?" 
 t Sixty-two francs, but to-day's dinner is paid for." 
 1 You are an excellent little manager. You shall keep the 
 purse ; you shall settle our expenses ; remember, when I go 
 out, you must only put a very little money into my purse ; 
 because, venire mille bleu! if I should meet with an old com- 
 rade, I could not help taking him to a coffee-house, and then 
 you would have to scold me. Only, my love, when we are 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 171 
 
 very rich you shall give me a sou to go and read the paper, 
 when work is done, and in fine weather you shall give me 
 your dear little arm ; and we will go and sit together on a 
 bench, in the gardens of the Luxembourg ; that is, if you will 
 not dislike it." 
 
 " Yes, and papa, you shall read, and I will work." 
 
 "ISTow, my dear, you perceive I am strong, and could walk 
 about very well, if I had but a leg. You say we have sixty- 
 two francs, and enough for to-day; ventre mille bleu! my 
 darling. I have known the day when I was glad enough to 
 think I had rations for three days in my sac; not that in those 
 days I ever wanted money ; thy dear mother took care to keep 
 my sash pretty well filled. I only mean to say that enough 
 is always to be had for those that will strive for it ; and ventre 
 mille bleu! I shall soon have hands and arms to help you, if 
 I had but a wooden leg to stand upon. Let us see, sixty-two 
 francs, it won't carry us to the end of the world, but it is 
 pretty nearly enough for the present occasion: divide it into 
 three parts, and put each part into a separate paper." 
 
 " Why, papa?" 
 
 " Morbleu ! do as I bid you; it is the first time I ever 
 meddled with house-keeping, after that, I shall obey you as 
 usual ; but, say what you can, I must, and will play the father 
 for once in a way." 
 
 " Certainly, papa, here here are three parts, and two 
 francs over, what will you do with them?" 
 
 "Put the first part aside; and manage to make us live 
 with it as long as you possibly can." 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 * ' Put the second under my pillow, that I may have it ready 
 when my friend Dervieux comes, which I hope will be very 
 soon; I will tell him to buy me a leg, the iirst he can hit 
 upon; lam not particular. The shoemaker shall put a bit 
 to it if it be too short, and the carpenter shall saw a piece off 
 if it be too long." 
 
 44 Yes, papa, that is a good thought; but a better will be 
 to give the exact measure of your leg to Mr. Dervieux, and I 
 will beg him to choose a nice one and a good one. J^ow the 
 third part, what are we to do with that?" 
 
 " You have given me my potion, which every morning I 
 long to throw a tons les diables, and would, if I had not been 
 afraid you would scold me, you little thing. Ventre bleu ! I 
 think you have taught me to obey your orders, as a recruit 
 of a week obeys the corporal." 
 
 "Yes, papa, and so you should, you know, when it is for 
 your own good." 
 
 " Well, well, my little love, you have given me my break- 
 
17*2 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 fast; I shall want nothing more till dinner-time; and if you 
 will leave the key in the door, if my old comrade Dervieux, 
 or your little friend the nun should come, they can let them- 
 selves in. Take the third part, and go and buy thyself a 
 pretty printed cotton gown." 
 
 " Oh no, that I can not, papa." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " No, certainly. Do you think I could leave you without 
 money, that I might have a new gown?" 
 
 " Do you think I will have a leg, if you havn't a new gown?" 
 
 " But only look, papa, don't you like me as I am?" 
 
 "No, ventre bleu! my darling, you are, heaven knows, as 
 pretty as an angel; but de par tons les didbles! I'll have no leg " 
 
 " But, papa " 
 
 " But, my dearest " 
 
 The dispute continued, and it appeared uncertain, whether 
 the veteran, or the little girl would have been victorious. 
 Probabilities were in favour of the little girl; but a great 
 incident interrupted the combat, a third person opened the 
 door, and his appearance silenced the belligerant powers. 
 Dervieux entered. 
 
 He had brushed his old coat with unusual care, he had 
 cleaned the hilt of his sword, and polished the buttons of his 
 uniform; he had turned the loop of his military hat; he had 
 whitened his pantaloons, and blackened his boots; in three 
 words, he was en grande tenue, and under his arm he carried 
 something, which was very thin, and very long, and wrapped 
 up in napkins. 
 
 The grave and solemn air ; the ceremonious bow, with which 
 Dervieux entered the room, astonished the captain and Susanne. 
 They stood staring and immovable, while Dervieux slowly, and 
 with a certain respect in his manner, unwrapped the article 
 he held in his hand, and displayed the most perfect of wooden 
 legs, %ht, symmetrical, black as ebony, well furnished at one 
 end with bands and buckles, terminated at the other with a 
 ring of copper, as bright as gold. 
 
 At this sight the captain started; his eyes fixed upon the 
 insensible wood, soon to become, as it were, a part of himself; 
 his breast heaved, then, without testifying any other emotion, 
 and without raising his eyes from the object before him, he 
 slowly stretched out his hand, took that of the surgeon, and 
 pressed it. 
 
 As for Susanne, who looked at the leg with all her eyes, a 
 sudden shuddering seized her, which obliged her to sit down, 
 and the tears streamed, tears almost as bitter as those which 
 she had shed upon that cruel day, when the fatal knife severed 
 for ever the real leg of the brave old man. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 173 
 
 " My friend," said Dervieux, still preserving his grave and 
 solemn air, "I was the man to sever from your body that 
 leg, which a Prussian bullet had splintered like a wine-glass ; 
 the operation was a splendid one, you must have been enchanted 
 with it, and you ought to have been enchanted, it lasted only 
 two seconds and a half, though my hand did tremble a little, 
 for wast thou not under it?" 
 
 "Enchanted! ventre bleu! comrade, I was enchanted, and 
 for my part, you must confess, I never flinched, though I was 
 sick enough, and did not even sigh, though you hurt me con- 
 foundedly ; par tons les comes du diable, Dervieux, I verily 
 think, if I had held a Prussian just then by the throat, I verily 
 think I must have throttled him." 
 
 " That, if it had occurred, would have been a very unlucky 
 circumstance, captain; for passion is extremely dangerous 
 in these cases ; it produces hemorrage, and the consequence 
 may be fatal. However, you are cured at last; I have robbed 
 you of one leg, I have brought you another ; I hope you will 
 accept it from the hand of an old friend. I warrant it a good 
 one, and I am come to put it on myself; and then we can go 
 together to mass, as we settled." 
 
 "To mass, my good friend! You remind me, diable! 
 don't you think our fellow- soldiers will laugh a little, if they 
 see us going to mass; but who's afraid? I promised I would 
 go, and go I will ; I would rather have gone to parade ; but 
 we must think no more of parade, with a wooden leg," with a 
 sigh. "Come, come, friend, put me together then get away, 
 Susanne." 
 
 "Sir, you are not going to hurt him?" 
 
 "No, my dear, not in the least. With a cane, and with your 
 arm or mine, your father will soon be able to walk like a drill- 
 sergeant." 
 
 "Will he? with that " 
 
 She cast her eyes upon the piece of wood that was shaped 
 more like a huge long-necked bottle than a leg ; and, smother- 
 ing a sob, she kissed her father, and went away, not daring 
 to look again upon the terrible object. The poor little thing 
 went into her room; but she could not take her work, she 
 could not sit down. Her heart was full, she walked up and 
 down, at first crying sadly, then she wiped her eyes, then she 
 sat down, then she began to listen. Some moments passed; 
 she heard conversation going on ; then all at once a dull heavy 
 sound, as of the repeated sharp strokes of something striking 
 the floor. 
 
 "He walks! papa walks!" and without waiting for more, 
 she rushed into the other room. 
 
 The captain had crossed his apartment, and there he was 
 
174 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 in his uniform, the cross of honour upon his bosom ; he was 
 in the arms of his friend ; the two brave men were, clasped to 
 each other's breast, with difficulty restraining their tears. At 
 this sight, the sight of her father, once more erect, once more 
 in his military dress Susanne, uttered a shrill cry; and 
 throwing herself upon her knees, without knowing what she 
 did, flung her arms round the terrible wooden leg, and wet 
 it with her tears. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHILE these events were taking place in the good Gerard's 
 room, the short-limbed, long-nosed, reverend little sister, as 
 has been related, had left the house, and was scudding along 
 like a quail, her head full of some new project. 
 
 This nun was a nun after rather a singular sort ; for she was 
 neither a bigot, a fanatic, nor a gossip ; "she talked little of the 
 saints, was not in the least afraid of the black gentleman, nor 
 of any of his numerous train of black spirits and white, white 
 spirits and grey, with which the heads of Catholic devotees are 
 filled. She never menaced people with the place below, and 
 thought good works better than long prayers ; so that a saint 
 by many she would not be esteemed ; in fact, some called her 
 a liberal, some this, some the other; she cared little for what 
 she was called. She went her own way, she did not forget those 
 who had stood her friend in their day ; but politics were not 
 her business ; she tended her sick, she begged for her poor. 
 "Something for my poor," from the duchess of to-day as from 
 the marquise of centuries, it was all the same to her ; those 
 were of the best family, as she thought, who gave the most 
 liberally. 
 
 In short, the Soeur Sainte B., who, in fact, could only be 
 called a nun in partibus, for she was not under a vow of se- 
 clusion, travelled along the Rue St. Jacques, muttering and 
 saying to herself, "It seems then that the captain is poor, 
 really very poor ; he wants a loom, he wants to be a weaver. 
 It is very right of him ; labour is always the resource of an 
 honest man, and God bestows his blessing on bread earned by 
 the sweat of the brow ; but a weaver's loom is no trifling affair, 
 it will cost a good deal more than a wooden leg, I am afraid : 
 the good man must have a loom as well as a leg. Oh, dear! 
 what's to be done? What an expense! That little Susanne 
 really is an angel, that is, if it were right to compare a poor 
 mortal to one of the heavenly host. The good little thing ! 
 working away in secret, to save money to buy her father a 
 loom. Bless her, poor child! She may labour night and day, 
 wearing her eyes and strength away, putting sou to sou. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 175 
 
 She never can get enough to buy a loom for him, and thread 
 for his web ! Never, never, poor little creature ! she will have 
 to find means for every day, and money goes so fast. Seigneur, 
 seigneur ! this is a hard business ; but he must have a leg and 
 a loom ! 
 
 ' " For my part, I have nothing left. I settled my accounts 
 yesterday, the legacy is exhausted, otherwise but, far from 
 there being any left, I took, by mistake, ten crowns out of my 
 poor prisoners' money, on that account; and I must replace 
 it out of my own purse. My poor prisoners must not be 
 wronged. Well, I can spare my coffee in the morning, and 
 my half-glass of wine in the afternoon, for two months or so, 
 and that will settle the business ; if I go without wine and 
 coffee till the Tous-Saints, all will be right. That's rather a 
 sacrifice, especially the coffee ; but I must pay my prisoners 
 what I borrowed for my sick. I might save the oil of my 
 veilleu.se, I could do without that ; but it is but two sous a week, 
 and what is that ! Alas ! less than the poor little one's savings ! 
 Seigneur ! Seigneur ! what is to be done, for he must have a 
 leg and a loom? 
 
 "What is to be done? What have I done before? Alas ! if 
 the good Josephine were still alive, I should soon be at the 
 Cour de la Heine, get a coucou, and be off at once. I should 
 say to that tall Swiss who knew me so well, 'Pray inform 
 Madame, that the Soeur Sainte B. is come.' Madame would 
 say, 'Show her in,' and I should say to Madame, 'Madame, 
 an old officer of the Vieille Garde who has a sweet daughter " 
 
 At this moment the soliloquy of the little nun was interrupted 
 by the f ' Gave ! gare !" of a brilliant equipage, which turned the 
 corner of the Rue Galande, and dashed towards the Petit Pont. 
 
 As she squeezed herself against the wall, she looked up, and 
 saw one of the glasses of the carriage suddenly let down ; a 
 head, richly dressed, appeared, and a fact, tant soit peufardee, 
 gave a friendly salute and smile to the little nun, who had not 
 time to return this recognition, by a low curtsy, before the 
 carriage was gone. 
 
 All the people whom this said equipage had driven, in like 
 manner, to take refuge close to the wall, now walked away ; 
 but the nun stood for an instant, musing. She recollected the 
 lady in the carriage, and she said, "It is she, no doubt! Yes, 
 most certainly it is she ! It is Madame la Marquise, who kept 
 the little school in the Rue de B , who made her scholars 
 net. bead purses, which I sold to all the grand ladies of the 
 court that then was. How often I carried petitions and letters 
 from her to the good Josephine ! Yes, yes, in this very black 
 bag ! So it is. Then it was the turn of Madame la Marquise ; 
 now it is the poor captain's. The will of God, in all things, 
 
J76 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 be done. But now I do not know whom to go to for this poor 
 soldier of mine. Seigneur! Seigneur! what it is to live in 
 these revolutions! and yet he must have a leg and a loom. 
 
 "Well! Ah, that's a droll thought! Yet why not? If these 
 hereh&vQ received from those there, why should not those there 
 receive, in their turn, from these here ? Ay, but those there 
 would, and did give to these here ; and I am very much afraid, 
 these here will not give to those there. Alas! they are all the 
 same to me, these here and those there ; they are all my breth- 
 ren, and he who suffers and wants the most is the favourite 
 child for the time. God has not shown me that one is better 
 than the, other. 
 
 "Come, come, I don't think it will be a great sin. I have 
 asked, and got so much for these here, why should I not get 
 something from them? I have begged alms for many a poor 
 emigrant, from many a rich republican ; and now it is my turn 
 to beg alms, from a rich emigrant, for a poor soldier of the 
 Republic; but I must not say that: and now I think of it, 
 soldiers of all kinds were wounded. So when I speak to these 
 here, I shall only say, to buy a leg for a brave soldier, and 
 help him to maintain his child. They may think what they 
 please. He may be one of Blucher's, one of Wellington's, 
 they will give him something. I shall have told no untruth, 
 a Frenchman will profit. I shall soon have enough to buy him 
 a leg and a loom, and if there is a little left there will be no 
 harm done, for the poor little creature sadly wants clothes:" 
 
 Talking thus, the little nun walked so fast that it would 
 have seemed as if she were already in pursuit of her rich 
 emigrants ; while the singular expression of her sharp nose, 
 and a smile a little malin, showed that, nun as she was, she 
 had all the wit and address of her sex ; qualities she knew 
 how to bring into play, for the purest and most benevolent 
 purposes. 
 
 We will not follow the nun through her peregrinations, 
 among the hotels of these here; suffice it to say, she visited 
 them not in vain : their enemies affirm that every five-franc 
 piece was given in the belief that the wounded soldier had 
 fought in La Vendee the more charitable, that they had not 
 entirely forgotten the day, when the succour which they 
 needed they had received from those who had not fought in 
 La Vendee. Be that as it may, the good nun was indefati- 
 gable and successful. She filled her bag with crowns, and 
 trotted gaily home, repeating as she went, " He SHALL have 
 a le.ar and a loom." 
 
 And thus soliloquizing, she at length reached the apartment , 
 of the captain. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. i77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ARRIVED there, another spectacle presented itself. 
 
 The day had passed, on the part of the two warriors, in the 
 tender est interchange of sentiments. The captain had post- 
 poned his determination of going to mass till he could accom- 
 pany the nun and his little Susanne. He had spent part of 
 the morning practising with his new leg in the chamber; first 
 from his bed to the door ; then from the door to the window ; 
 then from the window he had attempted the great enterprise 
 of visiting Susanne's room, which he now saw for the first time. 
 The apartment was not more miserably destitute than his own, 
 yet the brave man could not help casting a melancholy glance 
 upon the wretched bed, the single chair, the tattered curtain, 
 and all the evidences of the most sordid poverty. He 
 covered his eyes for a moment with his hands, and leaned for 
 support upon Dervieux. 
 
 Susanne, at that happy age when external circumstances 
 are scarcely even perceived, so long as the heart is glad and 
 the affections satisfied, jumped, laughed, and played about 
 him, with all the happy thoughtlessness of her age fourteen. 
 She was already accustomed to the wooden leg; it was neatly 
 turned, and well polished, did not seem to incommode her 
 father in the least, and little Susanne was already friends with 
 it. He walked so well, she fancied him already leaning upon 
 one arm, and travelling up the grandes allees of the garden of 
 the Luxembourg ; and her delight was expressed with all the 
 innocent vivacity of her age. 
 
 They dined early. When the heat of the day was a little 
 abated, and the declining sun threw the long shadows of the 
 high roofed houses athwart the narrow streets, the captain 
 said 
 
 "My dear friend, and my pretty Susanne, give me, each 
 of you, an arm, and let u go to the Luxembourg, and try 
 this leg." 
 
 Little Susanne jumped for joy, her cheeks became the 
 colour of two pomegranates, and her eyes sparkled. She 
 hurried to fetch her hat and shawl ; and as she arranged them 
 before the triangular morsel of glass which served her for a 
 mirror, she said 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am to have a shawl and a hat! without 
 that dear little nun I could not have taken papa to the 
 Luxembourg. How I will kiss her, and thank her, when she 
 comes again!" 
 
178 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Then fluttering like a little bird, she came back, and they 
 set out. 
 
 They walked very softly, stopping at the slightest obstruction. 
 
 " Mais, ventre cent mille bleu! I shall march yet," said the 
 captain. 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa! you walk beautifully; but not quite so fast 
 do lean on me." 
 
 They entered the garden by the side door, which opens 
 upon the Rue de I'Enfer; and they walked under the young 
 trees of the new plantation, now softly swaying in the light 
 wind, before a parterre covered with flowers, and surrounded 
 by the softest turf, the whole scene being animated by the 
 light dashing of the silver fountains, and terminated by that 
 dark green curtain of foliage which is formed by the trees of 
 the old bosquet. 
 
 The captain almost shivered with pleasure at the sight; the 
 pure air, the blue swelling heavens, the beaming sun, now 
 shedding his yellow evening light over these majestic groves 
 and beauteous gardens; the trees waving in the breeze; the 
 birds ; the falling waters ! 
 
 " Vive la France!" said he to Dervieux. "But do you 
 know things did not look quite so fine when you and I returned 
 from the United States in 1792, after planting the Tree of 
 Liberty; and were marched off to make acquaintance with 
 Messieurs les Prussiens in Champagne. We must confess 
 they have planted fine gardens here since then, built fine 
 houses, opened fine streets, made fine roads., and they may call 
 me a Jacobin for saying so if they please, and I shall care no 
 more for it, than for the first cigar we smoked together in 
 1778, on board the Count d'Estang's ship, when I was only a 
 little drum-boy, and you vn gar$on d'apothicaire Jacobin, 
 if they please; but I maintain that these are fine gardens, and 
 that they have done many fine things. Sit down, Susanne, 
 on this bench, and let me contemplate this superb basin ; for 
 since the grand manoeuvre we made at Wagram, and the 
 hollow square of the Vieille Garde at the Mont St. Jean, 
 nothing ever pleased me so much ; and I mean to come here 
 every day, child." 
 
 " Yes, papa, every day." 
 
 "But what do I see, cent mille dialles ! Make an 
 advance, my good fellow, present arms en reconnaisance! qui 
 vive ? " 
 
 " What is the matter, my dear Captain? Come, come, sit 
 down, be quiet; what are you laying hold of your sword for; 
 don't you see what it is? Two Russian officers, with some 
 English and Austrians, who are walking here as well as our- 
 selves." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 179 
 
 "Well, well," his voice changing, "give me your arm. 
 Come away, my dear, this is no place for me. We are not in 
 France, my dear fellow. Susanne, this air is good for nothing, 
 it seems to stifle me. My dear, let us go home ; you shall 
 open my casement; that will be air enough for me." 
 
 The captain rose as he said this; Susanne sighed, and rose 
 too. Dervieux offered his arm without saying a word and 
 all three returned to the Rue des deux JEglises, re-entered 
 their humble abode, and ascended the steep and narrow stairs. 
 f The captain tried to recover his spirits. 
 
 "Susanne," said he, "we ought to celebrate this day a 
 day which will never be forgotten by me, and which we wil 
 keep every year, in honour of our friend. There, come, fetch 
 a bottle of your good Bourdeaux. See if you can't find some 
 little matter or another; take the second parcel from under 
 my pillow." 
 
 Susanne went out, and soon returned; the table was spread, 
 the deal board covered with a white napkin, and upon it, with 
 a little air of ceremony, the long-necked bottle of Bourdeaux, 
 with its sealed cork, was placed, and three glasses also; for in 
 the improved state of affairs, Susanne had thought proper to 
 add one additional wine-glass to her possessions, a few slices 
 of ham, garnished with parsley, and, to make the feast of the 
 new leg complete, a tart, half frangipane and half prune, 
 completed the entertainment. It was a collation un ambigu 
 a feast. 
 
 The captain was delighted to offer a glass of wine to his 
 friend. Little Susanne was in ecstasies at the idea of cele- 
 brating her father's recovery by a fte! Dervieux enjoyed 
 in tranquil silence the fruits of his own sacrifice. And so 
 they were sitting, the two officers on the two chairs, and 
 Susanne on the edge of the bed, when the little nun, sac in 
 hand, and her gown tucked up round her, pushed the door 
 with her knee, and entered. 
 
 She stopped surprised, looked at the bed, at the two 
 officers. She did not know the captain in his handsome 
 uniform. 
 
 Every one arose. Susanne threw her arms round her neck. 
 Dervieux presented his hand respectfully. The captain, hold- 
 ing out a glass, cried 
 
 " Come, my most reverendissima mother, de par tons les 
 diables! Come, and pledge us; for you have restored the old 
 invalid to life, and here I am, walking like the best to-day 
 thanks to that worthy fellow Dervieux, and his leg ; and you 
 are the pearl of recluses so to your health, most reverend 
 mother." 
 
 The little nun recognised the captain by this discourse, and 
 
180 A SOLDIER'S FOUTUNE. 
 
 did not wait to be pressed; she took Susanne's glass, in which 
 there was a little water, and pledged the two whiskered 
 veterans with the best grace in the world. Then she sat 
 down on Dervieux's chair, who placed himself on the bed by 
 Susanne. 
 
 " Madam, a little ham?" 
 
 " With all my heart, my dear children. I have been 
 trotting about all day without my dinner." 
 
 " Come, Susanne, quick's the word; help our good mother. 
 But, no ! make haste, go and fetch something better, a beef- 
 steak, a fowl, a creme au ckocolat, take the rest of my leg 
 which is in the parcel under the pillow. But, my dear sister! 
 would you like a bottle of champagne?" 
 
 " Champagne! my dear Captain!" 
 
 The little woman began to laugh so heartily, that it was a 
 few minutes before she could recover herself. 
 
 " Champagne!" said she, bursting into fresh fits of merri- 
 ment. When she had recovered her voice, she stopped 
 Susanne, who was just taking flight upon her errand, protest- 
 ing she would taste nothing but what was on the table ; for 
 she seldom or ever partook of so splendid a repast. 
 
 " Stay, stay, my dear: cut me a morsel of ham, and give 
 me a little bit of tart I have not had anything so nice for a 
 very long time : and so to-day I must commit a little venial 
 sin of gluttony. Gentlemen, I have not the honour of dining 
 every day with military men, so I must have another glass of 
 wine, some water -in it, though, mademoiselle, if you please. 
 Your dinner seems to be excellent; thank Heaven for it, dear 
 Captain, and for all His mercies. I am terribly greedy at 
 these good things; but don't be afraid, I shall pay my scot. 
 Take my bag, little woman ; it's rather heavy, and I. have car- 
 ried it a long way. Open it, if you please, and count the money." 
 
 Susanne emptied the bag upon the table ; there was a heap 
 of silver, with some pieces of gold. She counted one hundred 
 and eighty-five francs. 
 
 "You have miscounted, my dear; there ought to be one 
 hundred and ninety." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madam; I did not count the small 
 money. Shall I put the money into the bag again ?" 
 
 " So, my dear, I shall want the bag." 
 
 '* What is to be done with the money, madam ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear, I intended you should make a leg and a 
 loom of it. But since Heaven has furnished you with a leg 
 some other way why you have only to get a loom, and you 
 must make the rest go as far as it can." 
 
 " What's this, madam? more of the legacy?" 
 
 "No, M. le Capitaine; if I could say yes, I believe you 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 181 
 
 would receive the money with more pleasure; but that cannot 
 be done. If for a great purpose I have allowed myself to be 
 silent as regards the truth; not to speak what is untrue I 
 regard as a sacred obligation towards God and man, Vhich I 
 would not violate for the universe. 
 
 " No, M. le Capitaine, this money does not come from the 
 same source as that I had the honour to remit to you before : 
 but be satisfied this is as justly yours ; it is a simple restitu- 
 tion, or if you like it better, a portion of the balance of a vast 
 account, between many creditors, and many debtors. This 
 account is intricate, perhaps it will never be satisfactorily 
 settled; but what you may confidently believe is, that this 
 little sum is not more than your share of the general dividend. 
 Take it, then, M. le Capitaine; and thank Him who has 
 sent this provision for a brave soldier ; and, if you must have 
 some object for your gratitude here below, thank your dear 
 little girl, who was labouring secretly, day and night, to buy 
 you a loom. He who despises none of his poor creatures did 
 not forget this little labourer in her humble chamber." 
 
 The captain, the surgeon, and little Susanne were astonished 
 at this answer, and looked with curiosity at the nun; but 
 prudent, discreet, and delicate, she gave no further explanation. 
 
 The captain, high-spirited proud from his profession 
 delicate from character, wished to refuse. 
 
 " To whom must I give the money back?" said the nun; 
 "it is yours, I assure you, my dear brother; most justly 
 yours. No one, save God and the four now here assembled, 
 knows of your situation : be assured your honour is as sacred 
 as your misfortunes, in my eyes; what passes here is con- 
 fided to no human being. You know, my children, the ways 
 of Providence are hidden from us ; leave all to Heaven ask 
 not to know more than is given to you to know, and place a 
 little confidence in the Soeur Sainte B." 
 
 The captain looked wistfully at his daughter; Susanne 
 flung her arms round, his neck, and whispered softly in 
 his ear ; then the brave man gave one sigh, and, stretching 
 out his hand to the nun, who took it in both hers, he said : 
 
 " Venire mille bleu! my dear sister; you can make me 
 sing to any tune you please ; and I will sing to what tune 
 you please. I'll even go to confession if you like it. I owe 
 you a mass in the first place; order the best that is to be 
 had, and I and my comrade will attend it. The regiment, 
 you know, need hear nothing at all about the matter." 
 
 The little sister understood the spirit of the grande armee, 
 upon such subjects, too well to take offence at this escapade. 
 She was accustomed to look in love and charity upon all. 
 She drew away her hand with a little cry, for the captain 
 
182 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 pressed it as if it had been the rugged fist of a grenadier; 
 and then she laughed, and kissed Susanne, who was blushing 
 up to the eyes at her father's last speech, and whispered her 
 
 "If ybur papa has not learned his prayers, my child, you 
 shall pray for him. Will you not?" 
 
 "Yes, madam, that I will." 
 
 The nun went away, leaving hope, peace, and happiness 
 behind her: happiness at the present relief the peace that 
 waits upon the steps of love the hope which the means of 
 honest industry afford. 
 
 A loom was bought: the brave man did not despise the 
 honest labour of his own hands. Susanne, happy as the 
 busiest little bird, arranged her small household affairs. 
 Frugality and comfort tender love and affectionate grati- 
 tude old stories of their campaigns and a walk in the 
 garden of the Luxembourg, where there were not always 
 Russian officers ; so passed their days. We leave them ; 
 and will now relate who and whence was the Captain Gerard, 
 and who was the mother of his little Susanne. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE HESTORY OF JACQUES, FILS DE JACQUES, ET PETIT-FILS DE 
 JACQUES, 
 
 ONCE upon a time, that is to say long ago; in le ban vieux 
 temps ; ages ago, for three ages have since passed away; that 
 is to say: 
 
 The Age of the Revolution ; 
 
 The Age of ISTapoleon ; and 
 
 The Age of the Restoration ; 
 
 At the confluence of the Sarthe and the beautiful Loire, not 
 very far from the town of Angers, was situated a small obscure 
 village, whose name has escaped history. 
 
 A dozen fishermen, about twice as many husbandmen ; two 
 or three boat-builders, a blacksmith, a sail-maker, a rope- 
 maker, a shoe-maker, a weaver, a cabaretier, M. le Cure, his 
 housekeeper, his niece, and his beadle, comprised, in those 
 days, the population of the place. 
 
 In this little community, as in other communities, there 
 were inequalities of rank, talents, and fortune : egalite even 
 here refused to set up her abode. M. le Cure was of course 
 a personage of quite a different consideration from the rest ; 
 but among the good people themselves, here as elsewhere, the 
 accidental gifts of nature or of fortune asserted and obtained 
 their due pre-eminence: and pre-eminent among them all 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 183 
 
 stood Maitre Jacques, fils de Mathurin Jacques, petit-fils 
 $ Andre Jacques; always Jacques, from father to son, time 
 immemorial. 
 
 And from time immemorial, also, the family of Jacques 
 had been weavers ; from father to son, at the loom they had 
 begun and finished their course, if course it could be called, 
 laying one thread over the other from generation to genera- 
 tion, in the corner of an obscure village, dwelling among their 
 own people, unknowing and unknown of all the world beside. 
 Unfortunately, however, this family of Jacques, weavers from 
 father to son, was very far from being unknown or undistin- 
 guished; they enjoyed a reputation, certainly, and not ex- 
 actly of the most reputable kind from father to son they 
 had not only been weavers but drunkards; not only drunkards 
 but mauvais sujets, quarrelsome and extravagant; spending 
 on Sunday at the public-house all the earnings of the week, 
 and then going home and beating their wives, instead j of 
 feeding them. 
 
 Maitre Jacques, the possessor, in 1760, of the honours and 
 qualities of his race, from which most assuredly he did not 
 derogate, could not be exactly accused of this last enormity, 
 not at present possessing a wife to beat; so, till 1763, he had 
 contented himself with beating everybody else. 
 
 He was very much respected by the whole village ; he had 
 powerful fists, broad shoulders, the limbs of an athletic and 
 such an effectual manner of putting a stop to all contradiction, 
 by tossing objectors out of windows, or felling them with 
 blows that might have felled an ox, that Maitre Jacques' 
 arguments were usually without replique; and he not only 
 tyrannised over the whole village, but he enjoyed the peculiar 
 advantage enjoyed by many great men, that of being extremely 
 admired and adored for his very tyranny itself. 
 
 Maitre Jacques had now arrived at the age of thirty years ; 
 he could write, read, and cast accounts; drink ten bottles 
 (not quite of port), thrash, one after another, the four biggest 
 farmers in the neighbourhood; could lift by one effort of his 
 powerful shoulder a cart out of the miry rut, no small effort 
 on a French by-road ; and shake every window in the church 
 when he sung the mass at Easter, Pentecost, and Christmas. 
 The lads feared and envied ; every girl in the village was in 
 love with him. 
 
 But the Omphale to this Hercules at last appeared ; 
 Madeleine, the daughter of Jean the cobbler the best 
 spinner and the prettiest girl in the world; twenty years 
 of age, gay, maligne, with cheeks like rosy apples, and eyes 
 like sloes stout, active, brisk ; with shining white teeth, and 
 shining black hair, her spindle in her hand, singing like a 
 
184 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 nightingale, or rather like a hundred nightingales. As there 
 was only one Jacques in the parish, so most assuredly there 
 was only one Madeleine, and he brutal to all the world beside 
 to her was complaisance and flattery itself: they danced 
 they laughed they went through the usual rustic forms of 
 courtship ; and then they went to M. le Cure ; and Madeleine, 
 envied by every pretty coquette in the parish, secured her 
 prize. 
 
 They were married early in 1763 ; and January 14th, 1764, 
 M. le Cure baptized their first born, the little Jean Louis, 
 legitimate son of Jacques the weaver, and of Madeleine, 
 daughter of Jean, spinner, a fine bawling infant, who seemed 
 to promise fairly towards maintaining the honours of his race. 
 
 The birth of a son, a first-born, is an event as interesting 
 to the poor spinner in the village, as to the queen in her 
 palace; the future fate of the young stranger as anxious a 
 subject of solicitude of the first-born, yes. But for the rest ! 
 alas! misery and want have too often destroyed those fine 
 imaginations, that played round the fancy of every young 
 mother. 
 
 Maitre Jacques, himself, was somewhat of an esprit fort, 
 he despised all these predictions, laughed at his wife, and was 
 off to the public-house, to celebrate the birth of his first-born 
 according to his own notions. 
 
 Before his marriage, Maitre Jacques was not usually drunk 
 more than once a week, and such exemplary temperance lasted 
 actually through the honeymoon, and indeed with some excep- 
 tions until the present time. 
 
 But, proud of being a father, proud of having something to 
 boast of over his cups, or tired of home, of Madeleine and her 
 baby, the habit was insensibly formed of drinking two days 
 instead of one, and twice a week Jacques now frequented the 
 public-house. 
 
 His friends said 
 
 "Jacques, thou wilt be ruined ; now thou art a housekeeper, 
 and a married man, a father, thee shouldst take 1 better heed 
 of things. Children cost a power of money, a wife at home 
 cannot get much Jacques, thee must not go so oft to the 
 public-house; thee shouldst be at thy loom." 
 
 To all which Jacques answered 
 
 "Ye are a parcel of fools, and talk like apes, the more 
 children I have the richer I shall be : little Jean Louis grows 
 like a young plant ; as soon as he's big enough, to the shuttle 
 with him, like his father before him. All must work in my 
 house thus it was with me, thus has it been in our house 
 from father to son, it's not going to stop now, and little Jean 
 Louis, though I love him as the apple of my eye, must work 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 185 
 
 or be flogged like the rest of us. Madeleine will spin for us 
 both ; so do you see, I shall have double gains, and may get 
 drunk twice instead of once a week." 
 
 As usual, Jacques was acknowledged to be in the right, or 
 rather every one was silenced. Madeleine, too, was silent, 
 but doubted the correctness of the argument. She saw the 
 loom neglected, the cupboard bare, the purse empty. She 
 had, indeed, once ventured to humbly make her protest, but 
 Jacques beat her twice, and Madeleine said no more. 
 
 However, Maitre Jacques was an excellent workman when 
 he so pleased, and when he sat down in earnest to his loom, 
 the shuttle absolutely flew ; so that the cupboard was from 
 time to time filled and the purse replenished ; and Madeleine, 
 who was of a sweet and cheerful temper, still thought herself 
 the most favoured of her sex with her Hercules. 
 
 Jean Louis increased in strength and stature; his father 
 took him sometimes to the public-house, which little Jean 
 Louis most especially enjoyed, because there his father let him 
 be quiet ; at home the rod was already in requisition more 
 than was quite agreeable ; when M. le Cure was again called 
 upon to baptize another little Jacques by the name of Nicolas, 
 who entered this sorrowful world the 20th of July, 1769. 
 
 This infant was as fair and delicate, as his brother was ro- 
 bust and hardy; his eyes blue, his features small, and his 
 expression gentle as that of a little girl ; the poor mother felt 
 a tenderness more than common for this fair and delicate 
 creature. Alas! all a mother's love was more than needed 
 here. 
 
 Maitre Jacques did not improve as years rolled on, as poor 
 Madeleine grew feebler, and his two sons bigger: he used his 
 whip, and he added to his potations; the loom often stood 
 still, the rod was, alas, often in requisition. Poor Madeleine 
 again saw all the fruits of their mutual labour pass to the 
 public-house; again she ventured a remonstrance, and was in 
 the usual manner silenced. 
 
 The poor Madeleine continued to spin, but the songs of the 
 nightingale were too often succeeded by sobs and tears. She 
 looked at her children, and consoled herself as she could with 
 anticipating great things promised by the future ; and so in 
 hopes on one hand, and patient endurance on the other, nine 
 years insensibly slipped away ; leaving no impression of their 
 flight, but in the faded cheeks and wrinkled brow of poor 
 Madeleine, the increased bulk and ruddy strength of her 
 brutal husband, and in the growth of the two little boys. 
 
 Louis Jacquot, or, as he was called shortly, Jacquot, and 
 Nicolas had now attained, the one the age of twelve, the other 
 of eight years. 
 
 N 
 
186 A SOLDIER^ FORTUNE. 
 
 Jaequot was in complexion a perfect Spaniard, dark, robust, 
 large-limbed, vigorous, and bold; his inclinations were all for 
 action: he was engaged in every species of mischief, mind 
 and body ever in motion, not a cat could live in peace in his 
 neighbourhood, not a dog but had tried the tin -kettle; as for 
 the cornemuse, in vain his mother had him taught on a 
 Sunday, he could not even hold it in his fingers, but no sooner 
 was Maitre Jacques safely disposed of at the public-house, 
 than away went the shuttle, up went the handle of the broom, 
 and Jacques was performing the manual exercise, or beating 
 the drum, as if he would have brought the house about his 
 ears. 
 
 Nicolas was not quite eight. He was a sweet and delicate 
 child, his soft silken hair fell in curls over his large blue eyes, 
 which, when speaking, he would fix, with an expression of 
 sensibility and feeling, on the face of the person addressed, 
 very unlike the usual coarse character of an ordinary coun- 
 tenance, and most particularly unlike the gay mutin expression 
 of his brother Jacquot's face. He was timid, caressing, and 
 docile ; and could not even see an animal hurt without being 
 moved to shed tears. While Jacquot went through his exer- 
 cise, beat the drum, mounted the cupboard-door with the 
 forlorn hope, and carried at the point of bayonet (the end of 
 his broom) his mother's chair and spinning-wheel, the little 
 Nicolas was lying in a corner engaged with any morsel of 
 paper that he could get possession of; drawing, with a bit of 
 burnt wood, every object that surrounded him, the cat, tho 
 chair, the water-jug, the bed, birds, trees, nuts, flowers, for 
 hours together, guided by the native instinct of genius. He 
 attempted his mother's profile, and jumped about in an ecstasy 
 of joy, when a neighbour, entering by accident, observed the 
 likeness." 
 
 As far as the development of their native instincts was con- 
 cerned, Madeleine did the best thing she could ; she left them 
 a good deal to themselves ; Jacques plied his rod vigorously, 
 but every evil has its countervailing good Jacques was for 
 the most part of his time at the public-house. 
 
 Never did children entertain a fonder affection for each 
 other than did these two little brothers of temperaments so 
 different ; they loved one another with that passionate warmth 
 which distinguishes the affections of childhood. Nicolas 
 would leave his drawing, though engaged in the last touch of 
 his ox or ass the delightful addition of a tail ; that tail which 
 makes the creature instantly assume the appearance of a 
 creature, instead of that of a four-legged stool Nicolas would 
 leave all when Jacquot called, when Jacquot was pleased to 
 command a general attack upon pigs or fowls ; and in return 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 187 
 
 when all the little vagabonds came shouting, fighting, squab- 
 bling out of the village school, woe to the child who dare 
 attack the gentle, blue-eyed Nicolas. Jacquot had a pair of 
 fists instantly in action. 
 
 They were both generous, warm-hearted, intelligent, and 
 affectionate ; yet so exactly the reverse of each other in 
 strength, look, character, and disposition, who could have 
 believed them to have been brothers ! 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE FIRST ADVENTURES OF JEAN LOUIS JACQUES. 
 
 " Vade retro!" dark and terrible shadow dark, terrible, 
 mysterious death alas! unsparing reaper cold phantom, 
 with thy cruel, unsparing scythe and must the mother go 
 the mother too the young mother? Is there no exception 
 even for her? Must she leave her little ones on this cold 
 bleak world the tenderest, the most helpless of created 
 beings the young motherless child? Alas! even she must 
 depart. 
 
 Maitre Jacques is at the alehouse; his grey waistcoat has 
 black buttons; he is drinking four pints in place of three ; 
 Jean Louis Jacques is fighting among the little boys of the 
 village, with a strip of black crape round his blue cap ; and 
 Nicolas, his little heart full, and tears in his large blue eyes, 
 is sitting behind the door, drawing the figure of a coffin, on 
 which he writes the word Maman. 
 
 Poor Madeleine ! she is gone no longer the Madeleine of 
 the rosy cheeks, black jet eyes, laughs, jests, and songs like a 
 nightingale ; that, indeed, had long passed away ; and had 
 been succeeded by the pale, wrinkled, nervous, feeble wife. 
 
 A sudden acute disorder had seized upon a form so extenu- 
 ated, and soon all was over and Madeleine sleeps under the 
 sod, with the thousands and thousands and thousands of 
 wives, victims of brutality, selfishness, and debauchery ; who 
 have slept there before her. And her two poor little boys ! 
 
 It was about six months from the day on which the poor 
 children had followed their mother to the grave ; and had re- 
 turned to their cold and empty home ; that one day, after 
 having flourished the rod with still more severity than usual, 
 and set his two children to their tasks ; for it must be observed 
 that Maitre Jacques had become a most unrelenting taskmaster 
 resolving to make up by his children's labours, for the time 
 and money he chose to waste himself; Maitre Jacques, then, 
 having flourished his rod, and left the children at work, went 
 out to the public-house as usual, 
 
188 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Jean Louis, who had received his castigation with a sulleil, 
 lowering countenance of defiance, had taken the shuttle into 
 his unwilling hands, it is true, but he passed it slowly between 
 the threads ; and, no sooner was his father's departing footstep 
 heard, than he dashed it to the other end of the chamber, 
 darted from the loom, and seizing the spindle which Nicolas 
 held, broke the thread with his teeth, tore the flax in pieces 
 with his hands, and flinging it on the ground, trampled it 
 furiously under foot; then, with cheeks on fire, and eyes 
 sparkling, he began to leap wildly upon the bed, as if seized 
 with a sudden paroxysm of madness. 
 
 Nicolas, his cheeks blistered with tears, and still smarting 
 from the barbarous chastisement he had received, gazed ter- 
 rified, almost stupidly at his brother ; he thought he was mad, 
 or furious, like the great black cat which he had seen the boys 
 tormenting the evening before: and the poor little fellow, 
 seeing the cupboard open, crept in, and sat shivering in a 
 corner ; his eyes intent upon the wild gestures of the excited 
 Jacquot. 
 
 Jean Louis ran to the cupboard, dragged Nicolas out with 
 vehemence, and catching him in his arms clasped him to his 
 breast, and passionately wiping his round chubby and blub- 
 bering cheeks, exclaimed, "Don't be afraid, Nicolas! I am 
 not angry with you." 
 
 '* But you are angry, or why do you dance about so ?" 
 
 " To get rid of the pain of the rod." 
 
 " Does it hurt you so? and yet you never cry!" 
 
 "Because I would rather die, than cry." 
 
 "Oh! that's not true; you cried sadly when mamma 
 died." 
 
 "That's a different thing. I can cry, and will cry for 
 mamma as long as I live ; but I won't cry for his rod ; and 
 mind, Nicolas, if you like he shall never flog either of us 
 again." 
 
 * ' Then give over ; he'll flog us terribly when he comes 
 back, if we don't set to work." 
 
 "Bah! bah! his tasks are too hard I can't do it he'll 
 always beat us it's no use trying!" 
 
 "Ah! when mamma was alive she used to help us; and 
 papa dared not beat us so hard before her. But there's 
 nobody to take our part now." 
 
 " Yes, there is, I'll take care of us, we'll take care of our- 
 selves; we are strong enough. Hark, Nicolas, are you a 
 brave lad?" 
 
 " I don't know. Are you?" 
 
 "Am I! that I am. Then take your cap, and I'll take 
 mine, and let us be off." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. . 1 89 
 
 " Oh, no! I don't want to play." 
 
 " Play! no, you dunce! not play; no, I mean go and seek 
 our fortunes." 
 
 " Our fortunes! Oh, brother! where can we go." 
 
 "Where? Everywhere: the world's big enough, there are 
 plenty of villages in it; we will run fast that they mayn't 
 catch us, and then we will go a long, long way. When 
 thou art tired I will carry thee ; if the children affront thee, 
 I'll beat them. And when we are a great way off, we'll say 
 we have lost ourselves, that we are poor fellows that have 
 neither father nor mother, that we want to be soldiers, and 
 serve the king* They'll give us ten crowns a-piece, I know, 
 because Grandpapa Jean got that ; I heard him tell Mother 
 Martha; they'll give us a hat and a fine blue coat, and soup 
 every day. I'm a big fellow ; I shall be a general, and you 
 shall be drummer to tie regiment. Come, Nicolas, get your 
 cap, give me your hand; there's a lad, and let's be off." 
 
 " Oh, no, no! brother," drawing back, and hesitating. 
 
 "Why? You dare not!" 
 
 A long discussion ensued between the two children. The 
 intrepid Jacquot stuck to his project ; it was the first fruit of 
 his reflections upon the brutal treatment he received ; he had 
 pondered upon it, examined it, ripened it in his little heart 
 for some time, as the only means to escape from the tyranny 
 of his father, and the barbarous inflictions of the rod; he 
 clung to it with the obstinacy of a most resolute and deter- 
 mined character ; and of a most daring, but, alas 1 most igno- 
 rant child. 
 
 Nicolas, less enterprising, less spirited, more enduring and 
 more submissive, trembled at the idea of such self-assertion ; 
 he clung to the cottage he knew so well, and to the memory 
 of his mother, which haunted every corner of the room. He 
 trembled still more as his young imagination painted him upon 
 the great, the infinite high-road, with no one but his brother, 
 that high-road, the termination of which excites such a feeling 
 of mysterious undefined terror in the minds of young children. 
 He thought of the dark, the dreadful dark, the woods, the 
 wolves. Poor little Nicolas ! he, who was afraid even of the 
 familiar cows, and horses, of the guns of the gardes-chasse ! 
 These were not the best dispositions for the future general 
 officer, to say nothing of all the real difficulties of the case, of 
 which they knew nothing ; the difficulty, nay, impossibility, 
 for two little fellows of the a<*e of eight and thirteen, even to 
 get enrolled; a difficulty which, experienced as he thought 
 himself, had never once suggested itself to the enterprising 
 mind of Jean Louis. 
 
 And so he continued to preach war, glory, liberty, anct 
 
190 A SOLDIER'S POBTUJSE. 
 
 independence, not very well understanding what he was 
 talking, about; while his poor little brother kept crying 
 bitterly, without very well knowing why. 
 
 But Jacques would not go without his brother. 
 
 "If I leave thee," said he, "thou wilt only be beaten twice 
 as much; thou wilt be obliged to do both our tasks; and 
 there is no mamma now to hide thee, or speak up for thee ; 
 thou wilt be very miserable ; and I shall be very unhappy, 
 because I shall be sure thou art unhappy. Come, Nicolas, 
 don't be a fool, take thy cap." 
 
 "No, no, I dare not!" was the burden of the poor little 
 one's answer. 
 
 "Very well! I shall go by myself," said the other, reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " Then I shall do nothing but cry, and I shall never eat 
 anything more," replied the timid and gentle little child. 
 
 But his intrepid brother kept repeating, "Come along with 
 me. Come along with me, let us go for soldiers." 
 ~ And Jean Louis pulled Nicolas by the hand, and Nicolas 
 resisted and held fast by the cupboard-door ; and for an hour 
 and a half the two little fellows had left the loom and the 
 spindle, forgetting that the moment must come when their 
 father would return. And so he did, and appeared upon the 
 threshold, just as Jean Louis was preparing to end his argu- 
 ment, by carrying his little brother away upon his shoulders. 
 
 He looked up and beheld the coarse, bloated, inflamed 
 countenance of Maitre Jacques. It was as the head of Medusa 
 to the two unfortunate children: and the inevitable whip 
 soon flourished over their heads, as the hissing serpents of the 
 Furies. 
 
 The delicate Nicolas flung himself on the ground, and 
 gliding under the bed, disappeared like a worm in the earth ; 
 but Jean Louis, recovering after the first moment of surprise 
 and terror, stood still, firm and resolute, before his father; 
 his eyes fixed steadily upon the brutal savage. 
 
 " What are you doing there, you young rascals?" 
 
 " We are at play, father." 
 
 "At play, you little scoundrels! and who gave you leave 
 to play?" 
 
 "We gave ourselves leave. Why should we not play, 
 while you are at the ale-house?" 
 
 Maitre Jacques was struck dumb for the moment, petrified 
 as it were by the coolness and daring of the child ; but this 
 apparent calm was the precursor of a most dreadful storm : 
 he shook the terrible lash, roaring with a voice of thunder, 
 " Have you done your task?" 
 
 "No, father." 
 
A SOUDIIili's FORTUNE. 191 
 
 " No ! little wretches ! How the d 1 ! not a thread wound, 
 not a shuttle thrown ! Come here, come here, both of you. 
 Down on your knees this moment, I'll teach you to play," 
 
 "Don't come, Nicolas; stay under the bed, and don't be 
 afraid, /broke the thread, /threw the shuttle on the floor; 
 I wo aid not let Nicolas work, I forced him to play ; flog me 
 as much as you will, I don't care; I will never ask your 
 pardon, I'll sins, I'll dance, I'll tear your cloth, I'll kick your 
 loom to pieces." 
 
 " You will, you little dog! I'll teach you to dance." 
 
 Dreadful, dreadful was the scene that followed. 
 
 Furiously did the father lash the noble boy, extended upon 
 the bed under which the gentle Nicolas shuddered and trem- 
 bled, his little heart beating till he was ready to expire. 
 
 Not so Jean Louis ; the agony seemed only to excite in him 
 a more dauntless spirit of resistance. 
 
 He shouted, he laughed, he bounded under the blows, he 
 screamed at the full pitch of his voice, "Malbrook sen vat en 
 guerre" a tune then universally common in France; the 
 blows redoubled, till little Nicolas love conquering his ecstasy 
 
 of terror sprang from under the bed; and seizing his father 
 
 by the skirts of his coat, screamed with all his might. 
 
 The noise roused the neighbours, Simonde, Barbara, Ve- 
 ronica, Martha ; the good women batter at the door, force it 
 open, screeching and crying "murder." One catches up little 
 Nicolas in her arms, who faints away; two others, assisted 
 by their husbands, who ran in from a neighbouring forge, seize 
 the terrible giant by the arms, and get possession of the whip ; 
 whilst Simonde and Barbara snatch from the mattress, where 
 he was still bounding, leaping, and shouting, in almost a par- 
 oxysm of madness, the wounded, bruised, half-murdered, but 
 yet invincible boy. 
 
 They carried him away, they undressed him, they rubbed 
 his wounds with oil, they caressed him, they embraced him, 
 they comforted him. Good, pitying, honest hearts! whilst 
 imprecations saluted Maitre Jacques on all sides ; until he, 
 ashamed and sobered, but not corrected, sneaked away to 
 the ale-house, to drown disagreeable feelings in fresh pota- 
 tions. 
 
 The good women had given Jean Louis a little wine, re- 
 peating, as they rubbed the oil upon his bruised shoulders, 
 " How could he find in his heart to treat the child so!" Jean 
 Louis still answering proudly, "It does me no harm," though 
 he was burning and shivering in turns with fever. At length 
 the poor children were taken home, and put to bed ; the gentle 
 Nicolas perhaps a still greater sufferer than his brother. The 
 good old Simonde brought her spinning-wheel, and sat by them 
 
192 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 till their father's return, sighing and repeating as she twisted 
 the thread on her fingers 
 
 "Poor motherless bairns; what is to become of you?" 
 
 Ten o'clock struck 
 
 Two hours before this the evening bell had summoned to 
 their firesides the industrious and orderly among the inhabi- 
 tants ; door after door had shut, and the noise and stir of the 
 little village had sunk into silence. 
 
 When the first to enter the alehouse, and the last to leave 
 it, Maitre Jacques crossed his threshold once more old Si- 
 monde took up her wheel and slowly departed; he put out 
 his lamp, crept to bed, and might be heard snoring upon his 
 mattress. 
 
 It was the beginning of March, when the nights are consi- 
 derably shortened as soon as the day dawned, the voice of 
 the brutal father was heard from the mattress "Get to your 
 work, you rascals !" 
 
 The terrible voice awakened the little Nicolas ; he sat up, 
 rubbed his eyes, and began to look for his brother ; in vain. 
 The place was empty, the sheet was cold Jean Louis Jacquot 
 was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF JACQUOT. 
 
 LET us pause for an instant . 
 
 Such are the effects of a genial glass! such the effects of 
 that generous liquid, the source, according to some, of light 
 to the intellect, and warmth to the heart of bright concep- 
 tions, cordial affections, glowing aspirations, of all that can 
 delight and animate our nature ! 
 
 If such be the effects in France, a country of comparative 
 sobriety, what are they in our own island? Can we deny, 
 that thousands and thousands and thousands of wretched help- 
 less families are, at the very moment whilst I write or you 
 rea'\ sunk into the lowest extremity of misery, by the domestic 
 tyranny, wanton extravagance, or barbarous ferocity, of habi- 
 tual drunkenness? 
 
 And can it be possible, that the stupid prejudices of man- 
 kind should be such, that the grand experiment now trying by 
 the Temperance Societies should not only be regarded with 
 culpable indifference by so many, but that attempts should 
 actually be made to diminish their influence, and circumscribe 
 the effects of their efforts, by the wanton ridicule thrown upon 
 them? In how many of our magazines, newspapers, and other 
 ephemeral productions, which exercise so great an influence 
 upon the masses, has not this been the case? This mischief 
 
A SOLDIER'S FOUTUNE. 193 
 
 proceeding, too often, even from those, who consider themselves 
 as the guardians of a purer morality, and stricter religion, than 
 is common to the generality of mankind ? 
 
 Whether alcohol be, like laudanum, invaluable as a medi- 
 cine, but like laudanum a most pernicious poison when used 
 as an article of diet? or whether, like bread and flesh-meat, it 
 be a sustenance, as well as an excitement contributing, by 
 its proper use, to the comfort and activity of the human frame ? 
 Whether, dangerous as the abuse of it confessedly is, its use 
 may, in these cold climates, be considered as, in some degree, 
 necessary? Whether there be a remedy for the fearful disease 
 of habitual drunkenness ; and whether total abstinence be not 
 a perfectly safe, and the sole, efficacious remedy, for that dis- 
 ease ? Whether men may be snatched from that extreme depth 
 of misery and depravity ; or whether we must look upon them 
 as virtually lost? Are not these questions of importance? 
 Are not the experiments made to resolve them of the highest 
 interest? Is there any question in politics, more vital to the 
 best interests of mankind? any question in medicine, more im- 
 portant to the health? any question in morals, more urgent, 
 as regards the virtue and happiness of our race? 
 
 Shall the agitation of such questions, then, be sneered at 
 and despised? 
 
 Ah ! if for every idle word that men shall speak, God will 
 call them to account at the day of judgment, what will it be 
 for every idle printed word? 
 
 Maitre Jacques had not, however, murdered his son. 
 
 It was the 4th of March, 1778. The sun, at that time of 
 the year, rises at twenty-eight minutes past six in the morning ; 
 consequently, that pale light which dawns on the ed<*e of the 
 eastern horizon, and gradually colours into the rising day, 
 may be perceived about a quarter before five ; especially 
 if the heavens be free from clouds, and the air fresh and 
 pure. 
 
 Bruised, feverish, but resolute and master of himself, like 
 that young Spartan who perished under the fangs of the sacsge 
 beast rather than betray his honour, Jean Louis had lain quietly 
 upon his bed; he had not slept, but he had closed his eyes 
 feigning sleep ; and had breathed softly and equally, though 
 he with difficulty repressed his groans and sighs ; lying per- 
 fectly still, though ready to bite his fists, and tear the sheets 
 with pain and rage. 
 
 He had suffered Simonde to spin quietly by the side of his 
 bed. He had seen his father return, shut the door, take out 
 the key, and extinguish the lamp and when the lamp was 
 extinguished, the child had opened his eyes ; and motionless 
 had listened to the village clock, as it sounded hour after hour, 
 
194 
 
 through the stillness of night. Midnight, one, two. three, four 
 o'clock struck. 
 
 His project determined upon, his plans arranged then 
 the little Spartan gently lifted his coverlet, and raised his 
 head. 
 
 Nicolas slumbered by his side. From the other end of the 
 room the loud heavy snoring; of Maibre Jacques might be heard. 
 The little fellow disengaged himself softly, from the linen which 
 the good Simonde had wrapped round his bruised limbs. One 
 leg is out of bed another follows, he slips silently to the 
 ground, turning: first to arrange the blanket, so that the cold 
 shall not chill Nicholas. 
 
 He stood in the middle of the floor, and looked round the 
 faint morning twilight penetrated the apartment. He was 
 soon in possession of his clothes, he laid his shirt on the floor, 
 placed his pantaloons, his waistcoat, his jacket, his woollen 
 stockings, his cap, and his neck-handkerchief in the middle of 
 it then he stole to the cupboard, laid hold of a morsel of dry 
 bread, two apples, and a little knife, which he placed amongst 
 his clothes ; and having done this, he knotted his shirt, and 
 completed his bundle then taking a piece of cord, lie fastened 
 it on his shoulders: and loaded much in the manner of the 
 young Cupid with his quiver, he prepared for the next and 
 most important operation. 
 
 To have made his exit by the door was impossible the key 
 was under his father's head. True, Maitre Jacques slept like 
 a hog; but Jean Louis had no inclination to approach him; 
 but if the door is fast, the window may be opened, and Jean 
 Louis Jacques, mounted upon a stool, his bundle upon his 
 back, gently moved the great wooden bolt which held all to- 
 gether the heavy shutters were formed each of one single 
 plank. They could npt be moved without noise ; but Nicolas 
 did not waken, and Maitre Jacques snored on. The little boy 
 persevered, the shutters gave way, the casement was more 
 easily opened. He sees the heavens, he sees the street, he 
 passes through, he glides downwards, he touches the earth 
 he is free! 
 
 But the child was master of himself, even at this moment; 
 he did not run, he stood still, and looked round. All was 
 quiet as death. The cold pale light of the morning was 
 breaking on the roofs of the cottages, and the leaves were 
 gently whispering to the fresh breeze; that was all. He 
 turned round, cautiously closed the shutters, and then spring- 
 ing forward like a young stag, pursued by the hounds in full 
 cry, turned the corner of the cottage, sprang over a ditch 
 which separated him from a meadow extending to the banks 
 of the Loire, traversed it at full speed, reached the river's side, 
 
A SOLDIEK'S FORTUJSE. 195 
 
 and depending upon that address, strength, and agility, which 
 never yet had failed him, flung himself into the water. 
 
 Jean Louis was an expert swimmer, and the waters received 
 him like a friend; he followed the current, floating when his 
 arms were weary, redoubling his efforts when a little rested. 
 In about half an hour's time he gained the opposite bank ; and 
 shaking off the water that streamed from his limbs, he took 
 shelter in a little wood hard by ; sat himself down upon the 
 moss, and began to untie his bundle. 
 
 "I am safe," cried he; "they will never think of seeking 
 me on this side the river. I am my own man at last ; no more 
 flogging, no more shuttling. I shall be a soldier, like my 
 grandfather. I'll dry my shirt, put on my clothes, and see 
 what I can do." 
 
 It was now past five o'clock, the horizon became lighter, 
 and gave promise of a fine day ; but the morning was cold, 
 the wind in the east, and Jacquot was without clothes. He 
 shivered, and made haste to open his bundle. Alas! that 
 had happened, which might have been foreseen ; all within was 
 wringing wet. It was impossible to dress himself until the 
 sun should have sufficient force to dry his clothes, an hour and 
 half must elapse before the sun would rise, and poor Jacquot 
 was perishing with cold. He examined his clothes, he shook 
 them, he wrung them in vain; and while he was thus busy, 
 he consumed one half of his worldly estate, by eating an apple, 
 and a piece of his dry bread, both as wet as his clothes. 
 
 What was to be done? To remain an hour and a half in the 
 state he was in was difficult, not to say dangerous. But he 
 was not a child to be easily discouraged, he threw his clothes 
 upon the ground, and began to look about him. 
 
 The little grove in which he had found shelter, was com- 
 posed only of about forty or fifty trees, which were still leaf- 
 less ; the buds had merely begun to swell upon the branches, 
 and between them he could easily discern the distant country. 
 "Vast unenclosed fields, some tracts of brown ploughed land, 
 some points in the distance greener than the rest, announcing 
 the approach of spring ; but not a house, not a cottage, not 
 the most wretched mud cabin was to be seen; and though 
 ready to expire with cold, the aspect of this solitude was a 
 comfort to him. He was as yet too near his own village, to 
 dare to seek shelter with any human being. 
 
 However, an asylum must be found; a hole in the rock, 
 a hollow tree, the shelter of a ditch, anything to screen him 
 from the piercing wind. He began his search, and looking 
 round, thought he perceived at a little distance in the midst 
 of the furrows, a heap of something raised, pointed, and which 
 looked rather like a moderate-sized haycock. 
 
196 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Many would have been puzzled to make out what it was, 
 but Jacquot recognised the object in a moment, tied up his 
 bundle again in the twinkling of an eye, and sprang forward. 
 
 The light was increasing ; already the horizon was blushing 
 with those colours which precede the rising sun; and objects 
 might be now easily distinguished. 
 
 As he approached, he found, as he had expected, a small 
 hut of straw, on one side of which was a square enclosed with 
 hurdles. The little hut was not above three or four feet high ; 
 by the side of it stood a small cart. It was, as Jacquot had 
 supposed, the abode of a shepherd, and he advanced cautiously, 
 for fear of the dogs. 
 
 About a hundred sheep were folded in the enclosure formed 
 by the hurdles ; two wild wolfish-looking dogs, with sharp 
 ears and long wiry hair were asleep under the cart; but at 
 the approach of the little stranger, they sprang up and began 
 to bark loudly: one remained at his post, the other patroled 
 round the hurdles, his loud barking answered by the plaintive 
 bleatings of the flock within. 
 
 Jacquot paused a little, and picked up a stone ; but happily 
 these preparations proved unnecessary: a whistle was heard, 
 the two dogs ran to the entrance of the hut, where a human 
 figure now appeared, wrapped up in a rough sheepskin coat, 
 his long crook in his hand, and calling out in a sharp shrill 
 voice, '* Who goes there?" 
 
 " A friend," replied the little adventurer; "so keep back 
 your dogs, and don't be afraid," 
 
 The shepherd looked this way and that, and seeing nothing 
 before him but our poor little Cupidon, he held back his dogs, 
 and waited his arrival. 
 
 The shepherd, himself, was but a child of fifteen or sixteen 
 years old, belonging to a distant Commune. The aspect of a 
 little fellow younger than himself, almost frozen to death, his 
 teeth chattering with cold, could inspire neither fear nor sus- 
 picion ; and the little shepherd was, moreover, a very good- 
 natured fellow ; so he took Jacquot by the hand, led him into 
 his hut, and having placed him on the heap of straw which 
 served him for a bed, wrapped him up in his blanket, and pre- 
 sented his gourd, which contained a little brandy ; while the 
 two dogs, as hospitable and compassionate as their master, 
 began to lick his feet, and, with their intelligent noses, take 
 notes of his person, in order to recognise him again if need 
 were. 
 
 As for the poor pilgrim, no sooner did he feel himself under 
 the shelter of the warm hut, with the blanket wrapped round 
 his naked and shivering limbs, than his courage and spirits 
 revived; he embraced the little shepherd, and in his usual 
 
% A SOLDIER'S POBTUKE. 1 97 
 
 frank and open manner, thanked him for having saved his 
 life. 
 
 "But who are you?" asked the young host. 
 
 " An orphan." 
 
 "Well said! just like myself. I have neither father nor 
 mother ; but I have a good uncle and aunt, who live at Ailly- 
 la- Grange, about six leagues from this. And where do you 
 come from?" 
 
 "From much farther than that; and there is nobody be- 
 longing to me." 
 
 " Bah! but where do you come from?" 
 
 " I was a boy on board one of the great boats, which bring 
 barrels from Nantes to Tours. My master used me very ill ; 
 he beat me he was always beating me, so I would not stay 
 with him. So, one day when he was in his cabin drinking 
 rum, I undressed myself, threw myself into the water, and 
 here I am." 
 
 " Well done! but if he should catch you?" 
 
 " No danger of that, nobody saw me, and the boat is far 
 enough off by this time." 
 
 "Well, eat some bread and this slice of bacon, take another 
 swig, and then lay thee down and go to sleep. I'll go and 
 put thy clothes upon the top of the hut; when they are dry, 
 thou mayst get up. I am on the move, and you may come 
 with me. You're welcome to bread and bacon as long as it 
 lasts, and we shall soon be with my uncle and aunt very 
 worthy old folks, I assure you, who will make you a shepherd 
 too, if you please." 
 
 All these propositions, the last excepted, agreed perfectly 
 with Jacquot's schemes. To lie down, to rest, to sleep a 
 moment in peace, was the first and most urgent of his wants. 
 He stretched himself on the straw, rolled himself up in the 
 blanket, and was asleep in a moment. 
 
 Jacquot slept in peace, while the little recluse, delighted to 
 meet with a companion of his own age, was busy carrying out 
 his clothes, and spreading them so as to catch the first rays 
 of the sun. This done, he seated himself upon the turf, his 
 back against his hut, turned his face towards the east, where 
 the golden god of day was rising in all his glory, and saluted 
 him with an air upon his cornemuse the bleatings of his 
 sheep, and the tirralira of the lark now soaring into the azure 
 sky, forming the accompaniment. 
 
198 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE LITTLE SHEPHERDS. 
 
 Six days the two young herdsmen journeyed together, for 
 Jean Louis Jacquot has become a shepherd, en attendant mieux. 
 
 Prudent and discreet, more than could have been expected 
 at his age, the little fugitive religiously preserved his secret; 
 but, that secret excepted, the most perfect confidence reigned 
 between the two young herdsmen. 
 
 They lived as we may imagine the children of Abel might 
 have done, in the first golden age of purity and simplicity, 
 innocent as the flocks they led out to pasture; they ate, 
 walked, sang, played, and slept together. Always in good 
 humour, and always in good spirits; yet, as faithful and 
 attentive to their charge, as the two honest animals, who 
 assisted in their labours, and shared in their enjoyments, the 
 four companions, appearing to have realised that perfect 
 equality and fraternity, which many of their nation are still 
 aspiring after in vain. 
 
 The first reciprocal question had been, " What's your 
 name?" 
 
 "Joseph, "replied Jean Louis, without the least hesitation; 
 " and I have no other name, because I am a foundling, you 
 see, and yours?" 
 
 " My name is Peter Adrien Gerard," said the little shep- 
 herd, " because my godfather's name is Peter, and my god- 
 mother's Adrienne, and my father's name was G-erard." 
 
 This was explanation enough. They only wanted something 
 to call one another by. As for their history, a little ideal on 
 the one side two words more had sufficed. 
 
 ''I always lived upon the waters," said the pretended 
 Joseph. 
 
 11 1 never did anything but keep sheep," said the real 
 Gerard. 
 
 And after this they thought of nothing but catching spar- 
 rows, climbing trees 'for birds' nests, and throwing stones; in 
 which exercises Joseph Jacquot proving the most adroit and 
 intelligent, he soon obtained a certain superiority over his 
 companion. This might have threatened to overthrow the 
 equality, though not the fraternity, which subsisted between 
 them, had it not been maintained by the superior strength, 
 experience, and coolness of Gerard upon other occasions. 
 
 The seventh day of their journey, about half an hour before 
 sunset, they arrived near a little village; and, finding a 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 199 
 
 suitable place in the neighbourhood, they there established 
 the little encampment, fixed their hurdles, folded their sheep, 
 set up their straw hut, and, as usual, prepared their bed, and 
 began to think about their supper. 
 
 They were all amicably seated together on the turf, the 
 two boys side by side, the dogs at their feet, sitting on their 
 haunches, their eyes fixed attentively upon what was going 
 on; namely, a most fair and just division of the provisions 
 into four parts ; which provisions consisted of a small loaf of 
 brown bread, value two sous ; a small bit of bacon, and an 
 onion which they had found in a field ; when the noise of 
 distant music was heard, and suspended, as if by enchantment, 
 the interesting occupation in which they were engaged. 
 
 The sounds were to them entirely new; not in the least 
 like the music they were accustomed to hear in the different 
 villages round ; it was neither the musette, nor the cornemuse, 
 nor the flageolet of Lubin: and the air was neither Ma Nor- 
 mandie, nor the village dance, nor, in short, any one of the 
 simple airs of the country: it was a lively spirited march, 
 played in good time, though not in perfectly good tune, by a 
 fife supported by the roll of the drum. 
 
 " Only soldiers," cried Gerard; ''I know their noise well 
 enough ; because soldiers often pass through our village it lies 
 on the road to Poictiers." 
 
 And as he said this, the little shepherd took up the bread 
 again, and was proceeding to cut it in four pieces ; but Jac- 
 quot started to his feet. 
 
 " Soldiers!" cried he, crimsoning with emotion ; " eat ay/ay 
 I must go and see." 
 
 And away he started towards the village. 
 ^ "I'll keep your share for you," said the other, and he finished 
 his supper with his two dogs. 
 
 In the mean time, Jacquot, all on fire, arrived at the vil- 
 lage. The military charivari, the squeaking noisy fife, the 
 rub-a-dub of the drum, were mingled with the still louder 
 noise of the whole village in confusion. All the inhabitants 
 were crowded into the open square which formed the market- 
 place; in the centre of which crowd was a serjeant, sword by 
 his side, plume in cap, in pantaloon of grey cloth, with a 
 blue jacket trimmed at the button-holes with gold lace; he 
 was supported on each side by two great ill-looking fellows, 
 with immense sandy moustaches and heavy bushy eyebrows, 
 and was employed in recruiting, by main force, as was the 
 custom in those days for the service of the king Le Roi bien- 
 aime, debonnaire, pere de son peuple, &c. &e,, as it might chance 
 to be. 
 
 Before the sergeant were two little vagabonds, covered 
 
200 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 over with ribbons of twenty different colours, with a branch 
 of box-tree stuck in their caps one drumming with all his 
 might, the other blowing his fife, as if he were as deaf in 
 reality as most people would, at that moment, have wished to be. 
 
 At this delightful spectacle, our little hero redoubled his 
 speed, with cheeks as red as fire, and panting for breath, he 
 pushed and elbowed through the crowd; and finding himself 
 exactly opposite to the recruiting sergeant, took off his cap 
 with the greatest respect ; and opening eyes and ears, stood, 
 drinking in at every sense this intoxicating vision of glory. 
 
 The surrounding crowd were gaping and staring, awaiting 
 the commencement of the recruiting sergeant's harangue ; but 
 in order to understand the oration which ensued, the reader 
 must pause a moment, and while the drum and fife are dinning 
 in his ears, must refresh his historical lore a little. 
 
 He has been told that these events happened in the month 
 of March, 1778. ISTow, if he will please to recollect himself, 
 he will find, that this date will just place him in the beau 
 milieu of the American war. 
 
 On the 1 6th of December, 1777, the Crown of France 
 recognised the American Independence by a preliminary treaty. 
 And the words Liberty, Rights of man, Independence, began 
 to sound through France. Sympathy with the struggle 
 maintained on the other side of the Atlantic, animated the 
 whole country, and raised a spirit till then unknown. 
 
 The recognition of American independence was received 
 with raptures in Paris ; with shouts of applause throughout 
 the whole kingdom. All Europe shook at the cry. On the 
 7th of February, 1778, the treaty with France was concluded; 
 then thousands flew to arms, and the combat ceased not till 
 victory was obtained. 
 
 A treaty so entirely in conformity with the wishes of the 
 nation, was certain to be carried into effect troops were 
 marching an army assembling soldiers enrolling one fleet 
 was equipped at Toulon, another at Brest, both ready to sail 
 as soon as the forces should be in order. 
 
 And this is exactly the point of time at which we stand, 
 namely, the llth of March, 1778, six o'clock in the evening; 
 all the inhabitants of a little village assembled round a fifer 
 and drummer, gaping and staring with all their might Jean 
 Louis Jacquot, alias Joseph, all eyes and ears, holding his 
 woollen cap in his hand, in wooden shoes, like all the rest of 
 the parti-coloured audience, and awaiting with patience and 
 respect, until the charivari shall cease, and His Most Christian 
 Majesty's recruiting sergeant begin his harangue, which he 
 did in form and manner following : 
 
 "Frenchmen and countrymen! Vive le Hoi! This is the 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 201 
 
 business. You have wooden shoes, but you have lion hearts; 
 and you neither want ears to hear the word of command, nor 
 hands to level a musket, nor good legs to march you to the 
 world's end. With these possessions, with souls of fire* five 
 sols a day, and ammunition-bread, a man is a hero! And 
 when he has brushed his regimentals, cleaned his musket, and 
 stood sentinel two hours a week, he has nothing on earth to 
 do, but to drink at the cabaret, dance and sing, and give as 
 many blows as he likes, with the flat of his sword, to all the 
 stupid bumpkins and grey jackets in the world, when they 
 dare lock up their best wine. Because, do you see, the bump- 
 kin is obliged to lodge us and feed us, and let us do whatever 
 we please, because, you see, as how we are soldiers, and so, 
 Vive le Roi! 
 
 " Therefore, you see, on all the earth there is nothing so 
 fine as to be a soldier ; eat, drink, sleep, dance, and thump 
 the bumpkins. This is the whole business, as says the song." 
 
 Here the sergeant began to sing a verse or two of an old 
 French song, accompanied by the drum and fife. 
 
 After this exordium, which produced an immense effect 
 upon the crowd, the sergeant swallowed a glass of brandy, 
 presented at the moment by the little innkeeper of the village, 
 wiped his mouth, pulled up his cravat, settled his cap, placed 
 himself in an easy attitude, his left hand on his hip, his right 
 hand extended over his heart, and thus continued: 
 
 " Children of France! the leopard gnashes his teeth! Per- 
 haps you don't comprehend what that means, because as how 
 you are poor country Puts, who know nothing of metaphysics ; 
 that means to say, that the English have declared war against 
 the liberty of the world, and therefore every man who deserves 
 the name of a man, and who is not a coward, and a fool, and 
 a poltroon, to boot, and who loves his king, will enlist for ten 
 crowns and fly to the fields of honour and victory. Because, 
 as says Jean-Jacques Rousseau, * Man is free of his nature, 
 and nature is free of herself!' But what am I saying? 
 Children of France! if this irresistible argument does not 
 move you remember, Frenchmen, your country calls! 
 America expects you! the universe presents the laurel! and 
 your royal master gives you ten crowns, coat, waistcoat, and 
 trousers, to say nothing of other things, such as double rations 
 and a glass of brandy!" 
 
 Here the sergeant raised high in air a grey cloth bag, filled 
 with crown-pieces, which jingled most harmoniously, as he 
 struck the bag with his fist. 
 
 1 Here's for you ! In this bag are ten crowns for every 
 man who loves the king! Let every good man and true 
 follow me to the cabaret, Jean Francois Rigobert is going to 
 o 
 
202 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 tap three pieces of Burgundy; we'll drink the king's health 
 all night, and our king and country will pay the piper. So 
 to the cabaret; that's your sort!" 
 
 " To the cabaret! to the cabaret!" was the general cry, 
 and greasy caps were thrown into the air. The drum and 
 fife began to play merrily again ; the sergeant marched first, 
 shaking his bag of money ; Jean Francois Rigobert followed 
 next, brandishing his pint stoup over his head ; all the boys 
 of the village after them, crying out, " Vive le Hoi!" laughing, 
 shouting, wrestling, huzzaing, while the women dispersed, the 
 aged ones weeping and bemoaning themselves ; and the young 
 ones shaking their fists, and showering their choicest terms of 
 abuse upon the retiring orator. 
 
 Jean Louis Jacquot had joined the crowd now proceeding 
 to the cabaret, and with head erect, his heart swelling with 
 military enthusiasm, marched proudly by the side of the 
 drummer. 
 
 The harangue of the sergeant may to some appear somewhat 
 precocious ; the mixed arguments of king, liberty, country, 
 with which he attempted to excite the imaginations of his 
 audience, as belonging to a later day: but the fermentation 
 had already begun, which those ideas, crudely mixed together, 
 excited. Opinion in France was already in a state of con- 
 fusion and contradiction; and principles and ideas, all at 
 variance with long-established habits and old recollections, 
 were introducing themselves pell-mell, forming a chaos of good 
 sense, madness, folly, novelty, and dotage, the influence of 
 which, in a considerable degree, may be perceived in the 
 sergeant's harangue ; which is not altogether wanting in his- 
 torical truth, and perhaps gives the colour of his times, as 
 justly as the Philippics of Demosthenes, or the Orations of 
 Cicero give theirs. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE RECRUITING SERGEANT. 
 
 ALL affairs of importance are best treated at table. It is at 
 table that the destinies of crowns and nations are chiefly 
 decided upon; and if you doubt the fact, ask any one ac- 
 quainted with the diplomatic history of the present century, 
 whether truffles or bayonets have exercised the more in- 
 fluence. 
 
 The recruiting sergeant had a genius for diplomacy; he 
 placed himself at the large wooden table of the cabaret; four 
 great pitchers filled with new and heady wine, mixed with 
 brandy, stood upon it, and Jean Francois received orders 
 (nothing loath) to fill them as fast as they were emptied. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 203 
 
 Salted ham, well-seasoned sausages, civet of rabbit, with 
 plenty of mustard, accompanied the generous liquor. The 
 recruiting sergeant knew what he was about. 
 
 The joyous band sat gaily down to table, the room resounded 
 with cries of, " Vive le Roi! Vive la Liberte! Vive les Ameri- 
 cains!" Nobody understood a word of what they were saying; 
 but what did that matter? they had gaping throats and good 
 stomachs, and every inclination in the world to be heroes, 
 so long as the glass was full. They ate, drank, sang, and got 
 tipsy. 
 
 The recruiting sergeant, adroit, prudent, and attentive to 
 all that was going on, helped his friends, poured out, pledged, 
 challenged to drink, and emptied a few glasses himself; but 
 as the plot thickened, the noise became louder, and the cries 
 of " Vive le Roi!" resounded on all sides. 
 
 The sergeant and his two ill-looking friends flung their wine 
 under the table, while they poured out bumpers to the others ; 
 and managed matters so well, that before seven o'clock in the 
 evening, the whole company was, to say the least, a little 
 exalted in their ideas, and some dozen of future heroes could 
 hardly stand upon their legs. This was the place, the hour, 
 the favourable moment that moment which, in all the cir- 
 cumstances of life, the man of ability knows how to seize, 
 that decisive moment which, being seized, he thenceforward 
 commands destiny. 
 
 " Comrades," cried the sergeant, emptying suddenly upon 
 his plate the bag of crowns, " here is money for all good and 
 true men, who have spirit to drink the king's health, and 
 sign their names to this morsel of parchment ; and those who 
 cannot write may make their mark." 
 
 Poor fools ! what pressing there was to the table, how they 
 pushed, how they elbowed one another, how they stretched 
 out their hands, how they filled the glasses, how they drank 
 the king's health, every one's eye fixed upon the sergeant's 
 plateful of crowns, every one pushing, swearing, crying out, 
 " me ! me !" afraid that there will not be crowns enough for all ; 
 signing with a shaking hand, or making a blot for their mark : 
 then pocketing the ten crowns, and sitting down to drink, 
 shout, and sing once more. 
 
 In the middle of this increasing confusion, the sergeant, 
 calm and master of himself, like a great statesman as he was, 
 made every man write upon a little register, bound in parch- 
 ment, his name, Christian name, quality, place of birth, &c. 
 &c. ; or else he wrote them himself, making the poor dupe 
 add his mark. Then he counted out the ten crowns which 
 completed the engagement, and each man thus inscribed was 
 proclaimed a soldier, received with cries of " Vive le Roi.'" 
 
204 . A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 and saluted with bumpers of wine ; while the horrible noise 
 and confusion were renewed at every fresh inscription. 
 
 Jacquot, lost in the crowd, remained quiet and silent during 
 all this ; creeping round the table, his neck extended, nothing 
 escaping his eye, attentive, collected, provident ; like a little 
 orphan who had no one to depend upon but himself; he had 
 swallowed only a mouthful of ham, and half a glass of wine ; 
 and he had been watching and waiting for the moment when 
 the enlisting would begin, that he might present himself in 
 his turn, not daring to be the first, because he did not know 
 how to set about it, and was" restrained by the fear and timidity 
 inseparable from his age. 
 
 But when the moment arrived, when the sergeant had 
 opened his little register, when two or three drunken boobies 
 had been made soldiers in short, when Jean Louis Jacquofc 
 had, with his own eyes and ears, verified the necessary for- 
 malities, he comforted his little heart, took his woollen cap in 
 his hand, placed himself modestly behind the others, thinking 
 far less of the ten crowns than of the honour of being enlisted ; 
 and, when his turn came, presented himself with a little air 
 of mingled firmness, spirit, and modesty, before the recruiting 
 sergeant. 
 
 The frank and open expression of his countenance, his clear 
 and steady eye, the colour of his cheek, animated by hope 
 and resolution, something decided yet innocent in his mien 
 and carriage, added to the remarkable beauty of his features, 
 struck the sergeant, who smiled, giving him a little blow on 
 his cheek ; the caress was rather rude, but Jean Louis took it 
 as it was meant, and answered by a bow, adding, "Me voila, 
 man Sergent." 
 
 " Te voila, little rogue, you look to me very like a little 
 pickle. What do you want here ? Do you want to drink the 
 king's health too?" 
 
 " Oui, mon Sergent." 
 
 " Very well, friend, drink away, there's wine enough for 
 everybody, and a glass more or less will wrong no one. 
 Come, I don't mind if I take a glass with you, "a la sante du 
 Roi." 
 
 "A la sante du Roi, mon Sergent; I'll drink it all off at 
 once. Now I'm a soldier, write my name down in your book !" 
 
 " Halloo! what the deuce is the baby thinking of? What ! 
 do you want to enlist?" 
 
 "Yes, Sergeant, why not? You said that you had no 
 preferences, that all those who offered would be received, that 
 every brave man would be a soldier. Well ! I am brave, and 
 I want to enlist." 
 
 " Halt, my friend! upon my honour, though, you are a 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 205 
 
 pretty, hopeful little fellow, and if I was to pay it out of my 
 own pocket, I would give you the ten crowns with all my 
 heart, if it was only for the honour of enlisting a little rogue 
 like you. You'll make a good soldier, I'll be bound, and 
 you'll make your way too. I know pretty well what I'm 
 about, and I promise you you will ; but, my little Lafayette, 
 you look to me very much as if you were going to fight, 
 without leave of papa or mamma; I cannot enlist children 
 without the consent of their parents ; my instructions will not 
 allow ifc I should get into a pretty mess, my little ma*n, you 
 understand; and Heavens and earth! though you're well 
 grown and sharp enough, you don't seem to me to have come 
 to the age when you can dispose of yourself. Go, get permis- 
 sion from your father, from your godfather, your cure, it 
 does not signify which ; and on the word of one who serves 
 the king, though you are but a bambin, I'll enlist you at once, 
 and I'll give you ten crowns, though one can make nothing of 
 you yet but a fifer or drummer. So get along, go!" 
 
 Jacquot remained for a moment motionless, his face became 
 crimson ; he stood, his eyes fixed upon the ground, turning his 
 cap in his poor little hands. At last he raised his head, but 
 his voice trembled a little as he spoke again. 
 
 ' Monsieur le Sergent, I cannot have a permission." 
 
 ' So much the worse for you !" 
 
 ' Monsieur le Sergent, it is because I have neither father, 
 mother, godfather, nor cure." 
 
 ' D 1! did you spring out of the earth like a mushroom?" 
 
 ' Monsieur le Sergent, I don't know where I came from." 
 
 'Well then, my little friend, you're a foundling; that is 
 it?' 
 
 o, Sarpedie! Monsieur le Sergent, I am not a foundling." 
 
 ' Oh ho ! my little friend, what's the matter now ? Are 
 you going to send me a challenge? Really he is a pretty 
 fellow. Well, well, we'll say nothing of foundling ; you say 
 you are an orphan?" 
 
 "Yes, M. le Sergent." 
 
 " So much the better for you, then you're sure to prosper. 
 Now you see the case is different, you must belong to some 
 village or other; and you must have been baptised; bring 
 me, therefore, your name, the date of your birth, and the 
 declaration of two witnesses who will certify that you are an 
 orphan ; and then, as thou hast neither father nor mother, I 
 will carry thee off with me to-morrow morning, and put thee 
 into a regiment, with all my heart. Do you know any one 
 who will answer for you?" 
 
 " No, M. le Sergent, I am not of this country." 
 
 "Then make haste and fetch what I want. Come, you 
 
206 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 little rogue, drink a drop more ; don't hang down your head, 
 and look as if you were ready to cry ; you'll not miss your 
 vocation, I read that in your eyes, only make haste and be 
 here again by to-morrow morning : I shall not start till ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 Poor Jacquot took the glass which the sergeant presented, 
 but it was with a trembling hand ; he pledged him, but it was 
 no longer with the spirit and gaiety he had shown at first ; he 
 could not swallow half the wine, for sobs were rising in his 
 throat,' and two big tears fell into his glass as he stooped down 
 to replace it upon the table. However, he pulled his woollen 
 cap over his eyes, and almost in despair, took the way which 
 led to the hut of the little shepherd, sighing heavily, and say- 
 ing to himself 
 
 " It is impossible to take M. le Sergent what he wants, so 
 I cannot enlist, and I shall never be a soldier." 
 
 In the midst of these sad reflections, he arrived at the hut. 
 It was night the moon shone over the far-extending plains, 
 tinting the roofs and trees of the little village ; all was calm 
 and still sheep, dogs, shepherd, all wrapped in innocent 
 slumber. A quarter of the bread, a quarter of the bit of bacon, 
 and half the raw onion ; for dogs do not particularly relish 
 this last article were placed upon the heap of hay which was 
 spread for Jacquot by the side of his companion. 
 
 Jacquot did not eat ; indeed he had supped, and his heart 
 was full, he sat down upon the straw and began to reflect. 
 
 All his projects were overturned, all his hopes had vanished 
 what was he to do now? And what was to become of him? 
 To traverse the fields from morning till night, in rain, wind, 
 hail, snow with no shelter but a hut of straw, no hearth, no 
 roof to afford him refuge to live upon bread and onions, was 
 doubtless the same fate as that of his young companion, and 
 Jacquot had not been brought up upon roses ; but Gerard had 
 friends, relations, and protectors shelter when he was in want, 
 help when he had need a sort of hope for the future, and 
 safety for the present; while Jacquot was the sport of chance, no 
 future lay before him ; there was no one from whom he could 
 claim assistance, he had no resource but in the pity of others, no 
 prospect but mendicity. 
 
 It was a sorrowful fate, and Jacquot had a hundred times 
 better have kept to his weaving, in spite of the lash : he was 
 almost ready to regret his home, ready to repent of his esca- 
 pade; but these regrets, and this repentance, so natural for a 
 poor child, lost, as it were, in the vast desert of the world, 
 could not altogether subdue his courage ; he was too spirited 
 to despair after so short a trial of his strength ; and of too 
 decided a character to alter his resolutions so early. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 207 
 
 " No," said he, "I will not go back home. I am not afraid 
 of being flogged ; but Nicolas will think I am a coward ; and 
 all the children in the village will laugh at me, and I shall be 
 ashamed. No, I will not go home ; I had rather keep sheep, 
 eat onions, and never sleep in a house again, till I am big 
 enough to enlist if I please But it is a very great pity that 
 the sergeant would not take me ; how they eat and drink ! how 
 happy people are who serve the King 1" 
 
 The poor little Jean could not sleep, he reflected one half 
 of the night, and wept the other. Bitter tears, not of fear, 
 not of regret, not of weakness, fell from his eyes ; but tears 
 of rage and impatience that he was only twelve years old, not 
 his own master, and had six years to wait. Six years ! it was 
 an age it was an eternity a period without limits, to the 
 imagination of a child! Tired at length of sighing upon 
 his heap of straw, Jacquot got up, left the hut before the dawn 
 of day, and climbing up a tree, perched himself upon one of 
 the branches, to pass away the time as best he might, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE LIVRET. 
 
 THE young shepherd opened his eyes at the first song of the lark, 
 and was surprised to find himself alone, and the heap of straw 
 lying much as he had left it the evening before, when he had 
 arranged the two little beds, side by side he was still more 
 surprised to find the bread, bacon, and onion untouched. 
 
 He rushed out of the hut, as if the dogs had given warning 
 of a wolf, and ran round the little encampment, calling 
 "Joseph" with all his might. The other little fellow, perched 
 upon his high tree, answered him as it were from the skies. 
 
 The dogs sported about, yelping and jumping upon one 
 another ; whilst the sheep, awakened by the barking of their 
 faithful guardians, filled the air with their bleatings ; so that 
 it was in the midst of the most rural concert of country sounds, 
 that the little descendant of Abel met the little disciple of 
 Du Guesclin, who slipping down from his tree took him by 
 the hand. 
 
 "Then you did not come in last night, Joseph?" 
 
 " Yes, but you were fast asleep." 
 
 " Well, but you did not go to bed then?" 
 
 " No, I was not sleepy." 
 
 * ' And you weren't hungry, I suppose ; for you did not 
 touch your share which I kept for you ?" 
 
 " No, I supped at the village." 
 
 " At the village! Did you know anybody there?" 
 
208 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' Then you had some money?" 
 'No." 
 
 1 How did you manage, then?" 
 ' Do you remember the music we heard last night?" 
 ' Yes, to be sure; but what of that?" 
 
 ' Oh, you never saw anything so beautiful. It was the 
 grandest gentleman you ever saw belonging to the King ; 
 very likely one of his relations, do you see, who came to enlist 
 soldiers." 
 
 And continuing his narration in all its details, and with the 
 greatest simplicity, Jacquot related to the young shepherd, 
 all that had taken place in the village market-place and in 
 the public-house. 
 
 The little shepherd king, who was only a few years older 
 than the little fugitive Paladin, and who was not in possession 
 of a much larger stock of experience, listened with as much 
 astonishment and admiration, as if he had heard the marvel- 
 lous history of Jack and the Bean Stalk, or the Forty Thieves ; 
 and when his friend finished 
 
 " Bah!" cried he, " then you wish to be a soldier?" 
 
 "Yes, \$ be sure I do, and yes, to be sure I shall; but I 
 must wait six long years first, because I have no certificate of 
 baptism. If it had not been for that, I should have been off 
 this morning at ten o'clock, with the King's own recruiting 
 sergeant ; and I should have had ten crowns of my own, and 
 I should have given you five, because you lodged and fed me. 
 Did you ever see anything so unlucky?" 
 
 " Yes, it is unlucky! But, my stars! what a fool you 
 are." 
 
 "What a fool I am?" 
 
 " Yes, the greatest fool I ever saw. Why did you not show 
 your livret to the king's gentleman? A livret, do you see, is 
 better than a certificate of baptism, because M. le Maire signs 
 it." 
 
 Jean Louis opened his eyes, looked at his companion, and 
 scratched his head. 
 
 In fact he did not exactly know what a livret was ; but he 
 had often heard the thing mentioned, and began to suspect it 
 was something he ought to have been provided with. 
 
 " My livret," repeated he, two or three times, without say- 
 ing more for fear of committing himself. 
 
 "Certainly," replied the shepherd, gravely; "you must 
 have had one, as you were a cabin-boy, or nobody would have 
 hired you. Why did you not show your livret f 
 
 " Because because I lost it as I was swimming the 
 river." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 209 
 
 "Well then, my uncle will get the Maire of our village to 
 give you another. I'm sure he will answer for you. Because 
 you see, without a livret you could not be hired in any farm- 
 house ; and if the marechaussee should happen to stop us now, 
 I should be obliged to lend you mine ; because, you see, they 
 know me." 
 
 "Ah, ah! then you have a livret of your own?" 
 
 "To be sure I have; because, you see, I am a hired servant 
 of my uncle's." 
 
 "And what is written in your livret ?" 
 
 "My name, to be sure, and then some other things; I 
 don't very well know what, because I do not know how to 
 read." 
 
 " Oh, I can read. Let me look at your livret." 
 
 As he said this, as if inspired by a sudden thought, the 
 colour flashed into Jacquot's face his eyes sparkled, and his 
 hands trembled with impatience. 
 
 The shepherd very slowly untied a long piece of packthread, 
 one end of which passing through the button-hole of his waist- 
 coat was fastened there by a strong knot, the other being twisted 
 several times round a little book, covered with parchment, and 
 containing six or eight leaves of very coarse paper. Jean 
 Louis took it in his hand, examined it carefully on all sides, 
 then opened it, and began a very attentive study of what was 
 written on the first page. 
 
 This page was not very easy to decipher by a scholar of 
 Jacquot's calibre, seeing that M. le Maire of Ailly-la- Grange 
 did not write a very legible hand ; but as he began to compre- 
 hend it, the features of the little boy became more and more 
 animated ; joy flashed from his eyes, yet it seemed as if a cer- 
 tain timidity prevented his speaking ; so he stood for a moment 
 clasping the livret firmly between his hands ; at last, fixing his 
 eyes steadily and earnestly on his young friend "Gerard," 
 cried he, " will you save my life, and make my fortune?" 
 
 The astonished shepherd gaped and stared, unable to answer 
 a word ; and Jacquot, too impatient to await the gathering of 
 his wits, went on. 
 
 "You promised to lend me your livret; lend it me directly. 
 Just let me take it to the next village ; I will bring it back in 
 an hour ; and if I am enlisted, I'll give you the ten crowns I 
 am to have. May I?" 
 
 "Yes, if you please ; only don't lose it. You are very wel- 
 come. I don't want the ten crowns. You worked for your 
 bread as well as I did, and we are friends." 
 
 "Friends! friends for ever! friends for life!" 
 
 And with these words Louis Jacquot threw his arms round 
 his companion's neck, with an ardour which nearly knocked 
 
210 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 him down; and without jpi ting further explication, dashed 
 off to the village. 
 
 Jacquot arrived at the village, and was soon at the door 
 of. the public-house. Loud and long did he knock with 
 fists and feet, nobody was up. At last a window creaked and 
 opened. 
 
 'What do you want, you little rascal?" 
 'M. le Sergent du Roi." 
 
 'What have you to say to M. le Sergent du Koi?" 
 'Very important business." 
 
 'He is fast asleep. Come back again in an hour." 
 
 The window shuts again, and Jacquot renews his operations, 
 battering the door with a great stone, and making a noise suf- 
 ficient to awaken the dead." 
 
 The window opens again. 
 
 "Have done, you little scoundrel, or I'll be down with yon, 
 and break your head." 
 
 "As you please but I must and will speak with M. le 
 Sergent." 
 
 His tone and manner were so determined, that it imposed 
 even upon the inn-keeper. 
 
 "The rogue must have_some important letter or message," 
 thought he. 
 
 So he became all at once very civil and polite, and told the 
 little man to wait a couple of minutes, and not batter the door 
 to pieces in the mean time. 
 
 Two minutes elapsed, and Jacquot was again lifting his 
 stone, when the door opened, and the inn-keeper appeared, 
 half asleep, with his candle in his hand." 
 
 The child entered, and was introduced into a small low 
 apartment, where, upon a miserable mattress, lay the sergeant 
 that grand gentleman, most likely a relation of the King's 
 his head wrapped up in a red handkerchief, with his elbow 
 resting on his pillow. He was smoking a cigar ; by his side 
 on a chair stood a bottle of wine, and a glass" which he filled 
 from time to time, pour passer le temps. 
 
 "Ha! ha! par le coMeu! if it is not my little friend. 
 Well, you little rogue, do you still want to be a soldier?" 
 
 "To be sure I do, M. le Sergent." 
 
 "Very well. Have you got the papers?" 
 
 ' ' Not exactly, M. le Sergent, because there was not time, 
 as you were to set out at ten o'clock this morning." 
 
 "So I was thinking, when you told me you did not belong 
 to this country. Then you have found some one to answer 
 for you, and certify who you are?" 
 
 "No, M. le Sergent ; but I have done better than that. I 
 forgot it yesterday, because you put me out look, I have 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 211 
 
 brought you my livret it is better than a certificate of bap- 
 tism, because the mayor signs it," 
 
 "The deuce! Your livret that's something like let us 
 see. Here's fine writing, as if he'd done it with the cat's claw. 
 What's your name?" 
 
 "Pierre Adrien Gerard." 
 
 "Right. Native of of of what is it then?" 
 
 "D'Ailly-le-Grange, on the road to Poictiers." 
 
 "Ah! ah! I know the place." 
 
 Jacquoffcrembled. 
 
 "In 1759" 
 
 Jacquot recovered himself. 
 
 " It is a very pretty little village." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What's your father's business?" 
 
 "My father and mother are dead, sir." 
 
 And Jacquot sighed. He never thought of his mother with- 
 out sighing. 
 
 "True! so you said. I see here, that you are an orphan. 
 Have you any brothers ^or sisters?" 
 
 "I have not a relation in the world. So you see, M. le 
 Sergent, I am quite ready to be a soldier." 
 
 "Not so ready as you think, my little friend because, you 
 see, on account of your age that's the thing. Still, as you 
 are an orphan, and have got your livret " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir! a livret is an excellent thing. Only look at 
 it. Here's the Maire's signature." 
 
 The sergeant gazed at him long, he seemed to hesitate he 
 looked first at the livret, then at the boy, whose large black 
 earnest eyes were fixed upon him he could not find in his 
 heart to part with so promising a subject. 
 
 "Let the worst come to the worst," thought he, "I can 
 write a line to his godfather, or to the Maire of his village, 
 who can claim him if they like when he has joined, provided 
 they give back his ten crowns. As far as my own responsi- 
 bility is concerned, the only thing of importance is his identity, 
 and of that there cannot be the slightest doubt. Let us look 
 at the description fifteen years of age are you fifteen?" 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Sergent." 
 
 "Brown hair?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! brown almost as black as jet." 
 
 "Eyes ditto, nose wide, nay, but my friend, your Maire 
 must have put on his spectacles the wrong side upwards. 
 Deuce take me if you have not an aquiline nose." 
 
 <( Yes, now, sir; but that day I had had a blow in the face." 
 
 "And that had swelled your nose, eh? Come, come, you'll 
 make a famous soldier! Here, my little drum- boy, take this 
 
212 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 glass of wine, and drink the King's health. Well done ! now 
 you are a soldier." 
 
 "Really and truly, mon officier?" 
 
 "Yes; you are enlisted." 
 
 Jacquot flung his cap into the air, shouting and jumping 
 for joy, he directly asked for a musket and cartridge-box. 
 The sergeant was enchanted, he laughed aloud, upon his mat- 
 tress ; then he took out his bag of grey cloth, which was lying 
 safe under his pillow, and counted out five crowns. 
 
 "There, my little friend, I cannot in conscience give you 
 more than half the bounty ; because, do you see, you are not 
 more than half a man ; but be easy, you shall be my little 
 quarter-master, I shall make it worth your while, if you be- 
 have well." 
 
 "Oh, M. le Sergent! you need give me nothing at all I 
 shall be quite contented." 
 
 Jacquot received his five crowns, and as he wrote a pretty 
 good hand, he inscribed in the sergeant's book the following 
 names and designations, taking care to copy them exactly from 
 the livret of his friend, the shepherd. 
 
 "Pierre Adrien Gerard, born the 6th of October, 1763, in 
 the parish of St. Hubert, Commune d' A illy-la- Grange, under 
 Chemilly ; son of Vincent Gerard, ploughboy, en son vivant, 
 and of Manette Jolifont his wife, both deceased, in the same 
 Commune ; and was baptized in the church of St. Hubert, 
 the 7th October, the same year ; which Pierre Adrien Gerard 
 has been by the Sieur Pierre Jelicot, his uncle and godfather, 
 hired as farming servant, and keeper of sheep ; and therefore 
 we have delivered unto him this present livret." 
 
 "Well, well, my little friend," said the sergeant, when Jac- 
 quot came to this place, "now, go and make up your bundle, 
 if you have any to make up, and don't fail to be in the market- 
 place at ten o'clock ; the roll-call will beat, the troops be in- 
 spected, and then we shall set out. By-the-bye, you little 
 rogue, what are you going to do with the money ? Don't go 
 and throw it away in drink." 
 
 "Oh, no! rnon Sergent, that I won't I am only going to 
 breakfast with an old friend." 
 
 And in a quarter of an hour Jacquot was jumping and 
 bounding in the middle of the sheep, flinging his cap into the 
 air, and crying, "I'm a soldier! I'm a soldier!" 
 
 He laid hold of his friend's hand, and forced him to run with 
 him as fast as he could to the first cabin in the village, deco- 
 rated with a whisp of straw which whisp of straw designated 
 a miserable public-house, where execrable wine was to be sold ; 
 but to Jacquot's imagination it was as Le Rocher de Cancale, 
 he drew chairs, officiously placed his friend at table -and 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 213 
 
 called for wine, cheese, apples, all that was most expensive 
 and recherche in the house. 
 
 "I must feast thee like a king," said he. 
 
 The hostess, who heard the crowns sounding in Jacquot's 
 pocket, bestirred herself at the fire, and soon served an ome- 
 lette au lard y and half a duck stuffed with turnips ; they moist- 
 ened this exquisite and magnificent repast with a bottle of in- 
 famous white wine, which appeared to them as nectar, and 
 finished the feast with some dry nuts, prunes, and figs. It 
 was the most sumptuous entertainment, of which they had, 
 either of them ever in their lives partaken. 
 
 The true Adrien Gerard felt as if he scarcely knew how to 
 look at his companion, whom he was tempted to regard as 
 something not much less than a prince. But at dessert, and 
 after he had paid the reckoning, which amounted to two francs, 
 Jacquot, with an air of dignity, explained the cause of his 
 good fortune. 
 
 "I am going to set out," said he, " immediately ; I am going 
 to make war upon the English, and to deliver America." 
 
 The shepherd began to cry. 
 
 "You are going to leave me," said he. 
 
 " Yes, because I am going to fight for the King and liberty." 
 
 "Well, I am very glad for your sake, if you like it ; I would 
 rather keep sheep." 
 
 "Oh? I like to fight, and come back a great general." 
 
 "Perhaps you'll come back an invalid." 
 
 "If I do I shall be covered with glory." 
 
 "But does that buy people bread?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ! and omelettes, and ducks, such as we have 
 just eaten. Do you see how rich I am ?" 
 
 He pulled out the thirteen francs that remained, and put 
 them into the shepherd's hand. 
 
 Half-past nine sounded on the village clock. 
 
 "You must, at least, come and bid good-bye to the dogs," 
 cried the shepherd. 
 
 The adieus were very pathetic. The two little fellows and 
 the two dogs caressed one another, all four almost equally af- 
 fected and the two boys cried heartily. Then, after many 
 embraces, they parted, the one, his crook on his shoulder, the 
 fleecy multitude before him, and his two faithful dogs by his 
 side, took his way to the wide downs, endeavouring to hide his 
 feelings by whistling as he went along ; while the other, his heart 
 full, but excited in the highest degree, returned to the village. 
 
 Many times they stopped, many times they looked back, 
 and each time the dogs would run back to Jacquot, and frolic 
 round him. At length a slight declivity hid the retiring shep- 
 herd from his sight. They never met again. 
 
214 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE MARCH. 
 
 THE population of the village had been, since seven o'clock, 
 assembled in the market-place; a detachment of six dragoons 
 having arrived to serve as escort to the new recruits; it 
 having been, from time immemorial, customary to treat these 
 candidates for glory and immortality, in the outset, very much 
 as if they were galley slaves. These dragoons, their swords 
 drawn, and pistols in their holsters, pranced about, and kept 
 the crowd in order; keeping, in the mean time, a sharp look- 
 out upon the young recruits; prepared to repress the first 
 evidences of repentance, or insubordination. And a still more 
 pressing duty it was to impose silence upon a troop of women 
 and girls, who filled the air with their cries and execrations 
 the softer sex, it may be observed, being usually the most 
 vehement in their expression of feeling upon such occasions 
 they having too much faith in the gallantry of the military 
 character, to fear any evil consequences, whatever they may 
 please to say. 
 
 The large space, thus kept open, was opposite the windows 
 of the Mairie of the village ; and within it were ranged in 
 two files of five men each, ten young country fellows in their 
 Sunday clothes, clean shirts, new shoes, and with an immense 
 cockade of red and white ribbons in their hats. Each had a 
 stick over his shoulder, at the end of which hung a little 
 bundle. Almost all of them had continued in the public- 
 house all night, and ha,d only left it for a few minutes to 
 prepare for their departure ; and even now they were plied 
 with liquor ; the inn-keeper handing the glass from one to the 
 other, while they awaited the signal from the church clock ; 
 which these ten great boobies, who had been now drunk 
 nearly fourteen hours, expected with all the maudlin ecstasy 
 of their condition ; scarcely able to keep their legs, but roaring 
 " Vive le Roi!" 
 
 Behind them in deep and mournful silence, their heads on 
 their breasts, their eyes stupidly bent on the earth, were four 
 other heroes crying as if their hearts would break; they were 
 tied in couples by the arms. They did not sing ; the time 
 for singing was already past. They had been enlisted in 
 their cups, and amid their songs and the time for repentance 
 was come but it was too late; they had received ten crowns, 
 they had drunk the king's health, and they must, bongr& 
 malgr, be heroes, and die in the hospital. 
 
 The recruiting sergeant, his feather in his cap, his sword 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 215 
 
 by his side, and his cane in his hand, marched proudly 
 up and down the market-place casting his eyes, from time 
 to time, upon his recruits, crying out " Attention! Form 
 in line!" 
 
 In the mean time, through the windows M. le Maire might 
 be seen in his small low salon ; placed before a little desk, 
 dictating, with infinite care, to a clerk in shirt sleeves and 
 wooden shoes, the list of his enrolments, and the route to the 
 next town, with which the sergeant was to be furnished. 
 
 "Ten minutes to ten five minutes to ten a few minutes 
 only are wanting." The sergeant had pulled his large silver 
 watch a dozen times out of his fob, and kept muttering 
 
 between his teeth, " The d 1! the little rascal has cheated 
 
 me, after all ! He took the money, and was off like a grey- 
 hound. I shall see no more of him, and I shall have to make 
 good the five crowns, and lose the five I should have got for 
 my recruit. Ten crowns dead loss! A pretty bargain! 
 Attention ! these scoundrels are all drunk. Dragoons, back 
 with the crowd; that little monkey was worth all these 
 drunken boobies put together. But what a fool I was to let 
 him have the money! He was such a fine little fellow. 
 Dragoons, silence those blubbering women! Silence! Ten 
 o'clock! Attention! Form in line!" 
 
 The women groaned and cried, the young girls sobbed and 
 wept ; the crowd pressed forward to embrace sons, brothers, 
 friends. The dragoons push the crowd back, the crowd 
 pushes against the dragoons. M. le Maire advances to his 
 window, presents the sergeant with the lists and the route ; 
 the inn-keeper sends his boy for another pitcher of wine ; the 
 sergeant goes through the roll-call, and every new son of 
 Mars, reeling and hiccuping, answers. The roll-call is 
 finished, the drum beats, the shrill fife sounds, the sergeant, 
 with loud sonorous voice, cries, "To the right face " 
 
 When he is interrupted by the cries of "Here I am! Here 
 I am, mon Sergent! Don't set out without me." And a 
 little peasant, panting for breath, his cheeks crimson, and his 
 whole frame trembling with impatience, slips under the body 
 of a dragoon's horse, bends down to avoid a stroke from the 
 flat of the dragoon's sabre, and flings himself, sans f agon, into 
 the arms of the recruiting sergeant. 
 
 " Ah, ah! my little grenadier, you are rather too late for 
 the roll-call." 
 
 " Mon Sergent, those men on horseback would not let me 
 pass." 
 
 "The d l! Then you are not a scoundrel, you little 
 rogue join then. To the right face! March!" 
 
 The drum and fife make a tremendous noise, the inn-keeper 
 
216 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 and his boy collect the glasses, the sergeant hastily swallows 
 a cup of wine, and they march. 
 
 The ten bumpkins, roaring a military song, holding two by 
 two, and reeling one against the other : Jean Louis Jacquot, 
 now Adrien Gerard, marching behind, his head erect, his eyes 
 sparkling, his cheeks glowing followed by the four heroes, 
 already repentant, bound like thieves, each one guarded by a 
 dragoon, and blubbering like a calf. The triumphant proces- 
 sion, preceded by two of the dragoons on horseback, penetrates 
 the crowd, consisting of women and girls of every age, in 
 white caps and short jackets; and of men in blouses, some 
 looking on with an air of stupid astonishment, the rest con- 
 sisting principally of the women and girls, mixing vehement 
 abuse with the loudest lamentations ; sometimes threatening, 
 and even striking at the dragoons with their fists, but run- 
 ning back at the slightest menace from their formidable 
 sabres. 
 
 And so they marched away to the music of the fife and 
 drum dragoons before and dragoons behind in the midst of 
 a perfect hurricane of tears, maledictions, drunken songs, and 
 cries of " Vive le Roi!" Fourteen village heroes and little 
 Jacquot following, staring about, and wondering why some 
 wept and some sang, why some reeled about at liberty, and 
 some were bound like thieves, and guarded by dragoons with 
 drawn swords. Jean Louis Jacquot was destined to see 
 many things in this world that were as incomprehensible. 
 
 Three days' march had scarcely been effected, before the 
 little rogue was almost as clever as the sergeant, in all that 
 concerned the management of the recruits; he was often sent 
 forward to order supper and lodging, and kept the accounts 
 of the little community. 
 
 On the road he played with the soldiers; and as he was 
 always lively, alert, and good-humoured, the soldiers, during 
 their halts, amused themselves with teaching him the manual 
 exercise ; and the little fellow had so ardent a desire to learn, 
 that before the eighth day he went through the whole very 
 tolerably, kept the step like an old soldier, and played on the 
 fife like a child of the regiment. His lively spirit, his frank 
 and resolute temper, his decided vocation for the profession 
 of arms, and the strength and courage he showed upon all 
 occasions, soon gave him a kind of superiority over his com- 
 panions, men though they were, and he a mere child. 
 
 He soon ceased to follow the recruits, but might be found 
 at their head, giving the words of command in good set military 
 terms, scolding the indolent, and laughing at the awkward. 
 The sergeant was amused beyond measure ; and all the soldiers 
 let him do as he pleased, because his age and a kind of childish 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 217 
 
 simplicity in his air, seemed to render this little presumption 
 of no consequence. 
 
 Sometimes they would give him a sabre, or a carbine when 
 he took the command; sometimes the horse-soldier, who led 
 the march, would dismount and place him on his horse, then 
 he called himself, and assumed the airs of a general. He was 
 obeyed at first as a good joke, and by-and-by he was obeyed 
 in good earnest, and much more than people were aware. 
 
 In all the circumstances of life, he who knows how to make 
 the best of it, will find himself happy, even in almost the 
 lowest condition ; and this was an art our young soldier most 
 thoroughly understood. 
 
 The sergeant became every day more and more attached to 
 him, till at length he could not smoke a pipe or drink a glass 
 in comfort, without his little grenadier ; he placed him at his 
 right hand at supper ; made him share his bed, because it was 
 usually the best at quarters ; and as the favourite of the master 
 is usually well received by all, Jacquot was caressed and 
 happy. 
 
 After ten days' march, the company reached Limoges. 
 
 At Limoges there was a grand depot for recruits all the 
 recruiting sergeants who had been sent into the south and 
 west of France to enlist volunteers, had orders to assemble 
 there with their contingents. Our sergeant appeared with 
 his fourteen braves. 
 
 There he was to separate from them ; and as he belonged 
 to a regiment which made part of the first expedition, he had 
 orders to be at Toulon the 1st of April, where a French army 
 was already assembled ; and a fleet of twelve ships of the line 
 ready, under the command of the Comte d'Estaing, to convey 
 them to America. 
 
 The sergeant, therefore, had no time to lose. He arrived 
 at Limoges the 21st of March; it was impossible to proceed 
 before the 22d; he had then only ten days remaining, in 
 which to accomplish a march of 150 leagues, exactly fifteen 
 leagues a day. His instructions, it is true, permitted him to 
 take advantage of any means of transport that might present 
 themselves ; and as he was an old soldier, and consequently 
 an old traveller, there was no doubt of his managing to ac- 
 complish the distance in the time. However, as he had not a 
 moment to lose, he took leave of his recruits the very evening 
 of his arrival at Limoges, having entertained them at supper 
 at his own expense, by-way of farewell. 
 
 But Jacquot, whom we shall henceforward call Gerard, 
 seized the sergeant by the skirt of his coat, crying out that 
 he would never, never quit his good friend, that he would go 
 and fight the English too ; and that if any one pretended to 
 
 p 
 
218 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 hinder him, he would bite, kick, and fight him, and be after 
 the sergeant in spite of them all. 
 
 The company laughed ; but the sergeant, though he seemed 
 to take little notice, felt his heart swell, and the tears come 
 into his eyes, at the idea of abandoning the intelligent, intrepid, 
 and affectionate boy, whose only guide and protector he had 
 been ; and for whom he entertained the most singular affection. 
 
 " Will you be quiet, you little fool?" cried he, pushing the 
 child away ; ' ' have you to learn that a soldier must do his 
 duty? Silence! hold your tongue! drink your glass, and 
 keep your place." 
 
 He said this harshly, but as he spoke he put his large hand 
 upon the little boy's head, in a manner not to be mistaken 
 it was an assurance of protection ; the little fellow understood 
 his friend, and said not a word more. 
 
 " He is a knowing little lad," thought the sergeant; " we 
 shall see." 
 
 Shortly after he bade the company good-night ; and taking 
 Gerard by the ear, gave him a little push, saying, * ' Come, 
 sir, march! and see me home." 
 
 But he did not go home ; he went with little Gerard to the 
 officer in command; to whom he had on his arrival presented 
 the list of recruits. 
 
 " Mon Commandant" said he, " you were surprised, per- 
 haps, that I enlisted this little rogue. He is good for nothing 
 but to be a drum-boy." 
 
 " True, Sergeant, what do you mean us to do with this 
 child? It will be three years before he will have strength to 
 hold a musket." 
 
 " Not quite so long as that, Commandant, for he is a stout 
 fellow enough ; but do you see, this is the truth, I engaged 
 this little shaver because we are related. Yes, Commandant, 
 he is my nephew, and I have asked the Captain's permission 
 to take him with me to my regiment, that I may look after 
 him. The captain has consented, Commandant; and if you 
 will but permit me to take him with me, all will be right." 
 
 " Very well, Sergeant, I don't see any great harm in that; 
 only, unluckily, you have put him upon the roll he has re- 
 ceived the bounty. Your number will not be right, and I 
 shall be short one man." 
 
 " That's easily settled, Commandant, the child is under 
 age, you can strike his name out of the roll as null, and as he 
 has only received five crowns " 
 
 " Not at all, Sergeant, your nephew is regularly enlisted, 
 but he can change his destination, so you may take him with 
 you if you please, at your own expense, mind; I will take 
 care of the rest." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 219 
 
 "Much obliged to you, Commandant; salute your officer, 
 Gerard." 
 
 The commandant struck the sergeant on the shoulder, 
 complimenting him upon the appearance of his nephew, gave 
 the child a little good advice, and dismissed them. And 
 thus Gerard was provided with a protector and an uncle at 
 once. 
 
 When they were in the street, Gerard sprang into the 
 sergeant's arms. 
 
 " Then I'm going with you, my good friend?" 
 
 "So it seems, because I do believe you've bewitched me. 
 Yes, yes, you shall go with me to Toulon. We'll go together 
 to America; but don't be afraid, morbleuT 
 
 " Afraid! Sergeant, what should I be afraid of?" 
 
 " I'll teach you your exercise, how to manoeuvre, how to 
 charge, and you'll make a famous soldier, I will answer for it. 
 But mind, as long as you live, you are my nephew, and I 
 your uncle, Roche Bertrand Jolimont, and you are to be a 
 brave boy, and to do me credit." 
 
 "Yes, Sergeant! yes, uncle! yes, my best friend in the 
 world! You shall see, I'll be as brave as a lion. Where 
 shall we find the English? Are they a great way off?" 
 
 The sergeant laughed, and struck his little cheek ; and the 
 next morning they entered the first public carriage they could 
 find, and began their journey. 
 
 Sometimes in the imperial of the diligence, sometimes on 
 return post-horses, sometimes in a cart, or on an ass, mule, 
 in a berlin, or in a coach, the adroit sergeant and the little 
 Gerard swiftly and cheerfully accomplished the journey from 
 Limoges to Toulon. 
 
 The little man reaped instruction, and learned self-depen- 
 dence and address, from every circumstance that occurred; 
 he began to form juster ideas of the world, and juster ideas of 
 himself. The manner in which they travelled, the necessity 
 under which they lay to enter into communication with the 
 inhabitants, the passengers, the travellers they encountered, 
 the necessity for seizing every opportunity of travelling fast, 
 and at little expense ; and the continual change in their modes 
 of transport ; all these contributed, not a little, to the practical 
 education of a young fellow, naturally intelligent and enter- 
 prising. 
 
 It may be doubted whether the millionaire, rolling in his 
 travelling carriage and four, with all appliances and means to 
 boot, would find the way from Limoges to Toulon quite so 
 piquante and amusing: after all said and done, the man with- 
 out difficulties always wants something of that seasoning of 
 life, which the man with difficulties finds. 
 
220 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 % 
 
 The sergeant, as he had calculated, arrived at Toulon the 
 31st of March. Seven-and-twenty days ago, Jean Louis, 
 scarcely twelve years of age, had fled from his village, naked 
 and without a sou-piece, his whole wordly estate upon his 
 shoulders. Now how has his destiny changed! And thus it 
 is with some men. Fortune seems to seize them by force, and 
 urge them forward in their career; rather than to guide and 
 assist their own exertions ; or perhaps, we should rather say, 
 that like Alexander dragging forward the priestess to the 
 tripod of Delphi these men have something resolute and 
 determined about them, which constrains Fortune ; and obliges 
 her to return what answer they please. 
 
 Next morning Jolimont resumed his place in his regiment, 
 where Gerard was admitted as one of the drum-boys; his 
 uniform was furnished at the expense of the king, he drew his 
 pay and belonged to the state. Comprehending with no little 
 feeling of pride, that he counted in the world as a man ; and 
 in the state as a citizen. 
 
 Eleven days after his arrival at Toulon, the Comte d'Estaing 
 received orders from Paris to set sail, as soon as the weather 
 would permit. The 12th of April, all the troops were em- 
 barked; the 19th, the weather being favourable, a fresh breeze 
 blowing from the north-west, the sea bounding and sparkling 
 under a brilliant sun, the fleet in full sail quitted the harbour 
 of Toulon, saluted the town with a few discharges of artillery, 
 and soon, one vast floating city, it left the shores of France 
 the shores, which gradually sank blue in the distant horizon , 
 disappearing with the innumerable crowds of spectators, that 
 were clustered upon the rocks, the mole, the spires, and the 
 roofs of the town. 
 
 Bon voyage, pauvre petit ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT is not the intention of the writer of this little tale to enter 
 into the history of that most astounding half century which 
 followed the American war ; and this would be necessary if 
 all the steps of our little hero were followed in detail. We 
 shall, therefore, borrow the seven-leagued boots of the fable 
 to carry us through several of the ensuing years, merely 
 noting the principal events which occurred in the life of young 
 Gerard himself. 
 
 The fleet sails majestic upon the wide waters, and in the 
 month of July attains another world, and enters the river 
 Delaware, having endured the horrors of a tremendous 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 221 
 
 tempest; during which little Gerard neither felt, nor mani- 
 fested more terror, nor, perhaps, quite so much as some other 
 people. A naval engagement with the English followed, 
 where Gerard first beheld ships in action, vomiting forth 
 thunder, smoke, flame, hot shot, grenades, cannon balls, 
 misery, death, and destruction upon each other. The English 
 were, of course, victorious ; and the French, of course, endea- 
 voured to deny it, or to account for it. 
 
 Of those who survived this desperate encounter, the Comte 
 d'Estaing, a very brave man, but a very indifferent com- 
 mander, contrived to throw a division upon terra firma; 
 among which was our little friend, now first beating his drum 
 upon the American shores. And, soon afterwards, he had 
 the honour to drum before the company to which Jolimont 
 belonged, at the famous siege of Savannah. 
 
 Always near his adopted uncle, who loved him like a father, 
 and showed it in a thousand ways, and in none more than in 
 a friendly but sharp correction of all his little follies, the boy 
 learned war and life. He was already accustomed to the 
 horrible and heroic charivari of arms, and he mounted the 
 breach, holding the skirt of Jolimont 's uniform. Alas! a ball 
 struck his protector dead at his feet, and Savannah was not 
 taken. 
 
 The brave little Gerard wept for his protector, as he once 
 had wept for his tender mother, but he did not find himself 
 deserted ; the whole regiment were his friends, they had seen 
 him mount the breach, and the very officers noticed and be- 
 friended him ; he became the enfant gate of the whole division. 
 
 The army separated, the regiments marched different ways : 
 Gerard beat his drum sometimes for Rochambeau, sometimes 
 for St. Simon, sometimes for Kosiousko, Lafayette Wash- 
 ington himself! At last his drum beat to victory, and he, in 
 his turn, learned the rapture of seeing an enemy in retreat. 
 
 At sixteen strong, brave, an excellent and already a very 
 tall and handsome youth, he quitted his drumsticks, and was 
 received into the ranks. He knew pretty well how to handle 
 a musket, and he knew some other things, not so common 
 then as they are now, he knew how to read and write ; more- 
 over he had conduct, coolness, habits of order; by 1782 he 
 saw, upon his own shoulders, what had dazzled him so much 
 upon the shoulders of Jolimont, the galons of a sergeant. At 
 seventeen he was a sergeant himself, replacing the veteran 
 who fell at Savannah, and who, rude as were his tones, and 
 coarse as were his habits, had been a good and generous friend 
 to him. 
 
 " Ah!" thought Gerard, as he put on his new uniform, " if 
 my brother could but see me ! If my father did but know " 
 
222 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 At last victory declared herself completely upon the side of 
 the Americans. An immense continent became independent, 
 and on the 20th of January, 1782, peace was concluded. 
 
 In the following year, 1783, peace became general in Europe, 
 and France, Spain, and Holland laid down their arms ; and 
 the seeds of philosophy scattered by Voltaire and his school, 
 had time to take root; and produce their proper harvest in 
 their turn. 
 
 The Americans had been indebted to the French officers 
 and soldiers for almost all the military knowledge they 
 possessed; they had furnished them with arms, and taught 
 them their use ; and now that hostilities had terminated, the 
 Americans wero anxious to retain some of the young French 
 officers among them, in order to serve as drill sergeants for 
 the citizen soldiers of their infant republic. 
 
 Having nothing to do in Europe, many solicited and ob- 
 tained permission to remain in the United States ; and several 
 non-commissioned officers continued with their chiefs ; it being 
 understood that they were under a kind of undefined furlough, 
 which was not to prejudice their rights, rank, or promotion in 
 the French army. 
 
 The non-commissioned officers and soldiers, of the best cha- 
 racter, were of course selected upon this occasion ; and among 
 the rest Gerard, who, having entered the service in the quality 
 of nephew to the sergeant Jolimont, had as such been univer- 
 sally received in the regiment. Jolimont being now dead, 
 and the young man engaged in his profession, it was difficult 
 to go back upon all the complicated acts and circumstances, 
 which had given him a name ; and attached him to a family 
 upon which he had no claim. Poor little Jacquot had cer- 
 tainly most innocently and ignorantly committed this impos- 
 ture ; but now that he was eighteen, and had acquired expe- 
 rience and knowledge of the world, he felt all its importance 
 and danger. He often determined frankly to confess the 
 whole affair; which certainly, in the manner in which it had 
 occurred, could carry no imputation upon his honour : but he 
 paused when he considered the painful situation, in which so 
 important a confession would place him ; it would completely 
 annul his present engagements, and put him once more en- 
 tirely into his father's power until he should be of age. And 
 why (the young soldier could not help asking himself) should 
 he, satisfied as he was with his destiny, risk the happiness and 
 well-being of his whole life, for the sake of a confession which 
 could serve no human being ? 
 
 He hesitated, and every day that he hesitated rendered it 
 more difficult to break silence. He ended by keeping his 
 secret. Was he right? Was he wrong? 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 223 
 
 Gerard remained in the United States with his captain; 
 and found it impossible, consequently, to satisfy himself by in- 
 quiries after his dear Nicolas, for whom he entertained the 
 tenderest affection. 
 
 He remained therefore drilling the inhabitants of the United 
 States; and, in return for the art military which he taught, 
 he imbibed, upon his side, what was of a thousand times more 
 value, a rectitude of principle and an independence of mind, 
 which formed his manners and character, and prepared him 
 to take an honourable and worthy part in the gigantic events 
 of the ensuing thirty years. With a good education, Gerard 
 would have become a distinguished man ; but that essential 
 point was always wanting. 
 
 The want was to him, as it has always proved, except in a 
 few of the rarest instances, an invincible obstacle, an inexpug- 
 nable barrier, against which bravery, conduct, perseverance, 
 and probity were arrayed in vain. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE NIGHT AT HOME. 
 
 THE French Revolution had begun. 
 
 The Bastille had fallen, Louis XVI. had sworn to the con- 
 stitution amidst the assembled multitudes of the Champ de 
 Mars the princes and nobles had madly, or basely, forsaken 
 their country the Tuileries, the palace of her kings, had been 
 desecrated, sacked, and inundated with the blood of the brave 
 Swiss ; Louis and his family were in the temple indignant 
 Europe had flown to arms, and the Duke of Brunswick had 
 published his inconceivable manifesto in short it was the 
 opening of the year 1792. 
 
 An aviso, that is to say, in plain English, a small vessel, 
 long, narrow, light, and an excellent sailer, bearing the tri- 
 coloured flag, entered the port of Boston, about the middle of 
 March. It announced that war was rekindled in Europe, and 
 summoned all French officers, yet remaining in the United 
 States, to rally round the banners of their country. 
 
 The manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick was admirably 
 calculated to rouse a spirit of resistance, if none had existed 
 before. The call of their country was answered with shouts 
 of enthusiasm, and the ardent and susceptible Frenchmen em- 
 barked in the aviso, embracing one another, shedding tears of 
 rage and indignation, and swearing to shed the last drop of 
 their blood, and to establish liberty in France, as they had 
 already done in America an oath not exactly kept to the 
 letter. 
 
224 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE 
 
 Excited, trembling with joy, tears, and a thousand mixed 
 emotions almost choking him, Gerard placed fifty louis, the 
 whole of his saving, in his sash. 
 
 "This," said he, "is for Nicolas this shall establish him 
 in the world. Poor little Nicolas! my mother loved him so! 
 How often did she recommend him to her poor Jacquot's care ! 
 And Jacquot took good care of him Jacquot fought for him ! 
 Jacquot took his little faults upon himself, and was often 
 flogged in his place and thou didst love thy poor Jacquot, 
 dear little Nicholas, and cried heartily when they flogged him. 
 Poor little Nicholas ! I will be all my mother hoped. I will 
 find money enough for thee I will be thy protector, guide 
 thy father ; and thou wilt love me again as thou usedst to 
 do." 
 
 Gerard was now standing upon the deck of the vessel, gazing 
 upon the fast fading shores of America. One only person in 
 the world understood his feelings, and shared his confidence, 
 and that man now stood by his side and pressed his hand. 
 This man was a young surgeon, whom the love of improvement, 
 united to the strong friendship he bore for Gerard, had de- 
 tained nine years in America. 
 
 When little Gerard, with so many others, had embarked on 
 board the French fleet under the command of the Comte 
 d'E stain <r, he happened to meet upon the same vessel a boy of 
 nearly his own age, and much in the same destitute condition. 
 This boy, "the child of nobody," had been attached to the 
 expedition as an aide d'apothicaire; and the equality of their 
 ages, the similarity of their circumstances, to say nothing of 
 the possession of two most excellent hearts, had attached these 
 poor children to each other. First, they had been playfellows ; 
 then, companions; lastly, close, warm, sincere, unalterable 
 friends. 
 
 Nature and destiny had rendered them as nearly equals as 
 two human beings can well be, though their dispositions and 
 tastes differed in almost every respect. 
 
 Little Gerard was all fire, bravery, and enterprise Der- 
 vieux all reflection, coolness, and inquiry. The one was de- 
 voted to war, the other to science. " Only let me live to be 
 once an officer !" cried one. ** Only let me live to be the surgeon 
 of the regiment !" cried the other. Such were their earliest 
 aspirations ; while one still handled the drumsticks, and the 
 other, in his little white apron, was pounding at the mortar. 
 
 And it must be confessed that, by their good conduct, their 
 perseverance, their application, their assiduity, they both did 
 all that in them lay to attain these objects of their ambition; 
 alas! to find what, beyond a miserable sick bed! empty 
 purses, and the support of charity ! 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 225 
 
 About three hundred men, of which above forty were officers, 
 composed the little division, now traversing the ocean to en- 
 gage in the hideous quarrel which was impending. They were 
 for the most part veterans ; their moustaches whitened in dis- 
 tant climates ; and Gerard and Dervieux, who had left Europe 
 children, were the only young men in the band. 
 
 They were now seven-and-twenty years of age, both in the 
 bloom of youth and spring of life the time of enthusiastic 
 dreams, ardent hopes, and generous aspirations. 
 
 "My friend," cried Dervieux, "the reign of liberty is com- 
 mencing in France! We have seen her rise from her cradle 
 in America, we have been since destined by Heaven to pro- 
 tect her first footsteps. We are young, brave, citizens, and 
 Frenchmen. We will drag her triumphant car to the confines 
 of Europe !" 
 
 It was Dervieux who was seized with this unusual burst of 
 eloquence; to which Gerard replied in a style rather more 
 condensed and decided. 
 
 "Yes, my good friend, and man, woman, and child will 
 salute us as we pass, and call us the companions of Washington 
 and Lafayette." 
 
 The wind fills their sails, the light vessel skims like a sea- 
 bird over the waters, the blue coast of France appears ; cries, 
 tears, transports burst from the amiable and excitable French- 
 men. They enter the Loire, and anchor in the port of Nantes. 
 
 What recollections for Gerard! Motionless, mute, lost in 
 his reflections, he looked at the port, the citizens, as if arriv- 
 ing from another planet; and his beating heart seemed to 
 seek for his father in every old man he saw ; and forgetting 
 the lapse of years, in every child he thought he beheld his 
 Nicolas. 
 
 The cry to arms had sounded, and all France was aroused, 
 not as when he left it recruiting and enlisting, drinking at 
 the cabaret, and selling themselves for ten crown-pieces a 
 head. The cry had gone forth, "Brunswick ! country! liberty! 
 France!" and every ardent, generous heart flew to defend the 
 banners of freedom ; and that <*rand palladium of national in- 
 dependence, the right of national self-government. Each 
 man bought his own arms, paid his own expenses, learned the 
 exercise by his own choice, and aspired to be a soldier as to 
 the highest of honours ; because to be a soldier was no longer 
 to be a poor slave, selling his blood for sixpence a day ; it was 
 to be a son of the great nation ! it was to fight for the common 
 family ! Alas ! alas ! generous and brief delusion ! 
 
 The little company, just arrived from America, had no 
 sooner landed, than they received orders to advance by forced 
 marches upon Paris ; where the corps d'armee were organiz- 
 
226 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 ing, which were to be directed, with all speed, upon Cham- 
 pagne; now threatened by the Prussian army, commanded 
 by the Duke of Brunswick. 
 
 The officers, all on fire to meet the enemy, took post for 
 Paris; the rest of the company, soldiers, and non-commis- 
 sioned officers, were obliged to be more deliberate in their 
 motions. They advanced, however, by forced marches, and 
 arrived the first day at Ancenis, the second day at Engrande, 
 and the next at Angers. And now Gerard was close upon 
 his own village; and almost standing upon his father's threshold. 
 
 We understand him well enough, by this time, to know 
 what was passing in his heart. 
 
 In the evening, after muster, he presented himself to the 
 sub-lieutenant, who commanded the corps voice trembling, 
 anxious eyes, and cap in hand. He asked for two days' leave, 
 to see a friend, he dared not articulate the word family, pro- 
 mising to join at La Fleche, where the corps would be on its 
 fifth day's march. 
 
 Gerard was too good a soldier, too punctual in his duty, too 
 regular in his conduct, to be refused so slight a favour. He 
 obtained the desired permission, flew to embrace Dervieux, 
 and to collect his little fortune; and then, trembling with 
 impatience, he set out. He carried gold, he was sure to be 
 well received ; he shall again behold the brother so tenderly 
 beloved; for two nights he shall be sheltered by the same 
 roof, and share once more the same bed ! 
 
 He arrived at the village. 
 
 It was one of those clear bright nights, where on a deep 
 blue sky the stars are spread abroad, shining like living eyes, 
 the moon rolling her full round orb among their sparkling 
 multitude. It was past eleven o'clock, not a breath stirring, 
 all profoundly still and calm, every village door was shut, 
 every village eye closed; Gerard well recollected the little 
 church, with its steeple, vane, and painted weathercock, once 
 so beautiful to his infant fancy, now bathed and glittering in 
 the moonbeams. 
 
 He paused a moment, wept, and then passed on. 
 
 The little village burying-ground was in his way, peopled 
 with its simple black crosses, blessed sign of hope for those 
 who sleep below ; but the monuments of men pass away like 
 their generations, and the cross which had marked his mother's 
 grave was there no more. 
 
 He looked round him, gathered a green branch, planted -it 
 at the head of the little'hillock of turf, and felt satisfied; 
 ignorant that, in the course of the last fifteen years, other 
 victims had been laid in that tomb ! Oh, absence ! Oh, time ! 
 flowing, ever-flowing, incomprehensible time! 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 227 
 
 He came now into the principal street, and turned to look 
 round him, but he scarcely knew where he was ; the cottages 
 were all altered, some improved, some decayed. The vine 
 now hangs over the white-washed front, of what was once the 
 dirty, ruinous mansion of the sluggard and drunkard ; but he 
 knew it, even under that disguise he knew it, it was the cot- 
 tage where he was born, it was his mother's home. Oh joy! 
 No more misery! Then his father is rich, or perhaps his 
 brother ! he approaches, he listens at that same window through 
 which he had made his escape so long ago. He hears young 
 voices, a little infant cries for its mother, the mother's loving 
 tones soon soothe the baby to sleep, other little ones waken 
 and laugh, and all is quiet again. 
 
 Ah ! then his brother is married, that soft voice is the voice 
 of the young wife and mother. Those are his children, that 
 is his infant ; if it is a boy, his name is Jacquot ! 
 
 Gerard wipes his eyes, pauses a moment to recover Jiimself, 
 and then knocks softly at the door. 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " A friend! open the door." 
 
 " A friend! What do you want?" 
 
 "I want I want, only to hear your voice! only to see 
 your face ! only to embrace you !" 
 
 A silence of a few moments followed, at last the door 
 opened. A young man appeared ; a young woman following 
 him, her sucking infant asleep upon her bosom. They examine 
 the soldier with a mixed expression of curiosity and eagerness. 
 Gerard looked earnestly at them, not a feature ! It was not 
 Nicolas ! Yet assuredly it was the cottage. 
 
 " Sir, this is not, then, the house of Maitre Jacques, the 
 weaver; son of Mathurin Jacques, and grandson of Andre 
 Jacques ?" 
 
 " Non, M. le Soldat; I don't know the name." 
 
 " You don't even know the name! At least you know the 
 name of Nicolas, the son of Jacques?" 
 
 " Not of our village; you must be mistaken, sir." 
 
 Gerard was silenced. 
 
 Can it be possible ? Can he have mistaken the village ? Is 
 he in another Commune ? While he stood almost speechless 
 with disappointment and consternation, a very old man, 
 almost bent double with age, who had not been in bed, but 
 had remained sitting over the fire, approached the door, with 
 trembling steps, supporting himself upon his staff; and asked 
 in a broken voice, "What does that young soldier want? I 
 am hard of hearing; tell me, children, what he wants." 
 
 * ' Father, he is asking after Maitre Jacques, son of Jacques, 
 and grandson of Andre Jacques : he says that he was a weaver, 
 
228 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 and we know no Jacques in the village, nor any weaver in 
 the Commune" 
 
 "Ah! very true, children: but this young soldier is right. 
 Then it is a long time, M. le Militaire, since you passed 
 through this village?" 
 
 "Fifteen years, sir." 
 
 "So long? my good fellow: and you were very young 
 then if my eyes do not deceive me, but I am an old man ; I 
 knew Maitre Jacques. Yes, he was a weaver, and he lived 
 here." 
 
 "Exactly so! Exactly so, sir; and what has become of 
 him?" 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 " He is dead! What! did he die here?" 
 
 " Oh no! he was a bad man. He had left the village." 
 
 " Left the village! and why?" 
 
 "Nobody would have anything more to do with him. No- 
 body would buy his cloth. Nobody could endure him, after 
 he had murdered his own son." 
 
 "Murdered his own son! Good Heavens! did he murder 
 Nicolas?" 
 
 "No, no, not that one, but the eldest, Jacquot." 
 
 " Jacquot! me! Good Heavens! what are you saying?" 
 
 " He was a passionate good-for-nothing fellow, particularly 
 when he was in liquor. His wife died of misery some months 
 before. One day, the neighbours were obliged to tear his 
 son out of his hands, they saved the poor child for that time ; 
 but next morning the child was gone! His father never 
 seemed to miss him or to inquire after him ; but the other 
 child, Nicolas, screamed and cried as if his heart would break : 
 and we all suspected " 
 
 " Stop! stop, sir, Maitre Jacques was innocent, Jacquot 
 had made his escape, I know him very well, sir; he is a 
 soldier, we served in the same regiment." 
 
 Gerard could say no more ; his father was dead, suspected 
 of a most terrible crime. What he had said was sufficient to 
 clear his memory, but he was dead, and Gerard hid his fore- 
 head in his hands ; and his sighs and sobs revealed the truth 
 to the villagers. They stood looking at one another, and 
 seeming to say, " Can it possibly be him?" 
 
 After a few moments Gerard recovered himself; the young 
 woman, her eyes full of tears, presented him with a glass of 
 wine; he accepted, without knowing what he did; then he 
 got up, and walked up and down the room for some minutes ; 
 then he sat down again, and asked where Maitre Jacques 
 went to. 
 . "Nobody knows, sir," said the old man; "he sold his 
 
A SOLDIER'S FOIWTUNE. 229 
 
 house, and the little vineyard and field behind it. He received 
 from the Maire and the cur6 copies of all the aetes of his family 
 that he could possibly want ; and then one day, without taking 
 leave of anybody, not even of Jean his father-in-law, or 
 Simonde his own neighbour, he set off with Nicolas, and 
 nobody ever saw him again." 
 
 "Never saw him again, sir! Then how do you know he 
 is dead?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, M. le Militaire, I meant nobody saw 
 him again during his life- time. After his death it was a 
 different thing." 
 
 "After his death!" 
 
 "Yes, sir, which happened not very long ago, about six 
 years since. M. le Maire was summoned to prepare the 
 proces-verbal of a murder which had been committed in a 
 public-house, about half-way between this and the farm of 
 Grand Pre, on the road to Chalonne ; as I was still adjoint, 
 M. le Maire sent for me, and accompanied by the garde 
 champetre, we went together to the public-house, which is 
 only about half a league from hence; and, in the body of 
 the murdered man, we both recognised the weaver, Maitre 
 Jacques." 
 
 He stopped, but Gerard preserved a mournful silence, and 
 he thus went on 
 
 " At that time we thought this murder a judgment; I see 
 now we were mistaken. However, the body was buried by 
 the side of Jean, the father of Madeleine, and there was a 
 service at the expense of the parish." 
 
 " At the expense of the parish! had Maitre Jacques, then, 
 nothing about him?" 
 
 "It seems he had been robbed, as well as murdered, for his 
 clothes were decent enough; and he had not the smallest 
 piece of money about him." 
 
 * ' But had he no papers ? Nothing to indicate where he lived?" 
 
 "Absolutely nothing, sir. If you wish to consult the 
 proces-verbal, my son will take you to the Maire to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I should wish to see it, and to have a copy of 
 it. Were the assassins taken?" 
 
 "No, they had plenty of time; and it is easy to escape 
 from a solitary public-house. All that could be learned from 
 the master of it was, that the murder was the consequence of 
 a quarrel. Maitre Jacques was so violent, particularly when 
 he had been drinking " 
 
 4 ' Let him rest in peace, my good friend. And Nicolas ! 
 poor Nicolas! what became of him? Did you never hear 
 anything more of him?" 
 
230 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 A long silence. 
 
 Gerard appeared perfectly overwhelmed, the young woman 
 was more and more affected, She spoke a word to her husband, 
 put her sleeping infant into its cradle ; then drawing a long 
 wooden table into the middle of the room, she covered it with 
 a clean cloth, and placed knives and forks upon it ; and while 
 she prepared supper, her husband drew a mattress from the 
 bed, and was going to place it in a corner of the room. These 
 preparations recalled Gerard to himself. He thought the 
 family were going to rest, and he got up hastily. 
 
 " Where are you going, sir?" said the young woman. 
 
 "I am going to beg a bed from Simonde ; she lives opposite." 
 
 "Alas, sir! she was a very good neighbour, but she has 
 been dead this two years." 
 
 " She too! and Mathurin?" 
 
 "Oh! she has been gone this four years. She was very 
 old." 
 
 " And Marie?" 
 
 " She is alive, but she is deaf and blind." 
 
 Gerard asked no more questions. 
 
 "Do us the honour, sir," said the young woman, with that 
 kind and courteous hospitality, so beautiful a characteristic of 
 the common people, at the same time making a curtsy, and 
 pushing a chair towards the table, "Do us the honour, sir, 
 to stay with us, my husband is preparing your bed ; I believe 
 it will not be the first time, that you have slept under this 
 roof." 
 
 Gerard accepted with a gesture of gratitude, but his heart 
 was too full to speak ; he placed himself at table the old man 
 and the young couple sat down with him. They served him, 
 in silence, with some of an excellent ragout of rabbits, for his 
 grief seemed to inspire them with a certain awe. Two or three 
 times did he raise his hand mechanically to his mouth, and as 
 often the un tasted morsel fell from his lips. 
 
 Thinking to cheer him, the old man made a sign to his son 
 to fill the glasses; then raising his head, bent towards his 
 breast by the heavy weight of many years, with a shaking hand 
 he advanced his glass towards Gerard, saying 
 
 " Come, sir, as he has the good luck to be yet in the world, 
 and the honour to belong to your regiment, let us drink to 
 Jacquot, the son of Jacques, and tell him he will always be 
 welcome in his native village." 
 
 "Never!" cried Gerard, rising from his seat in an agony 
 of despair which frightened them all ; " Never ! he is the 
 cause of all this misery but he did not intend it." 
 
 He sat down again, and leaning his head upon his hand, 
 
~ A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 231 
 
 seemed lost in thought for some moments then rising with 
 more composure, 
 
 " My friends, I thank you from the bottom of my heart; 
 but it is impossible for me to taste anything. I think a 
 mouthful of bread would choke me. I thank you but I could 
 not sleep here indeed I could not sleep here." 
 
 The villagers listened in silence; and while he spoke, he 
 untied his sash, and opened it upon the table then he took 
 out ten louis-d'or, and presented them to the old man. 
 
 " Here, my good father give this sum to the Commune ; 
 and let a cross be placed upon the tomb of Madeleine, daughter 
 of Jean ; and another upon that of Jacques, the son of Jacques 
 they were both born in this village. My company is at 
 Angers. I shall have time to rej oin before to-morrow morning. 
 We shall march to Paris by La Fleche, Le Mans, and Char- 
 tres. Will you have the goodness to send a copy of the proces- 
 verbal you spoke of, to the last town ; directed to ' M. Pierre 
 Adrien Gerard, sergeant, returning from America, bureau 
 restant a Chartresf This is for the expenses. Farewell, good 
 people, I am not likely to see you again ; but if ever Nicolas 
 should return, tell him that Jean Louis is not dead ; and that 
 if he will inquire at the war office, he will hear of him under 
 the name of Pierre Adrien Gerard, unless, indeed, a cannon- 
 ball, or a musket-bullet have made an end of him between 
 this and then." 
 
 Gerard then shook hands with all the company, kissed the 
 three sleeping little children, leaving a louis in the hands of 
 each cast one long, long, melancholy glance round the room, 
 sighed deeply, and was gone. 
 
 The old man and the young couple followed him to the 
 door, and watched him as he passed hastily up the village, 
 looking neither to the right nor to the left; then as they 
 turned in, they said 
 
 "It was himself it was the son of Jacques." 
 
 And they sat down round the table ; arid the old man re- 
 lated once more to his children, who were but lately settled 
 in the village, the history of Maitre Jacques, of Mathurin 
 Jacques, and grandson of Andre Jacques weavers from 
 generation to generation, but now all extinct in that part of 
 the country. 
 
 Gerard, with a broken heart, pursued the way to Angers. 
 
 " Ah!" sighed he, " is this the happiness I expected on re- 
 turning home? lam alone in the world! But have not I a 
 friend left? Come, come, courage! Dervieux shall be my 
 brother ; and I love France and glory still. Forward, Gerard ! 
 eyes forward s ! morbleu! let by-gones beby-gones." 
 
 He arrived at the faubourg, where the company had taken 
 
232 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 up their quarters, in order to be able to start the next morning 
 before the gates were opened. (Angers was at that time a 
 fortified town.) 
 
 It was by this time two o'clock ; but Gerard found some 
 people yet up at the principal inn, in which Dervieux had es- 
 tablished himself. Gerard went straight up into his room, 
 wakened him hastily, and flung himself into his arms. 
 
 Dervieux was astonished to see him so soon returned ; and 
 still more, to see him returning, as he did, in the middle of 
 the night pale, his eyes full of tears, and his whole soul in 
 commotion. 
 
 "Dervieux," said Gerard, "I have never told you the history 
 of my life, nor confided to you a secret known to no living 
 creature ; but I should be too wretched if I could not give you 
 that place in my heart, left vacant by my dear Nicolas by my 
 only brother!" 
 
 After this preamble, Gerard related his history to his brave 
 and faithful comrade; and from that moment Gerard and 
 Dervieux were bound to each other with a sincerity, devotion, 
 and singleness of attachment passing the love of brothers. And 
 time, which destroys so many light attachments, so many 
 vain friendships, cemented by interest or pride alone, respected 
 this holy and unalterable bond; and three-and -twenty years 
 afterwards, we have seen that watch the last possession of the 
 brave Dervieux, metamorphosed into a wooden leg for his 
 friend. 
 
 Such is the stuff of which brave hearts are made ; Such are 
 the friendships of the simple, the honourable, and the good. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "line Tester a pas pierre sur pierre a Paris;" so said the 
 Duke of Brunswick. 
 
 The French nation were of a different opinion ; they flew 
 to arms, and effected that miracle, which a nation always 
 effects, when, resolved and united in itself, it is opposed 
 against a mere army. 
 
 However, the Prussians had at this moment entered Cham- 
 pagne, and the citizen soldiers, or soldier citizens, destined 
 though they were to be victorious for the present, were in 
 what appeared to be the most hopeless state of disorganization. 
 
 Where were they to find officers accustomed as they had 
 been to be commanded by a caste ; which entire caste had now 
 gone over to the enemy? 
 i This is a curious thing, we may remark by the way. Of 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 233 
 
 all talents, great military talents appear the most incomprehen- 
 sible to the ordinary mind ; yet they are of all talents most 
 certain, invariably, to appear when the occasion calls for them. 
 A national army never wants a man of genius to command it. 
 In the French revolution, young men of high military talent 
 sprang up, succeeded one another, and were mown down in 
 succession, like weeds of the field. 
 
 The first on this brilliant list was Dumourier. 
 
 Not altogether an obscure man, he may be considered as 
 the link which connected the new order of things with the old 
 one. He had distinguished himself in Poland ; he was an able 
 general, administrator, and politician. It was he who first 
 brought the French republican army into something like 
 discipline, and laid the foundation of that organization, which 
 prepared the future triumphs of Napoleon. 
 
 He was now occupied in the extraordinary campaign of the 
 Argonne, keeping the whole Prussian army in check with a 
 mere handful of men. Kellerman and Luckner commanded 
 under him Kellerman was posted on the heights of Valmy* 
 
 Three hundred men belonging to the ancient army, men 
 invaluable in the present juncture, had traversed France, 
 passed through Paris, and joined Dumourier. 
 
 Dumourier reviewed them in person. 
 
 He paused before the first company. 
 
 "From whence, mes braves?'' 
 
 A young sergeant tall, handsome, and with a countenance 
 remarkable for its modesty, simplicity, and dignity, steps for- 
 ward and answers 
 
 "General, we are just arrived from North America; and 
 we have learnt business under Washington." 
 
 'How old are you?" 
 
 ' Seven-and- twenty." 
 
 * What is your name?" 
 
 ' Pierre Adrien Gerard." 
 
 { You shall be an officer, as soon as you have heard the 
 Prussian cannon." 
 
 "Impossible, General! Jam the youngest of my company." 
 
 Such refusals were not uncommon- in those days. In spite 
 of all the errors which marked the first years of the French 
 revolution, there was a disinterested spirit abroad a noble 
 contempt for the shows and distinctions of life, which was a 
 redeeming trait amid many crimes and many follies. To fight 
 for the common country, even as a common soldier, was 
 honour enough for any one then. In this respect, these early 
 days may be considered as the golden age of the revolution. 
 They did not last long. 
 . "Let this detachment advance to join Kellerman, marching 
 
234 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 all night. Valmy will be attacked, and the advanced guards 
 must be victorious." 
 
 The detachment continued its march. 
 
 They passed desolated fields, deserted villages, some hamlets 
 in ruins; the enemy had traversed that way before them. 
 
 Gerald and his comrades had seen disasters as great in war 
 before, but it was not in the bosom of their country. They 
 trembled with indignation, their hearts beat quick with im- 
 patience, they doubled their speed, they would have considered 
 themselves dishonoured had the battle taken place without 
 them. At last the cold morning light dawned over the 
 distant hills; a dull heavy sound, rolling like the distant 
 thunder, was heard. 
 
 The soldiers paused; their faces were filled with anxiety and 
 impatience. Some laid their ears against the ground, and 
 listened in silence. 
 
 " The cannon! the cannon!" cried the veterans at once, and 
 rushed forward at a quick march. 
 
 Breathless, and covered with sweat, they arrived at last 
 upon the heights bristling with artillery; from which the 
 cannon were vomiting smoke, flame, and thunder. They 
 were immediately put into requisition, and marched, without 
 the interval of a moment, into the midst of the enemy's fire; 
 calm and intrepid as those brave grenadiers of Egypt, who 
 terminated their long march under the cannon of Marengo. 
 
 Gerald had his share of the laurels of Valmy. 
 
 The enemy was put to flight, and was pursued on all 
 sides, not without considerable disorder on the part of the 
 victors ; the officers vainly endeavouring to arrest the 
 general dispersion, crying out, " Keep to your ranks, march 
 in line," &c. 
 
 It was impossible to restrain the ardour of these inex- 
 perienced warriors. Gerard was borne forward in the melee. 
 In vain he endeavoured to restore order ; these very brave 
 men, but very imperfect soldiers, were scattered in every 
 direction. The night was falling fast, and now only some 
 dropping shots were to be heard in the distance, and the 
 drums and trumpets sounding the recall. Gerard found him- 
 self alone in a deep winding ravine, the steep sides clothecl 
 with the richest verdure, and watered by a rivulet which ran 
 between some scattered willows. The most perfect and 
 refreshing calmness reigned in this quiet spot ; succeeding, as 
 if by enchantment, to the horrors and confusion of the 
 battle the gentle murmurs of the rivulet, mingling with the 
 distant sounds of the military music ; the fresh, sweet night 
 breeze after the heat, dust, flashing light, and smoke of thq 
 combat, formed a contrast inexpressibly delicious to the young 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 235 
 
 man, as he quietly followed the windings of this beautiful 
 ravine, judging by its direction, and the course of the river, 
 that it terminated in the village of Valmy. 
 
 He was a little wrong in his geography; but it was not of 
 much importance, as the course he followed would bring him 
 out on the great road to St. Menehould, which led to head- 
 quarters. However, he was quietly pursuing his solitary 
 walk, lost in that sort of pleasing reverie which succeeds to 
 great excitement, when his attention was attracted by a new 
 object. 
 
 The ravine branched out as it were into another small 
 valley, terminated by a grove of lime-trees, over which the 
 young man thought he perceived a red glowing light; and at 
 the same moment a column of smoke rose against the dark 
 clear blue sky. Gerard had sufficient experience of the horrors 
 of war, to recognise these appearances as the signal of a fire. 
 The flame continued to burst forth from time to time, in bright 
 gleams that tinted the tops of the trees, and the neighbouring 
 banks, rocks, and shrubs; but the flashes were more and more, 
 feeble, and the flames were evidently expiring. 
 
 The disaster was completed, and the victims had in all pro- 
 bability perished. 
 
 Still a natural sentiment of terror and pity made him 
 hasten to the spot, which was hidden by the trees; but to 
 which he was guided by the flame and smoke, which continued 
 to break forth at intervals ; and he recollected, shuddering, 
 the horrible scenes of this nature which he had witnessed in 
 the wars of America. 
 
 He passed the rivulet and entered the little grove, which 
 terminated in a high twisted garden hedge, behind which he 
 distinguished the ruins, yet red and smoking, of a small 
 solitary habitation, which had evidently been a cottage ornee. 
 
 The court, protected on each side by a low wall, had been 
 laid out in a pretty flower-garden, now trampled over, 
 ravaged, and destroyed. The garden hedge was torn down 
 in several places, and over what had once been a small grass 
 plot, the walls of the cottage, black and threatening, were 
 tottering to their fall. Gerard advanced with some pre- 
 caution, contemplating with sadness this spectacle of wanton 
 destruction, and began almost mechanically to make the tour 
 of the ruins. 
 
 One part of the little establishment, saved doubtless by the 
 direction of the wind, had escaped the general destruction. 
 It was the stable, and within it stood a splendid cavalry 
 horse, saddled, bridled, and fastened to the rack. The 
 attitude of the animal, his dilated nostril, his sparkling and 
 distended eyes, and his coat of fine black hair covered with 
 
236 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 foam, testified to the ecstasy of horror which he was enduring* 
 At the sight of Gerard he struck vehemently with his feet, 
 shook his head impatiently, endeavouring to liberate himself, 
 but in vain; and his impatient movements, and the whole ex- 
 pression of his countenance, said as plainly as the beautiful 
 countenance of a horse can say it, " Save me!" In fact, the 
 heat of the stable was suffocating. 
 
 Gerard immediately liberated the intelligent creature, led 
 him out, and fastening him to a tree, returned to make fresh 
 discoveries; wondering how so fine an animal could have been 
 overlooked by the incendiaries. 
 
 He entered the smoking ruins, and examined them with 
 that mingled grief and interest which such a spectacle inspires. 
 The ground covered with ashes was still burning under his 
 feet ; the smouldering beams cracking and smoking on every 
 side : he was almost afraid to proceed, for it seemed as if the 
 slightest shake would be sufficient to bring the whole crumb- 
 ling edifice upon his head. 
 
 So he stood in the midst of the ruins, uncertain what to 
 do next, when a light, plaintive, uncertain sound struck upon 
 his ear. 
 
 He listened attentively; the noise was renewed, it sounded 
 like loud groans and sobs, such as might have been uttered by 
 a child, or a young girl, endeavouring to restrain its cries 
 through terror, and in the last extremity of despair. He 
 listened breathlessly; it was impossible to doubt the reality of 
 the distressing sounds, some persons were certainly yet alive, 
 but where? There did not seem to be one single apartment 
 left standing. Could the voice proceed from a cellar, or from 
 under the ruins ? 
 
 Gerard thought no more of the dangers which had arrested 
 him ; he seized a half-burnt piece of wood, and using it as a 
 lever, endeavoured to make his way through two half-fallen 
 beams which barred his passage; regardless of the clouds of 
 smoke that rose on every side. Having at length surmounted 
 this obstacle, he found himself in what had once been a 
 corridor, at the other extremity of which was a small break- 
 fast-room ; of which the walls alone were standing, and which 
 presented a dismal spectacle. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the picture of barbarous, wanton 
 destruction which this once beautiful and smiling apartment, 
 now torn, defaced, trampled over, and blackened with dirt 
 and smoke, presented. 
 
 The floor and furniture were reeking with blood; three 
 dead bodies were lying near the door, one, of an old man, his 
 skull pierced with a musket-ball ; the others of two women, 
 were entirely covered over and disfigured with wounds. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 237 
 
 These, by their dresses, seemed to have been servants. 
 They were all quite dead. Gerard had little time to attend 
 to them ; for by the light of the moon, which shone through 
 the shattered windows, he perceived, half hidden by a heap 
 of broken furniture, a child ; whose age and size he could not 
 exactly judge of, groaning, crying, and endeavouring with all 
 its little might to draw forth some object, the form of which 
 it was impossible to distinguish. 
 
 It was evident that the child was endeavouring to draw 
 this object to another door which was behind it; and tears, 
 sobs, and groans accompanied its fruitless efforts. Gerard 
 uttered an involuntary cry ; the child raised its head, looked 
 at him, and then dashed towards the door which was behind 
 it, and disappeared in a moment. 
 
 The door opened into a garden. Gerard began to clear 
 away the rubbish which separated him from this door ; where 
 part of the ceiling had fallen in, and was mingled with the 
 broken furniture. Here, half buried beneath the rubbish, lay 
 the body of a third woman, dressed in a different manner 
 from the others. 
 
 She had on a rich robe of crimson silk; and a delicate 
 sandal, embroidered according to the fashion of those times, 
 showed her to be a person of distinction. Her head and 
 bosom were entirely covered by the plaster of the fallen 
 ceiling and one arm, which she seemed to have pushed out 
 of the fragments, was without a hand, and yet bleeding. 
 
 Though there seemed little doubt that this unhappy lady 
 had breathed her last, Gerard stooped down and cleared the 
 body from the rubbish ; she was, however, quite dead. 
 
 This, it appeared, was the work upon which the poor little 
 child had been employed when he entered ; and there could 
 be little doubt but that this was its mother. The spectacle 
 went to the young soldier's heart; and he could now only 
 think how he might best help the unfortunate little being, 
 thus cast upon his mercy. 
 
 He left the sitting-room by the further door, and found 
 himself in a small shrubbery or English garden. The moon 
 shone on the little walks and parterres, and he, rapidly 
 threading their pretty devious mazes, kept calling after the 
 child in the gentlest tones he could assume ; but the poor little 
 fugitive answered not. 
 
 The garden was small, and enclosed by four walls, so that 
 it was impossible the child should have escaped. He con- 
 tinued, therefore, his search ; and at last perceived the little 
 trembling creature, hidden by the shadow of the wall, and 
 endeavouring to crouch down under some low shrubs and 
 bushes. It was easy to cut off the poor little fugitive's retreat. 
 
238 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 The child, finding escape impossible, flung itself upon its 
 knees, clasped its little hands passionately together; and 
 uttered such screams of distress as pierced the kind heart of 
 the young soldier. 
 
 Gerard laid down his musket, approached the child, and 
 taking it in his arms, endeavoured by every gentle and fond 
 expression to soothe this perfect ecstasy of terror. His words, 
 it was evident, were not understood ; but the language of his 
 kisses and caresses was intelligible. The little thing began 
 to recover itself in some degree, and looking up in the 
 soldier's face, repeated the word, "Mamma! mamma!" That 
 one word, nearly the same in every language upon earth, was, 
 as it proved, the only one they could mutually understand. 
 
 The instinct of childhood is as a sense apart it seems 
 never to deceive them. The child read in the eyes and 
 countenance of Gerard, the goodness and kindness of his 
 nature, and the pity with which he was filled and, after a 
 short hesitation, it threw its little arms round his neck, it 
 pressed itself into his bosom, as if seeking there an asylum, 
 murmuring, "Mamma! mamma!" 
 
 Gerard's eyes were filled with tears. He pressed the little 
 creature to his heart, covered its forehead with kisses, and 
 endeavoured to wipe its poor little cheeks, while the child, 
 clinging closer and closer, by the most eloquent cries and 
 gestures seemed to adopt him as its protector ; and in fact 
 there seemed to be no alternative. It was impossible to for- 
 sake it he must carry it away with him, and see what could 
 be done. 
 
 He found another door to the garden, which led to the 
 stable, from, whence, still carrying the child, he passed through 
 the little wood ; and there sat down upon a bank, to breathe 
 for a moment, and to recollect himself. 
 
 Gerard had time now to examine with more attention the 
 features of the little being he had saved. The first view was 
 terrible the face and hands of the child were bathed in its 
 mother's blood. He dipped his handkerchief into the stream, 
 and having cleared away these dreadful tokens, was himself 
 astonished at the beauty and delicacy of the features that were 
 revealed. 
 
 The child appeared to be about seven years old; it was 
 dressed in a jacket and pantaloons of very fine blue cloth, the 
 neck of its shirt turning down, finely embroidered and trimmed 
 with lace, stockings of silk, and the most beautiful little shoes in 
 the world. Its face was of the most delicate beauty, and the 
 expression of the large blue eyes most sweet and intelligent; 
 but what above all things proved that the child belonged to 
 people of distinction, was the long flowing curls of its silken 
 
A SOLBIER'S FORTUNE. 239 
 
 hair a beauty seldon respected among the lower classes. It 
 was evident that the tender hand of a fond mother had taken 
 pleasure in combing, curling, and perfuming these beautiful 
 brown tresses. 
 
 Gerard, though the son of a peasant and reared in a camp, 
 was not insensible to the charm of beauty and delicacy he 
 was enchanted with his little captive, and felt the interest of 
 the tenderest guardian for the poor little creature thus 
 thrown into his hands. He sat some time with the child 
 upon his lap, until gradually its sobs subsided, and the happy 
 spirits, natural to his age, began to revive ; he laid his two 
 little hands on Gerard's arm, and fixing his large blue eyes 
 upon his face, began to speak in the most animating manner 
 Alas! not one word could Gerard understand the child 
 spoke in a language perfectly unknown to him ; he continued 
 to speak, but Gerard could only answer by pressing him fondly 
 to his heart. 
 
 "Poor little boy! what shall I do with thee? Thy mother, 
 that is but too certain yes, I understand thee, thou art calling 
 for her thou art pointing thy little chubby hands to the house 
 poor little thing, thy tears go to my heart. Thou art telling 
 me that thou hast relations that thou belongest to some great 
 family but, morbleu ! where shall I find them ? Where shall 
 I carry thee to? And perhaps, after all, thou art an orphan 
 like myself, and hast lost everything. Poor little boy ! what 
 shall I do with thee? Thou castest thy little arms round my 
 neck, thou seemest to be imploring my pity thou need'st not 
 be afraid, I won't desert thee, even though I should have to 
 maintain thee, adopt thee> and educate thee. 
 
 "And why should I not? Why not be thy father, as Joli- 
 mont was mine, when I was lost and forsaken as thou art ? 
 Providence took care of me then, and Providence will take 
 care of thee now. Yes, thou shalt come with me, I will teach 
 thee thine exercise, I will make a soldier and a man of thee; 
 yes, poor little fellow, if thou art an orphan like me, I am a 
 sergeant like Jolimont. I will do as much for thee as he did 
 for me thou shalt be as my son, and who knows if it be not 
 the design of Heaven, that so I should pay my debt to that 
 most excellent man? Very well, then, thou art mine, my 
 pretty little man, come with me to quarters ; if we find thy 
 father, so much the better, I will give thee up ; if not, thou 
 shalt stay with me, and I shall be glad of ifc for thou art as 
 beautiful as an angel, and thou wilt make a charming soldier ; 
 Dervieux will teach thee all his arts and sciences, and I will 
 teach thee how to fight and his pay and my pay will be 
 enough to keep thee like a little prince. Come now, don't 
 cry don't cry any more don't rend my heart in pieces with 
 
240 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 crying in that manner. Come, let me carry thee away with 
 me." 
 
 It was easily said, but the child could not so soon forget its 
 mother. " Gerard rose, and the little one laying hold of his 
 hand, began to pull him with all its strength towards the house* 
 It was difficult to know what to do ; it was impossible to use 
 violence towards so delicate and so unhappy a little creature, 
 yet to return with him to the scene of horrors was more im- 
 possible and barbarous still. 
 
 While he hesitated, a noise louder than thunder was heard 
 it was the house the walls had fallen in a loud explosion 
 a sudden burst of flame and smoke and the silence and 
 darkness of the grave. 
 
 The child seemed stupified with terror ; Gerard took him 
 up again in his arms, and entering the little wood, went to the 
 place where he had tied the horse. To fling his musket over 
 his shoulder, to untie the horse, seat the child upon the saddle, 
 and spring to it himself with the agility of a voltigeur, was the 
 affair of a moment ; he held the child firmly with one arm, 
 pressed the sides of the courser with his heels, and set off at 
 full gallop. 
 
 The child seemed frightened at the rapid motion of the 
 horse ; it uttered a piercing cry, flung its arms round Gerard's 
 body, buried its head in his bosom, and remained quivering 
 and trembling like a leaf. 
 
 They soon reached the high road, and Gerard would have 
 had little difficulty in gaining head-quarters ; but he had hardly 
 proceeded half a mile, before he heard the drums beating in all 
 directions ; at the same time, he perceived that the plain was 
 covered with battalions marching rapidly. The moon shone 
 full upon them, and by the glittering of their arms, he could 
 perfectly distinguish bodies of men belonging to the French 
 army, advancing in perfect order. He stopped to consider 
 the meaning of this manoeuvre, and soon decided it must be 
 the vanguard advancing on the right, towards St. Menehould, 
 leaving the heights of Valmy behind them. 
 
 There was no reason for continuing his route in the present 
 direction. His duty was to inquire where his regiment was 
 posted, and to join it without delay. But how was all this to 
 be done with a child in his arms and a child, trembling like 
 a leaf at every spring that his horse made ? 
 
 "By Jove!" said Gerard, pressing him affectionately to his 
 breast, "I shan't find it quite so easy to get along with thee 
 as Jolimont did with his little drum-boy. I was a thorough 
 vagabond, but this is a little love. What is to be done with 
 it? It is as delicate as a flower, and as timid as a bird. It 
 is as pretty as a little girl, and, morbleu! never saw I little girl 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 241 
 
 so pretty as this little boy. Why it will die of fright at the 
 first discharge : besides, I was twelve years old, and this baby 
 can't be eight. What a difference! But I must join imme- 
 diately, and must march with my regiment. What is to be 
 done, and what will become of this poor little thing?" 
 
 So pondered poor Gerard, as he walked his beautiful horse 
 along the high road ; when suddenly a detachment of about 
 fifty men appearing from behind a small wood, crossed, and 
 entered a lane opposite; they were following in the direction 
 of the main body of the army. 
 
 Gerard stopped a soldier; "Comrade, one word. Where 
 are they marching to?" 
 
 "After the enemy; and if he goes along at this rate, we 
 shall not find it very easy to overtake him. So, if you have 
 any children to put to nurse, I advise you to make haste, for 
 there will be an engagement to-morrow." 
 
 "The deuce!" said Gerard. "If you were in as much 
 trouble as I am, you would not be inclined to be so pleasant. 
 But one word more. Is there any town near?" 
 
 "To be sure there is; St. Menehould. The general will 
 be there to-night with his staff." 
 
 Gerard waited for nothing more; he turned his horse's 
 head, struck him with his heel, and galloped off at full speed 
 towards St. Menehould. He had already taken his resolution, 
 which he communicated in a sort of soliloquy, half addressed 
 to his little trembling companion, who could not, however, 
 understand a syllable. 
 
 "Dear little fellow! it is impossible to take thee with me, 
 it is impossible thou couldst stand fire. Besides, how could 
 such a pretty delicate young thing bear the fatigues and pri- 
 vations of a march? It is plain that thou art the son of an 
 officer, perhaps of a general officer. Thou wast never made 
 for the ranks ; and, besides, how art thou ever to rise from 
 the ranks, if thou learnest only to handle a musket ? Listen, 
 my pretty little friend. I've got thirty louis left in my belt. 
 They were meant for my poor brother, but now I'll give them 
 to thee, and all my savings as well. I shall put thee to 
 school ; I will have thee well educated. It does not matter 
 where I shall be, thou wilt receive the wages of my sweat 
 and blood; and if I keep thee which I do hope I shall 
 thou shalt be my own son, and my own property; for I 
 shall have saved thy life, and shall have fed and brought thee 
 up, at the expense of my own labours and dangers. Then, 
 my little angel, when thou shalt be about fifteen or sixteen 
 learned, accomplished, and so forth, a lively, high-spirited, 
 dashing lad, thy hair curling short and thick round thy head, 
 not hanging in this beautiful silken way, when, instead of those 
 
242 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 delicately embroidered collars, thou shalt wear a smart black 
 stock, with a sword by thy side, then I will come and fetch 
 thee again. I'll take thee to the army and make an officer 
 of thee ; and, corbleu ! perhaps, some time, thou mayst be 
 my own general. Come, my dear little fellow, to school ; by 
 Jove ! I am sure Dervieux will be pleased with me he will 
 want to go halves : but halte la ! morbleu ! you shall have 
 no other father but poor Louis Jacques, son of Jacques. I've 
 lost enough. I must take leave to keep possession of my own 
 findings." 
 
 And Gerard kissed his little treasure, and galloped on. 
 
 He had an excellent horse, and had not very far to go. He 
 entered St. Menehould not very long after twelve o'clock. He 
 was stopped. 
 
 4 'Who goes there?". 
 
 " Monsieur le Chef du Paste, the general and his staff, are 
 they arrived?" 
 
 "2To, my brave fellow; there has been a counter-order. 
 Two regiments of infantry, with baggage and cannon, have 
 just passed through?" 
 
 "Exactly so, Monsieur le Chef du Poste. My company 
 is in one of those regiments. Give me leave to pass." 
 
 ' ' What, with a child ! What the deuce are you going to 
 do with it?" 
 
 "Eh! parbleu! Can't you see that it's the son of my 
 colonel, and that I have got his horse?" 
 
 "True; I observed the colonel marching on foot," said a 
 soldier who was standing by. 
 
 " Lucky enough!" thought Gerard, and he entered the town. 
 
 All the doors were shut, all the shutters closed : the light 
 of a few half-extinguished lamps, hanging at far distances in 
 the middle of the street, fell upon the silent deserted way, 
 still faintly illuminated by the pale beams of the waning moon, 
 all was sunk in profound silence, all seemed wrapped in sleep ; 
 it was like a city of the dead. Where knock? where inquire? 
 
 " Don't be afraid, my dear little fellow," said Gerard, press- 
 ing the child closer to his breast. 
 
 . The child did not understand; but as the horse was now 
 upon a walk, he seemed less terrified, and lifting his head from 
 Gerard's breast, raised himself upon the saddle, sighed, and 
 looked round him then turning towards his only friend, he 
 fixed upon him two large blue eyes, full of the sweetest and 
 gentlest expression, but still swimming with tears, and heavy 
 with fatigue and sleep. Gerard smiled, and spoke again, his 
 tones were understood, though his words were unintelligible ; 
 the child looked confidingly at him, and then laid its head 
 once more quietly upon his bosom. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 243 
 
 Gerard took the principal street, looking into all the win- 
 dows, hoping still to find a light burning in some one or other 
 of them. In vain ; nothing was to be seen but the light of the 
 moon shining upon the closed shutters. All at once, however, 
 in front of one of the houses, a large white board, bearing an 
 inscription, attracted his attention. He looked up, and saw a 
 sort of sign ; on one side was painted a map of the world, on 
 the other a celestial sphere, and between the two in large 
 letters was written 
 
 "Pension et demi-pension de jeunes citoyens" 
 
 Boarding and half-boarding for young citizens. And below, 
 this Latin line, 
 
 44 Omne tulit puncium, qui miscuit utile dulci." 
 
 Gerard only read the first line 
 
 " By Jove! exactly what we want." 
 
 He got down from his horse, fastened him to the bar of a 
 low window, took the child by the hand, and knocked at the 
 door, with all the gravity of a father, accompanying his young ' 
 hopeful for the first time to the academy. 
 
 The hoarse menacing voice of what seemed an immense dog 
 answered first ; then a window at the top of the house opened, 
 and the head of a withered old woman, her grey hairs tucked 
 into a not very delicate cap, presented itself, demanding " who 
 was there, and what was their business?" Seeing the child, 
 however, she withdrew her head, and answered the demand 
 for the master of the house, by immediately calling him ; and 
 in less than five minutes the pedagogue himself appeared in 
 robe-de-chambre, a velvet nightcap on his head, and, through 
 mere force of habit, his ferule in his hand. 
 
 He was a thin tall man, with something of that peculiar air, 
 which birchen sceptre seems infallibly to bestow on its pos- 
 sessors ; but his complexion was delicate, his eyes blue, and 
 the whole expression of his countenance soft and good, precise, 
 but not rigid. So that, spite of the terrible ferule, Gerard 
 felt assured, that his poor little baby had fallen into indulgent 
 hands. 
 
 44 Sir," said he, with that respect which all but coarse minds 
 feel for those they imagine to be better instructed than them- 
 selves, 44 1 am your humble servant, and I beg your pardon 
 for having wakened you so late or rather so early for I be- 
 lieve it is one o'clock in the morning." 
 
 ''Precisely so, sir, one o'clock in the morning; but no hour 
 can be unseasonable that is well employed, and it is not given 
 to man in every circumstance to choose his own moments of 
 utility. 4 Tu ne qucssieris, scire nefas, quern mihi quern tibi," 
 as Horace says, and the same author continues, l Nec metues 
 protervos.'" 
 
244 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 "All very good, sir; but I don't understand Latin I am 
 a plain soldier, and have not much time for talking ; to busi- 
 ness, if you please you are master of this school ?" 
 
 " I have that honour, sir." 
 
 "And it is a profession most honourable and respectable, 
 when it consists in something else than selling soup. I con- 
 clude that you are an honest man, as you undertake to form 
 others to virtue ; I conclude that you are learned, or else you 
 would not pretend to teach learning; and that you treat 
 children with gentleness, or you would not profess to supply 
 the place of their parents. We will suppose, sir, that you 
 have all these qualities, and will begin accordingly. You see 
 this little man morlleu! I defy you, among your whole 
 flock, to shpw me such a beautiful little creature." 
 
 1 * It is a very handsome child!" 
 
 " I put him to school to you, I leave him to you! I trust 
 him to you ! Corbleu! I hope you will make a man of him! 
 You must understand I am off I am going to fight I may 
 be killed it is right you should be paid in advance. Let us 
 see, sir, no bargaining, if you please, tell me at once, what 
 you ask by the month, by the quarter, by the year; just as 
 your custom is. All I want is, that you should love my little 
 fellow, as if he was your own, and instruct him as if he were 
 the son of a general." 
 
 The schoolmaster was a worthy man, something of a pedant, 
 but honest, kind, and good, and accustomed to judge mankind. 
 The frankness of the soldier made him smile, but did not dis- 
 please him ; and he tried as well as he could, to answer him 
 in his own way, and to keep Horace and Juvenal in order, so 
 that they might not, as usual, put their fingers into every one 
 of his pies. 
 
 " Sir," said he, looking kindly at the child, whose little face 
 was covered with tears, "the price of board and instruction 
 is, without distinction, four hundred livres a year, accomplish- 
 ments are reckoned separately." 
 
 " The d 1 take all these reckonings. How am I to reckon 
 all that on a forced march my knapsack on my back, and 
 my bayonet fixed? Please to reckon it, sir, for me." 
 
 "That is easily done, when Monsieur has had the goodness 
 to inform me what he wishes his son to learn." 
 
 "Everything!" 
 
 "Very wellT in that case, five-and-twenty louis." 
 
 " Five-and-twenty louis well and good." 
 
 " The child will bring his bed, his trousseau, his silver fork 
 and spoon, and drinking cup, idem." 
 
 " The child will bring nothing at all. Everything he has 
 in the world is on his poor little back, as you see him. Here 
 

 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 245 
 
 are 300 livres for the first six months, and 400 more to buy 
 him linen, clothes, forks, and mugs, and all you may want. 
 Give me a receipt and make haste, my good friend; for my 
 regiment is on the march, and I must join immediately." 
 
 " Sir, I will not lose a moment." But he could not help 
 adding to himself, " Cras ingens iterdbimus tequor," as he 
 opened a secretary, and drew forth the necessary implements. 
 He dated the receipt thus : 
 
 ^ Saint Menehpuld, the 20th of September, 1792, jour 
 memorable de la victoire de Valmy." 
 
 " Very good, sir, very good, indeed! I shall leave my little 
 
 man with confidence in your hands with pleasure shake 
 
 hands, we are friends I" 
 
 ^ The pedagogue took off his cap, to clasp the hand of the 
 victorious soldier, and discovered his bald head, circled round 
 with pale brown hair, now turning to "grey. His simple, 
 modest, and venerable countenance confirmed Gerald's favour- 
 able impressions. 
 
 " Thank Heaven!" said he to himself. u I am in luck!" 
 
 Fortunately, his confidence was not misplaced a point 
 of more importance than the young sergeant was then aware 
 of. 
 
 The schoolmaster continued to write. 
 
 " I, the undersigned, Bertrand Guillaumet, schoolmaster, 
 in the said town, acknowledge to have received from the said 
 citizen your name, sir, if you please ?" 
 
 " Pierre Adrien Gerard." 
 
 " Pierre Adrien Gerard. Your quality?" 
 
 Gerard took off his hat. 
 
 " A French soldier, and a companion of Washington, 
 Kosiousko, and Lafayette." 
 
 ^ Bertrand Guillaumet let fall his pen, and, rising, took off 
 his nightcap once more. 
 
 " * Odl profanum vulgus' I beg your pardon, M. Gerard, 
 I forgot you did not understand Latin ; but it is the same 
 thing, sir, in whatever language it may be expressed. I 
 promise to educate your son with as much attention as if he 
 was the son of one of these great men; and if ever the chances 
 of war should so far divide us, as to prevent your being able 
 to furnish the usual means, I beg of you to be under no un- 
 easiness with respect to the education of your son. I shall 
 consider myself but as too well repaid, by having the honour 
 to entertain under my roof, the son of a companion of 
 Washington, Kosiousko, and Lafayette." 
 
 So saying, he approached the arm-chair in which the 
 beautiful child, exhausted by tears and fatigue, had now 
 fallen asleep ; kissed him upon the hair, looked at him some 
 
246 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 time with much affection, and repeated to himself, as he 
 raised his hand, " Tu Marcellus eris." Then, gravely 
 replacing his cap, he finished his receipt, and gave it to 
 Gerard.^ 
 
 "Adieu! Monsieur Bertrand Guillaumet. I do not know 
 when we shall meet again. I do not know even if we shall 
 be able to correspond. We are going, I hope, to advance. 
 I suspect I shall have to handle cartridges rather oftener than 
 pens and ink. In the mean time, you have gained my esteem, 
 ' and my heart is at rest ; as long as my little man is well, you 
 need not take the trouble to write very often. If anything 
 goes amiss, you will try to find out my address. On my side, 
 in spite of your obliging offer, which does me honour and 
 sets my mind at ease, I shall try not to be behindhand. In 
 whatever place I may chance to be, there will be military 
 posts, and I shall not forget you. Keep my little boy, then, 
 till I come again. My desire, my hope, and my determination 
 is, to make him a good soldier and a clever officer. Adieu, 
 my worthy and respectable friend, for so I hope that I may 
 consider you to be." 
 
 The frank and simple-hearted sergeant embraced the re- 
 spectable pedagogue ; then, heaving a deep sigh, he went up 
 to the arm-chair, intending gently to kiss the little boy, and 
 take leave without awakening him; but Gerard could not 
 help putting a good deal of energy into all his proceedings, 
 and he embraced the child so heartily, that at the first kiss 
 he opened his eyes. He soon understood that his new friend 
 was about to leave him, and with loud cries and tears he flung 
 his arms round his protector's neck, and clung to him with all 
 his might. 
 
 Soldier and sergeant as he was, Gerard wept like a baby. 
 
 " Teach him French as fast as you can, and tell him I will 
 soon be back again." 
 
 Happily some of the ladies of the family, who had dressed 
 themselves in haste to receive the new scholar, now entered 
 the room. They surrounded the child; and, by dint of 
 caresses and kisses, they contrived to repress the agonies of 
 his despair. Gerard at last made his escape, and the child 
 soon cried itself to sleep in the arms of the respectable 
 Bertrand Guillaumet, who tenderly repeated, as he rocked him 
 to and fro. 
 
 " Cur me querelis exanimes tuisf 
 
 The day was dawning when Gerard rejoined his regiment. 
 Dervieux, pale and trembling, ran to meet him. 
 
 " I have been seeking thee'all through the field of battle; 
 the whole regiment thought thee dead, or taken prisoner," said 
 he, clasping him in his arms. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 247 
 
 "Here," said Gerard, "I make you a present of this fine 
 horse. It is not fit, that a great philosopher like you, should 
 walk on foot." 
 
 The regiment received Gerard with shouts of joy; he related 
 his adventures, for good comrades have no secrets : all his com- 
 panions offered to take shares in the support of the little one. 
 Gerard thanked them, pressed their hands in token of gratitude, 
 but said 
 
 " No, no, the child is mine." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE RETURN FROM EGYPT. 
 
 EIGHT years have now elapsed Belgium and Holland have 
 been conquered Moreau upon the Rhine, and Bonaparte by 
 his miraculous campaigns in Italy, have immortalized the 
 French standards. And now, from the summits of the pyra- 
 mids, to borrow an idea from the great captain himself, . 
 " thirty centuries contemplate the tricolor with applause." 
 From the day of Valmy to that of St. Jean d'Acre, Gerard 
 and Dervieux have never quitted that standard. 
 
 Our young sergeant is now a lieutenant, and, with the 
 epaulette and the sword, he wears the grenadier's cap. Old as 
 a soldier, he is still young as a man ; he is only five-and-thirty, 
 and the fatigues of war seem only to have developed the ^re- 
 sources of an excellent constitution, and added perfection to 
 a form of singular vigour and beauty. At the head of his 
 company, Gerard is one of the handsomest officers in the army ; 
 and in a saloon or in a ball-room, one of the most accomplished 
 of cavaliers ; with rather more timidity, however, than properly 
 belongs to his profession and nation, but always in good humour, 
 and an indefatigable dancer. 
 
 But dancing is not the matter in question at this moment. 
 
 It was in Vendemaire (September, 1799) ten o'clock in the 
 evening, and Gerard and Dervieux were walking alone upon 
 the sands of Alexandria ; above their heads the brilliant stars 
 sparkled upon the brazen heaven : beneath their feet a bed of 
 heated sand seemed ready, at the slightest breath of air, to rise 
 and suffocate them. Before them the sea, of a deep blue al- 
 most amounting to black, rolled its long white lines of silver 
 foam, and died away in murmurs upon the beach, while the 
 reverberation of its hollow breaking waves was interrupted by 
 no other sound. 
 
 For some minutes the two friends, motionless, silent, and 
 deeply absorbed in the same reflections, contemplated the 
 eternal flux of these restless waters ; while their hopes, hearts, 
 
248 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 and wishes, were traversing the immense space before them. 
 All^at once they turned round, clasped each other's hands with 
 a kind of sigh, of joy, expectation, and impatience. 
 
 "To-morrow, Dervieux!"" To-morrow, Gerard!" was all 
 they said. Their eyes were full of tears, they embraced in a 
 sort of intoxication, and then again taking each other's arm, 
 continued their pensive walk upon the beach. 
 
 After another pause, Dervieux began again, " Yes, the 
 
 enterprise is rash, the success doubtful. Listen, Gerard ! A 
 
 prison in England, death in France, or Caesar in a month!" 
 
 " Then Csesar in a month! At all events his fortune will 
 be ours to-morrow we sail for France ! Feel how my heart 
 beats. Yet, alas! what should I return to France for? I 
 have not forgotten that night at the village ! all had disap- 
 peared, even to the very cross upon her grave; and, who 
 knows, but that my little boy may be gone too? poor little 
 creature ! eight years, and not a single syllable from his 
 schoolmaster ! But you know I paid regularly till we went to 
 Egypt, besides I had his promise but what are promises ? But 
 why do you never answer me when I speak of my little man?" 
 
 "Because I am afraid of making you unhappy. I have no 
 hope that you will find him at St. Menehould." 
 
 " Why what do you think can have become of him?" 
 
 " You have asked me that question a hundred times. The 
 child will have been found and claimed. Do you think a child 
 like that had not a friend in the world?" 
 
 "No, you are right. But in that case what has he done 
 with my money, and why has he not written to me?" 
 
 " If the schoolmaster be really an honest man, how do you 
 know that the money is not all laid by, to be returned to you? 
 And as for letters, we never get letters." 
 
 "True; to-morrow we set off for France. The first thing 
 we will do, my dear Dervieux, shall be to write to St. Mene- 
 hould ; and if I have lost my little boy, in whom I took such 
 pleasure, I can only say as I "did when I lost Nicolas at least 
 Dervieux remains." 
 
 The two friends set sail the next morning ; and it is need- 
 less to say, after escaping the English fleet, landed with 
 Bonaparte at Frejus, and took part in the events of the 8th 
 Brumaire. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 EXPECTATION. 
 
 THE Directory was overthrown, and perhaps no revolution 
 
 was ever so popular. No power was ever so little regretted, 
 
 or ever so little worthy of regret, as was this said Directory. 
 
 Still, no man knew better than Napoleon, that all revolutions 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 249 
 
 require force to maintain them, and accordingly his troops were 
 
 cantoned round Paris. 
 
 Gerard was at St. Germains, Dervieux remained in Paris. 
 
 It was impossible at this time to obtain a conge, and as he 
 could neither himself visit St.. Menehould, nor entrust Dervieux 
 with the commission, he determined to write to M. Bertrand 
 Guillaumet. 
 
 Gerard was nq great letter- writer ; and when he had fairly 
 got his pen in hand, he discovered that circumstances rendered 
 this particular letter peculiarly difficult to compose. At the 
 first sight, it would appear, that there was nothing to be done, 
 but simply to reclaim a child, whom he had himself placed in 
 the schoolmaster's hands ; and for whom he had regularly paid 
 during six years, adding a draft for what money yet remained 
 due. But under what name was he to ask for the child ? He 
 had not had time to inquire, nor, indeed would there have 
 been a possibility, of learning the boy's name. The master 
 had taken for granted that the child was his son ; and in the 
 hurry of the moment he had entered into no explanations. 
 But, supposing the child had remained at St. Menehould, he 
 must, as soon as he could express himself in French, have told 
 his own melancholy history; how a soldier had found him, 
 saved him, and^carried him off but that the soldier was no re- 
 lation of his. 
 
 To this it must be added, that the young man, now about 
 sixteen or seventeen years of age, was, in fact, bound to the 
 soldier by no ties but the voluntary ones of gratitude, friend- 
 ship, and feeling; and as he had never seen his protector, 
 except for one moment, and that eight years ago, Gerard 
 began to perceive, with much vexation, that the child for 
 whom he had made so many sacrifices, and upon whose duty 
 and affection he had built such a romance of happiness, might 
 either have been long since restored to his own family, or at 
 the best, looking upon him as a perfect stranger, might refuse 
 to join him. And as he took his pen, and held it up to the 
 light, Gerard could not help saying, in a tone of mingled 
 sadness and ill-humour "Dervieux was quite right. It is 
 merely a castle in the air, after all ! And yet I have been 
 saving daily from my pay, I have denied myself all the 
 pleasures of life, to rear a child that perhaps will refuse to 
 love me, and may reject me altogether; and who can blame 
 him? Yet," added he more cheerfully, "what I did was 
 kind, just, reasonable, and right; and who knows but that 
 the young fellow may feel it so ? Perhaps they have educated 
 him in that idea, and taught him to love me as a father. At 
 all events, I must write, briefly and frankly." 
 
 And this was the letter: 
 
250 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 " TO THE ClTOYEN BERTRAND GuiLLATJMET, SCHOOLMASTER, SAINT 
 
 MENEHOULD, DEPARTMENT DE LA MAINE. 
 
 " CITOYEN, If, as I hope, Providence has preserved your life, you must re- 
 member that the 20th of September, 1792, a soldier knocked at your door, leading 
 by the hand a child of between seven and eight years old ; that he entrusted 
 this child to your care, paid his board, and rejoined his regiment. During six 
 years and a half, this soldier has sent you, every six months, four hundred 
 francs, which he hopes you have duly received, though he has never heard any- 
 thing of the child since. Afterwards he went to Egypt, where, during eighteen 
 months, all correspondence with Europe ceased. Three weeks ago he returned 
 with the great captain the saviour of France and liberty ; and this soldier, 
 now become a lieutenant in the Consular Guard, loses no time in addressing 
 you. You will easily recognise his name by his signature, which he left you ; 
 and by the following explanation. 
 
 " On the 20th of September, 1792, after the battle of Valmy in which I had 
 the honour to take a part, being then only a sergeant I chanced to be, after 
 the victory, separated from my companions; and I had the good fortune to 
 meet with, and to rescue from death, a young child, whom I found in the midst 
 of the ruins of a burning house, with three dead bodies lying near him, one of 
 which was that of his mother. I presumed that this child might be an orphan, 
 but had no time to get any information ; and as he did not speak French, I 
 could learn nothing from himself. I adopted him, and determined to educate 
 him ; and if he has not been claimed if the child is yet in your hands if you 
 have faithfully fulfilled my intentions and your engagements we shall both of 
 us have discharged our duties ; and it is time that my adopted son should know 
 his protector. . 
 
 " Consequently, sir, as soon as you shall receive this letter, have the good- 
 ness to give me all the information in your power with respect to this child ; 
 and if no obstacle presents itself, send the young man immediately to me ; 
 whose heart and understanding 1 shall no doubt find cultivated by your care. 
 I claim him as protector, friend, and adopted father. It is time that his desti- 
 nation should be fixed ; and I flatter myself, that he will devote himself to that 
 noble profession to which I am myself attached." 
 
 To this simple, clear, and concise epistle, Gerard added 
 the necessary instructions for the journey to Fontainbleau ; 
 inclosing within it a bill at sight for 1200 francs, upon a 
 merchant at St. Menehould. 
 
 This letter finished, Gerard inclosed it in another, directed 
 to the Maire of St. Menehould; requesting that magistrate, 
 should the Sieur Bertrand Gtiillaumet be no more in this 
 world, to send back the letter to Fontainbleau, directed to 
 Lieutenant Pierre Adrien Gerard: and the whole being well 
 sealed, and post-paid, was put into the letter-box, accom- 
 panied by another epistle to Dervieux ; to whom it was indis- 
 pensable to render an account of all proceedings. 
 
 After this important letter was despatched, Gerard waited 
 the result as patiently as he could; like the rest of mankind, 
 filling up the interval with hopes and projects. He well 
 recollected the beautiful face of the child"; and now ho 
 pictured him to himself, as a tall elegant young man a little 
 timid in his manners, perhaps, but perfectly gentlemanlike 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 251 
 
 and comme il faui; his countenance gentle and intelligent, 
 his character ardent and generous, and equally alive to the 
 sentiments of honour and gratitude. 
 
 A plan of education was arranged conformably to these 
 expectations; Dervieux was instructed to send from Paris, 
 the best elementary books upon the art military, upon 
 encampments, strategic, the attack and defence of places, 
 &c. &c. Gerard likewise selected, with the assistance of his 
 friend, a small portable library, containing the campaigns and 
 battles of the greatest captains ; and the most famous sieges 
 and military expeditions; Alexander, Hannibal, Pompey, 
 and Caesar figuring in the first rank. In all his leisure 
 moments Gerard ran through these works ; marked the 
 passages which he thought most proper to form his future 
 pupil, and selected the parts which it would be desirable to 
 commit to memory. 
 
 " What happiness! what an advantage for me," said he, in 
 the joy of his heart, "to improve myself, while I am instruct- 
 ing this fine young man; to fill my own mind, while culti- 
 vating his ; and to share, with my adopted son, the fruit of 
 those labours which I shall devote to him! I am but an 
 ignorant soldier; possibly I may become a well-informed 
 officer; and while I push forward my young friend, shall in 
 some measure be advancing myself." 
 
 Transported with these ideas, Gerard finished his prepara- 
 tions. 
 
 A little room next his own was prepared to receive this 
 beloved ward: it was fitted up like a tent, for everything 
 about his son must have a military turn. The blue and 
 white bed curtains, with scarlet fringe, were supported by a 
 lance ; little pieces of artillery ornamented the chimney-piece; 
 a drum placed on one end served for a toilet-table, and a 
 canteen held the drinking water. In the middle of the 
 chamber Gerard placed a kind of trophy. His son might 
 choose the arms he pleased a pike, a musket, a dragoon's 
 sabre, or the carbine of a 'chasseur. In the corners of the 
 tent were hung foils, gauntlets, masks, and hunting-horns; 
 and the walls were adorned with small coloured prints, repre- 
 senting the soldier on foot or on horseback, in different 
 martial attitudes. It was quite a little military boudoir. 
 
 Gerard had already engaged a maitre-d'armes, and had 
 purchased an old dragoon horse; for his son must learn 
 fencing, and become a perfect cavalier, knowing how to 
 dress, saddle, and bridle his own steed, as a good soldier 
 ought to do. 
 
 Fifteen days did he thus employ, waiting with what patience 
 he might. On the seventeenth he was rewarded, 
 
252 A SOLDIER'S FOB/TUNE. 
 
 At two o'clock, when he returned from parade, his hostess 
 presented him with a little sealed note, which had been parti- 
 cularly recommended to her care. Gerard opened it, and 
 read as follows: 
 
 " CITIZEN-LIEUTENANT, I have had the honour of presenting myself twice 
 at your door this morning, in order, to announce to you the happy arrival of 
 the person you are expecting. I was told that you were upon parade, and that 
 the hour of your return was uncertain. Upon the receipt of this note, I beg 
 you to come to the hotel of the Grand Cerf, where we now are. The nature 
 of the papers, and the deposit with which I am entrusted, forbid me to deliver 
 them into any but your own hands. We expect your arrival with impatience. 
 And I remain 
 
 " Your very humble servant, 
 
 " GODABD, Negociant Voyageur." 
 
 Gerard did not stop even to shake the dust from his uniform 
 he told the hostess that the young man was arrived, and that 
 his bed and room must be ready by three o'clock ; and then 
 set off full speed for the Grand Cerf, looking at his note 
 from time to time as he went along, wondering what the de- 
 posit could be unless, indeed, M. Godard meant the young 
 man, which did not seem very probable. 
 
 Poor Gerard, thus at the term of all his hopes and wishes, 
 felt agitated to the highest degree. 
 
 "I was right," said he, "he was an orphan I had good 
 reason to hope I should keep him. Poor little fellow ! thou 
 wert more to be pitied than even I was, when Jolimont had 
 mercy upon me he put me in a way to rise above himself 
 and strive I will to raise thee above myself. Morbleu! Jean 
 Louis, son of Jacques, will pay his debt to Providence. Let 
 us see, my little fellow, whether you are as pretty oh ! pretty 
 what do I care for that? You must be a man a soldier 
 a hero, a " 
 
 Gerard stopped, for he had arrived at the Grand Cerf. 
 
 "Madame, will you give me leave? Did not a traveller 
 accompanied by a young man arrive here this morning ? 
 
 " I don't know indeed, sir; very possibly many travellers 
 arrived this morning;" and the hostess turned, and went into 
 her kitchen. 
 
 Gerard followed her, and seizing her arm, just as she was 
 about to plunge a vast skimming spoon into a prodigious pot- 
 au-feu. 
 
 " Halte, la Madame! two words, or I swear that bouilli 
 shall never come out of that pot ! have you not in this house a 
 gentleman called the citizen Godard, of St. Menehould nego- 
 tiant voyageur?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir! why could you not tell me his name 
 before? Au premier, numero quatre." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 253 
 
 Gerard mounted the stairs, and knocked, for the key was 
 not in the door. 
 
 The door opened, but no youth apppeared. 
 
 The figure that presented itself was that of a little round 
 man, of about fifty years of age. His countenance was com- 
 monplace, but frank and open. He wore a flaxen wig, and 
 a large loose chocolate-coloured 'riding-coat, his feet were 
 shuffled into two enormous slippers, his neckcloth was tied 
 loosely round his throat ; and he held in his hand a packet of 
 bills of parcels, directions, and accounts current, which suffi- 
 ciently denoted his profession. 
 
 "Ah, ah!" said he, smiling, while Gerard stared at him, 
 a little disappointed, "you are very probably the citizen 
 Gerard!" 
 
 " The same, and probably I have the honour of speaking 
 to the citizen Godard of St. Menehould !" 
 
 " Exactly so, pray walk in, my dear citizen. You have 
 obliged me very much by being so speedy ; for I must posi- 
 tively start to-morrow for Normandy. To tell the truth, I 
 expected this empressement. The subject will deserve it 
 though you do not know very strange adventure, my dear 
 lieutenant, very extraordinary adventure indeed! I may take 
 the liberty of mentioning it to you, citizen Gerard, be- 
 cause it does you infinite credit. Yes, yes ! your conduct is 
 above praise ; and I am well informed of all the particulars, 
 having the pleasure, and, I may add, the honour, of being 
 the friend, the relation, and, in short, the brother-in-law, of 
 the very respectable Bertrand Guillaumet, who, thank Heaven, 
 is still alive, and in excellent health, and has charged me to 
 present you with his most sincere compliments." 
 
 "You do me infinite pleasure, citizen Godard of St. Mene- 
 hould give me your hand, in token of the great esteem I 
 entertained for your brother-in-law, who appeared to me to 
 be a worthy man, and a good citizen. I am much obliged to 
 him for making you his deputy, and I hope we shall all find 
 reason to be well pleased with each other. But, de par tons 
 les diables! my dear citizen Godard of St. Menehould, it 
 seems to me, that you are in the habit of not coming very 
 quickly to the point in your town I remember your respect- 
 able brother spoke Latin in the middle of the night ; and you 
 have not yet mentioned my young man. Your note informs 
 me you have brought him, and paMeu! don't you think I 
 am rather anxious to see him?" 
 
 "That is precisely, my dear lieutenant, what makes me 
 rather uneasy. The result of this affair may not be exactly 
 precisely, what you hoped and anticipated hem! and your 
 projects your plans ! !"- 
 
254 A SOLDIER'S FOETUNE. 
 
 "How now, citizen Godard! what does all this mean? 
 Has the young man found his parents? In that case '" 
 
 " No I It appears that the child was really an orphan, and 
 that when you saved its life, you snatched it from the most 
 deplorable fate." 
 
 " That is exactly, my dear citizen Godard, what touches 
 me to the heart, and for reasons of which you are not exactly 
 aware. But, parbleu! since nobody has claimed him, why 
 are you afraid to let me see him? He was as beautiful as an 
 angel then, perhaps he is grown as ugly as the deuce now." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all. Many people would think it a 
 very handsome person. But you, perhaps, will find yourself 
 cruelly disappointed " 
 
 "Disappointed! Par tons les diables I Is he an idiot? 
 Is he deaf, blind, lame?" 
 
 "Not at all, not at all, my dear lieutenant. Wit, grace, 
 beautiful figure, excellent heart, most happy disposition in 
 the world. Any father would be delighted, but " 
 
 "But, venire bleu! Citoyon Godard de St. Menehould, 
 vousme feriez donner a cent milles diables! What has hap- 
 pened to my young man? If he is well made, well bred, 
 sensible, amiable what can hinder me from seeing him? 
 What can you keep me here for, swearing and cursing at my- 
 self by the hour? In the name of Heaven, citizen Godard, 
 let me see my little young man." 
 
 "To be sure, my dear lieutenant; that is easily enough 
 done. It was always my brother's advice, but I thought 
 however, it is no affair of mine, and after all, citizen Gerard, 
 in case but we shall see. Wait a moment, I will be with 
 you directly." 
 
 And so saying, citizen Godard rose up, and went into the 
 inner room, shutting the door carefully after him. 
 
 Gerard was left alone for about ten minutes, which he spent 
 in tormenting himself with conjecturing what could have 
 happened to his young man, whom he remembered as so 
 beautiful and feeling a child. Poor Gerard was reduced at 
 last to stamping about the room, giving himself, as was his 
 custom, a tons les diables, and was at length setting out in 
 search of the young man himself, when Godard returned 
 still alone ; and with an air half-anxious, half-amused, he held 
 out his hand to Gerard. 
 
 "Come, my dear lieutenant! you must summon up a little 
 philosophy, I'homme propose. But, in every operation there 
 is loss and gain. We sow one thing, we often reap another. 
 I hope you will find some consolation ; however, go into that 
 next room ; and in the right closet beyond, you will find the 
 person, who will present you with my brother's letter. Go 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 255 
 
 in, if you please, I am not going to attend you ; I will just 
 change my dress, and order dinner." 
 
 Gerard, without answering, entered the cabinet, and Godard 
 shut the door upon him. 
 
 As soon as the lieutenant was alone, he stopped. He 
 found himself in a dark little passage room, only illuminated 
 by a borrowed light; just opposite to him was a half-open 
 door, which permitted a small, neatly furnished chamber, to 
 be seen beyond; no person, however, appeared. 
 
 Gerard was undoubtedly a man of courage ; indeed, in all 
 military matters he might truly be said scarcely to know 
 what fear was ; and in the general relations of life and society, 
 in spite of the narrowness of his education, and the unfavour- 
 able circumstances of his youth, the simplicity, good sense, 
 and native refinement of his character, preserved him alike 
 from the vulgarity of a coarse assurance, or from the baseness 
 of shyness or timidity. Before the whole staff, before his 
 general, before the first Consul himself, Gerard's manner 
 never lost its modesty and dignity; but this sensibility and 
 refinement did not stand so much his friend in his relations 
 with women. Accustomed all his life to the rudeness of 
 camps, a ^ beautiful, refined, and delicate woman appeared to 
 his imagination as something angelic, with which a being so 
 rude as himself could have nothing in common ; and he never 
 chanced to be in such society, but a most distressing sense of 
 his own imperfections would cover his face with blushes, 
 cloud his intellects, impede' his speech, and prevent him from 
 an enjoyment, for which, by nature, he was most particularly 
 formed. At the same time, his taste in these matters hap- 
 pened to be peculiarly delicate ; and he could not endure the 
 least forwardness of manner, which might have tended to throw 
 down those barriers of shyness and reserve which seemed to 
 him insuperable. So that there was every appearance that 
 poor Gerard, with the tenderest heart in the world, would 
 never know the felicity of a refined and reciprocal attachment. 
 
 It was the consciousness, in some measure, of this, which 
 had made him build his whole future happiness upon the child 
 he had adopted. 
 
 This little detail is necessary to account for the feelings 
 with which the lieutenant approached the door. Some lady, 
 he felt persuaded, was within, in company with his adopted 
 son some relation, probably, as delicate, and elegant as the 
 child he had carried in his arms. All his happiness was now 
 at an end. To meet his son for the first time under such 
 embarrassing circumstances ! 
 
 However, there was no alternative, so he gently opened the 
 door. 
 
256 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE ADOPTED SON, 
 
 ONE person alone was in the room, and that one neither an 
 elderly lady, with the manners of a princess, nor a fine tall 
 young man of sixteen ; nor some little awkward ugly fellow 
 of five feet high; nor anything bad or good, in short, that 
 Gerard could possibly have expected. 
 
 A very young lady was sitting by the window tall or short, 
 pretty or ugly, fair or brown, Gerard did not observe; for 
 he turned from her to look round the chamber, in search of 
 that other person whom he expected with so much impatience. 
 But the young lady was alone. 
 
 She started and rose from her seat at his entrance ; then 
 trembling, blushing, her eyes swimming with tears, this lovely 
 young creature, holding a letter in one hand, approached 
 hesitated a moment gazed wistfully in his face, and fairly 
 dropping upon her knees, covered his hands with kisses. 
 
 Gerard, transfixed with surprise, stood staring and aghast 
 for a moment; while she, evidently quite overcome, relin- 
 quished his hand, covered her streaming eyes with her hand- 
 kerchief, and just articulated 
 
 "'Ah! sir! sir! the letter!" 
 
 But there was no need of the letter. Changed as she was, 
 there was something in the features, the soft large blue eyes, 
 the curling brown hair, not to be mistaken. Gerard clasped 
 her to his bosom he had found his child. 
 
 We pass over the scene which ensued, and will only briefly 
 state what the letter of M. Guillaumet related, how that when 
 the child could express itself in French a process long delayed 
 by illness, the result of fatigue and terror, which had nearly 
 cost its life it said that papa was an officer, very tall and 
 beautiful, and mamma a grand lady, with such beautiful 
 things! That they came from a great, great way off, and 
 that her own name was Ludovine Lodiska. Every attempt 
 had been made to follow these slight traces, but in vain no 
 one had ever appeared to claim the child. The Prussian 
 army had retired from the frontier, and it was probable that 
 the father had perished in the battle. The child said mamma 
 liked to dress her as a little boy ; because papa wanted a little 
 brother. Sometimes she was a little girl, sometimes a little 
 boy. This was all that was ever learned of the parentage of 
 the lovely Ludovine. 
 
 One other little circumstance the good pedagogue added 
 that in the child's clothes, huddled, as it were, into one of 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 257 
 
 his pockets, some very valuable jewels had been found; which 
 Guillaumet, taking a proces verbal of the fact, had sealed iip 
 and deposited with M. le Maire. When all hope of discover- 
 ing any trace of the child's parents had been abandoned, and 
 when all communication with Gerard, during his absence in 
 Egypt, had ceased by the advice of M. le Maire, these 
 jewels had been disposed of, for the sum of 75,000 francs 
 (about. 3,OOOZ. sterling); and the money had been deposited 
 in the hands of an eminent merchant of St. Menehould. Bills 
 upon Paris to the amount of the whole of this little fortune, 
 constituted the deposit of which citizen Godard spoke. 
 
 The transformation of a young grenadier into a very deli- 
 cate and fair girl, would, it may be thought, prove rather an 
 awkward circumstance for our lieutenant. What was he to 
 do with all that at the regiment? But so it did not happen. 
 That had taken place, of which real life furnishes not unfre- 
 quent instances. 
 
 The young officer had made an ineffaceable impression upon 
 the heart and imagination of the child; an impression the 
 force of which was by no means weakened when they met 
 again he, in the ripened beauty of maturer years, she, in the 
 first bloom of youth. In short, Gerard discovered, to his 
 inexpressible felicity, that, instead of a son and a pupil, he 
 had reared for himself the sweetest, the tenderest, and the 
 most lovely of wives and of mistresses. We will not attempt 
 to describe his felicity, the felicity of his affectionate heart, at 
 discovering that he, in his turn, was the object of devoted 
 attachment ; that he had, in his turn, the power to make one 
 of these divine creatures, upon whom he had scarcely dared 
 to look, happy. To be brief, Gerard and Ludovine were to 
 be married. 
 
 Some little difficulty arose upon the occasion, with respect 
 to the name and designation under which, Gerard should be 
 united to his Ludovine. Dervieux and Godard, like excel- 
 lent friends as they were, took the subject into mature con- 
 sideration Gerard being now in the seventh heaven, and 
 unable to attend to matters, even so nearly connected with 
 his happiness as this. 
 
 They at length decided upon the following plan. Their 
 man of law was directed to write to the village, which Jacques 
 had so long inhabited, and to obtain, without delay, the register 
 of the baptism of Jean Louis Jacquot ; and the registers of 
 the deaths of Madeleine, and of Maitre Jacques the weaver. 
 
 While this was in progress, Gerard obtained a conge for six 
 weeks; pleading to his colonel, that important interests 
 obliged him to marry in the department of Marne. The 
 colonel made no difficulty of promoting a marriage, with a 
 
258 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 young lady possessing so pretty a dowry, and the leave was 
 granted, with many compliments upon the occasion. 
 
 On his side, M. Godard wrote to Guillaumet, who took the 
 most lively interest in these proceedings. 
 
 "All is settled ; publish the banns at the young lady's parish 
 church, we shall all arrive in a fortnight," and he enclosed 
 the names and titles of the future bridegroom. 
 
 Dervieux likewise furnished himself with a leave of absence ; 
 and, as soon as the papers arrived, Godard, Dervieux, the 
 enraptured Gerard, and the blushing Ludovine, set off together 
 in a berline hired for the occasion, and, after a not very dis- 
 agreeable journey, were received into the arms of Guillaumet, 
 and of his worthy, though rather precise sister, amid mingled 
 tears and smiles. 
 
 All the necessary formalities having been completed, the 
 banns were published, the young orphan authorised to dispose 
 of her own hand, notification made to M. le Maire, and the 
 municipality decorated. The happy day arrived. Though it 
 was towards the latter end of autumn, the heavens were serene, 
 the weather beautiful Gerard a fine, handsome, military 
 figure Ludovine a very lovely girl ; and all St. Menehould 
 was satisfied. 
 
 The name Gerard was not mentioned in this affair. "Jean 
 Louis Jacquot, son of Jacques, and grandson of Jacques, born 
 
 the 14th of January, 1763, in the village of , near Angers, 
 
 was married to Ludovine, an orphan, daughter of and 
 
 and Lodiska, residence of family unknown ; who, as well 
 
 as she can remember, in 1792, crossed the French frontiers 
 with the Prussian army." 
 
 The witnesses for the young lady were the whole family of 
 the schoolmaster Guillaumet ; for Gerard, the good Dervieux 
 and M. Godard. 
 
 The marriage took place upon a Decade, 20th Frimaire, 
 An. 7, in common parlance, in Nov. 1799. 
 
 It was a very romantic pretty marriage, and all the town 
 took credit to itself upon the occasion. There were dances, 
 balls, and parties given at the principal houses: and, as we 
 have been credibly informed, more pieds de cucJion were fri- 
 casseed in the good town upon that occasion, than even at 
 the coronation of Kapoleon, the Restoration, or any other of 
 those great and glorious days, with which France has furnished 
 history, during the last twenty years. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 GERARD and his gentle Ludovine had been married about six 
 months, when he was, once more, called upon to share in the 
 sacrifices and glories of war. The restless spirit of Napoleon 
 urged him into the field against Austria ; and Gerard felt, for 
 the first time, as he clasped the weeping Ludovine in his arms, 
 ** the cost of a war." 
 
 The campaign opened with Montebello, and terminated 
 with Marengo ; and Gerard returned in time to receive, in a 
 perfect ecstasy of tenderness, the infant which his sweet wife 
 placed in his arms. 
 
 The little Susanne was born under the happiest auspices; 
 her cradle watched by the tenderest of parents and fondest of 
 married pairs, was not without its honours too; the wife of 
 the colonel begged to be her godmother, and gave her own 
 name of Susanne. All the ladies connected with the regiment 
 were present at the ceremony, and kissed the little creature 
 as they showered good wishes upon her head; while they 
 assured her mother that she would be the most beautiful 
 creature in the world, with a mouth like a rosebud, hair 
 either of silk or gold, I forget which, and the finest eyes in 
 the universe. 
 
 And so this pretty child slipped into her place in society 
 this pretty child of the Hue des deux Eglises this good and 
 faithful daughter of the invalid, who met the Soeur de Charite 
 at the apothecary's shop. 
 
 Alas! what has happened! How is all changed! that she, 
 the caressed of all around her the god-daughter of a colonel's 
 lady, should be constrained to sell her only shawl, to procure 
 a drop of wine for the poor deserted soldier! 
 
 The peace of Luneville, in 1801, terminated the continental 
 war; the peace of Amiens, in 1802, the war with England: 
 France was allowed a short breathing -time, during which, 
 Gerard enjoyed as perfect happiness as can be tasted in this 
 world. He had placed the 75,000 francs which he had re- 
 ceived with his wife, in a banking-house of approved credit. 
 
 The interest of his money, with his lieutenant's pay, and 
 some savings from former campaigns, insured to him not, 
 what the luxurious of this world would call riches, but 
 enough to command ease and comfort for his young wife ; and 
 enough, to enable him to educate his child, with the most 
 assiduous care. 
 
 Ludovine had continued to live at St. Germains, in a small 
 cottage situated in the midst of a pretty shady garden. The 
 
260 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 apartments, furnished with that elegant neatness and propriety 
 which the French so well understand, and rendered cheerful 
 by the gaiety and accomplishments of his sweet young wife, 
 appeared to Jacquot, the son of a weaver born in the most 
 sordid circumstances, and attached to a marching regiment 
 before he was twelve years old, as the most delicious of en- 
 chanted palaces. 
 
 " Parbleu /" he would say to Ludovine, " I possess the most 
 charming wife in existence the prettiest little love in the 
 world, my epaulettes, and as much money as I know what to 
 do with. But alas! poor Nicolas, what is become of thee? 
 Sad! to be thus parted for ever! certainly he never could 
 have returned to the village he believes me to be dead, per- 
 haps he is dead himself. He will never see my Ludovine, nor 
 my Susarme." 
 
 That mortal felicity is never altogether unclouded, is a re- 
 mark so very new, that we cannot forbear making it here; 
 and this was the only cloud which, sometimes darkened the 
 bright sunshine of Gerard's life. 
 
 The secret of the lieutenant's name had never transpired 
 in the regiment ; it still continued unknown to all except Der- 
 vieux; for the colonel and his lady, when they honoured 
 him by holding his child at the font, had not paid more atten- 
 tion than great people are wont to do, to the concerns of 
 little people, and the name of Jean Louis Jacquot, which 
 figured in the act of baptism, had escaped their notice. To 
 all the world, therefore, Jacquot and Ludovine continued to 
 be M. and Madame Gerard, no one suspected the imposition, 
 if imposition it can be called. As little did the shepherd him- 
 self, who still continued to eat cheese and onions, sleep between 
 his dogs, and pasture his sheep, surmise what his name was 
 about the while ; how it was shouldering arms, gaining epau- 
 lettes, and beating the enemies of the Republic on all sides. 
 
 Gerard was, however, too soon called upon to quit his be- 
 loved Ludovine. He set out for Austerlitz, and he never saw 
 her again. 
 
 This amiable, but too feeling woman, remained alone at St. 
 Germains, endeavouring to seek consolation in her child. 
 She educated her herself, and took interest in bestowing upon 
 the intelligent little girl, those accomplishments which she had 
 herself received, during her very successful education at St. 
 Menehould. Susanne was accomplished in all the female arts 
 of the needle; and though she showed not much talent for 
 music, she played and sang prettily enough ; she was well in- 
 formed, and possessed two or three languages ; but the 
 accomplishment to which her mother's most sedulous cares 
 were directed, was that of drawing. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 261 
 
 The situation of artists in France is much more desirable 
 than in England: a higher grade in society is allowed to them. 
 Ludovine reflected that the provision for her daughter was 
 small, and that by endeavouring to increase it by her own 
 talents, she ran no risk of that loss of caste, which in England 
 so unfortunately attaches itself to efforts of this nature on the 
 part of women; a prejudice which, let it be observed by the 
 way, perhaps does more in producing misery and discontent, 
 than any other half dozen of the innumerable prejudices 
 with which human, creatures love to make themselves, or 
 rather others, unhappy. 
 
 Ludovine thought that her daughter would spend a much 
 happier life, engaged in the regular exercise of a charming 
 art; and reaping and enjoying the fruits of her own talents 
 and industry, than yawning through her days without an 
 object, starving upon a small income, and supported by the 
 gratifying reflection that she was a gentlewoman, and not an 
 artist. Ludovine had known early what it was to suffer, and 
 that, to so intense a degree, that it was impossible for her to 
 look at anything but the realities of life. To want bread was 
 a possibility, which she felt might happen to any one; and 
 she thought no prudent creature should be without the means 
 of earning it. She had carefully cultivated her own remark- 
 able talents for drawing ; and though she, a happy wife, had 
 now little other use for them but to gratify her husband's 
 pride, and adorn his pretty home with works of her pencil, 
 she devoted a great deal of time and attention to the cultiva- 
 tion of the art in her little girl. 
 
 Susanne more than inherited the talents of her mother; 
 even at twelve years old her portraits were remarkable for 
 their spirit and fidelity, though of course partaking of the 
 defects incident to her age. Her progress, however, soon 
 became so extraordinary, that Ludovine was desirous to 
 furnish her with the best opportunities of instruction which 
 Paris could supply ; and she was intending to quit St. Ger- 
 mains for a small apartment in the Rue Mont Thabor, when 
 that destiny, which struck at the root of so much private and 
 public prosperity, broke doTin into ruins this little edifice of 
 domestic happiness. The disastrous effects of the retreat 
 from Moscow, reached even to the humble hearth of poor 
 Gerard. 
 
 Gerard had received the Cross of Honour upon the field of 
 the battle of Jena. He had been made a captain after the im- 
 mortal day of Wagram ; all this was very glorious, and very 
 gratifying. But it was well known, that the Imperial guard 
 was always engaged in the post of honour ; and upon occasion 
 of each of these terrible victories, if the bulletin chanced to 
 
262 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 arrive before a letter, the heart of the good and affectionate 
 Ludovine was torn by an anguish which shook the very 
 centre of her being. 
 
 These terrible emotions, the hurried pulses of anxiety, the 
 dead pause of terror, the raptures of joy and renewed security, 
 the agitated nights, the days spent in the feverish excitement 
 of one all-pervading thought ; and, to end all, the tears, the 
 despair, with which the news of the last disasters were received, 
 did that for Ludovine, which it has done for so many other 
 wives and mothers, ruined her nerves, wasted her spirits, 
 sapped her health, destroyed her by inches. 
 
 The Emperor returned to Paris ! 
 
 Consternation and mourning spread through France. The 
 scanty wrecks of the most formidable army, perhaps, ever 
 seen in modern times, slowly re-entered Germany. Awful 
 lists of the dead and wounded succeeded each other, and no 
 letters from Gerard ! 
 
 Ludovine forgot all her projects; her heart engrossed with 
 an anxiety amounting to agony; the powers of life began 
 rapidly to give way, as, day succeeding day, diminished hope, 
 and darkened her despair. 
 
 "He has perished," was the idea which filled her thoughts 
 by day, and haunted her weary pillow during her dreamy 
 feverish nights. 
 
 At length her health broke down altogether; and the 
 physician who was called in declared she had but a very short 
 time to live. 
 
 The anxieties of the mother succeeded to those of the wife ; 
 fain would she have remained a little longer in this darkened 
 world, to watch over the child so beloved ; but it was not to 
 be. The short remaining period of her life was devoted to 
 the arrangements necessary for securing the education of her 
 daughter. She left directions that she should be placed in a 
 seminary selected by herself; and that the interest of her 
 little fortune should be devoted to this object. She bequeathed 
 the most touching adieus to her husband, if it had pleased 
 Heaven to preserve him for his child ; but if he were already 
 gone to a better world, she humbly thanked Providence, for 
 allowing her to join one, so long, and so fondly beloved. 
 
 Two days after this tenderest, and best of mothers, and of 
 wives, had closed her eyes, a letter arrived. It had been three 
 months in travelling from the banks of the Oder to Paris ; it 
 was written in Dervieux's hand ; and contained the informa- 
 tion that Gerard, who had been grievously wounded, had 
 escaped as by miracle from the horrors of that disastrous 
 retreat; and had at length quitted the hospital to rejoin his 
 regiment. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 263 
 
 Gerard did not learn the misfortune which had befallen him 
 until the following year, when, after the disastrous campaign 
 of 1813, he re-entered France with the broken and discouraged 
 French army. The ruin of his country, and of his own indi- 
 vidual happiness, struck upon the brave man's heart at once ; 
 perhaps either grief alone would have been sufficient to have 
 broken it, but united they seemed in some degree to divert 
 each other. The anguish of the husband was relieved by the 
 rage and despair of the soldier. 
 
 Death in his heart, and a desire to find it on the field, he 
 fought at Montmirail, Ivlontereau, and Craonne. 
 
 The empire was lost, the French army broken, and Wel- 
 lington and the victorious sovereigns entered Paris. Numbers 
 sent in their adhesion, as it was called, to the new order of 
 things ; but Gerard took off his epaulettes, his cross, and his 
 sword, saying to Dervieux, " Our service is ended! I shall 
 try to forget our eagles, in the arms of my little daughter." 
 
 Susanne was just thirteen, Eight years had elapsed since 
 her father had last seen her (such were the sacrifices which 
 the service of Napoleon exacted, from an army which, never- 
 theless, adored him). He found in her the picture of his 
 Ludovine, adorned by all the opening graces of her charming 
 age. The father and daughter mingled their tears together ; 
 and Gerard felt there was something still left worth living for. 
 
 The little fortune of his wife was yet remaining, and he 
 determined to come to Paris, and upon his moderate income 
 realise the plans of Ludovine for the education of his daughter. 
 But the "Man of Destiny" landed from Elba. Once more 
 the victorious eagles summoned together the French army 
 the tricolor waved over the Tuileries, and Gerard resumed 
 his sword. 
 
 Every one knows the denouement of this remarkable episode, 
 in the history of that most remarkable man. 
 
 Gerard fell at Waterloo ; he was not, however, killed, but 
 was dragged by Dervieux from a heap of the dead and dying ; 
 wounded in ten places, and his thigh fractured. Dervieux 
 amputated the limb in a neighbouring village, and then con- 
 veyed his friend to Paris ; to place him in the arms of his 
 affectionate daughter. But the misfortunes of poor Gerard 
 were not at an end. The banker, in whose hands his little 
 fortune was placed, failed, and the wounded soldier was 
 penniless. 
 
 And now we know why the brave captain, attended only 
 by his little Susanne, was perishing on a miserable pallet in 
 the Rue des deux j&glises; why the pious little girl sold 
 her only shawl, to buy the wine, which Dervieux had not 
 ventured to prescribe ; why Dervieux had pledged his watch 
 
264 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 
 
 to purchase a wooden leg for his friend, and why the worthy 
 little nun, like a good Christian and no politician, had made 
 the royalists subscribe to find a loom, for the honourable 
 veteran of the vieille 'garde. 
 
 It is a long time since we have lost sight of the brave man, 
 his daughter, Dervieux, and the little nun with the long nose; 
 and it is time that we should know what they have been doing, 
 since they have possessed a wooden leg, a little money, a loom, 
 and strength to carry the honourable design of self-support 
 by honest industry, into execution. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE ARTIST. 
 
 IT was a fine autumn morning, 15th October, warm, soft, and 
 delightful, as autumns are in France nine o'clock was ringing 
 on the bell of St. Roche, and M. d'Horly was breakfasting 
 with his wife. 
 
 They were talking of days now long gone by, when Madame 
 d'Horly, a good-humoured and still handsome woman, but 
 possessing the comfortable embonpoint of forty years of age, 
 had been the model from which M. d'Horly had designed the 
 classical features and light elastic figure of his Diana ; in his 
 celebrated picture of that crescented huntress surrounded by 
 her nymphs. They were speaking at that moment of the skies 
 of Italy of Rome with all the delight with which we recol- 
 lect places visited in the days of enthusiasm and rapture. 
 
 " Charming recollections! dear Helena, beautiful Italy !" 
 
 The door opened, and Joseph entered. 
 
 " Did Monsieur ring ?" said he. 
 
 " Time you should inquire I rang half an hour ago." 
 
 "Yes, sir; but I was engaged with a young lady, who 
 wished particularly to speak with Monsieur, and I showed her 
 into your atelier." 
 
 " Where does she come from?" 
 
 "She did not tell me, sir; but said that she begged to 
 speak with Monsieur alone." 
 
 The artist finished his breakfast ; wrapped his white role- 
 de-chambre round him ; settled his feet in his green slippers ; 
 took a gay and gallant farewell of his wife, and proceeded to 
 his atelier. 
 
 D'Horly, who, it is proper to say, was at this time a very 
 distinguished artist, had not much of the inspired air of genius; 
 or of the leanness, yellowness, and sourness thereunto belong- 
 ing. He was a little man, plump, fair, blue-eyed, and light- 
 haired ; and though of at least six-and-forty years of age, his 
 
A SOLDIER'S PORTUKE. 265 
 
 complexion was fair and unwrinkled, his countenance open 
 and gay ; but there was a delicacy and refinement about the 
 mouth, and something quick and penetrating in the soft blue 
 eyes, that redeemed his expression from the least approach to 
 vulgarity, and betrayed the man of worth and feeling. 
 
 His wife, though she was a little past her seventh lustre, 
 had still considerable pretensions to that beauty, of which, 
 twenty years ago, she had been a perfect model. She was 
 sweet-tempered, lively, affectionate, and devoted to her hus- 
 band ; in short, they were a perfectly happy couple. One 
 thing alone was wanting to complete their felicity they were 
 childless. This was a source of deep regret to the successful 
 painter, and had cost many secret tears to his wife. They 
 consoled themselves, however, as well as they could he, with 
 his works of art, and a circle of select and admiring friends ; 
 she, by studying in every possible way to contribute to the 
 happiness of her husband. 
 
 M, d'Horly, in a white role-dc-cJiainbre, his feet in slippers, 
 his cravat carelessly tied round his throat, humming an opera 
 air, turned the handle of his atelier door, and entered. 
 
 A young lady was seated upon the sofa opposite the door. 
 She arose with some appearance of trepidation on his entrance, 
 and made him a low curtesy ; while her eyes were fixed upon 
 him, with a kind of searching anxiety, as if she wished to divine 
 by his countenance what would be the success of her visit. 
 
 As for the artist, who had not known exactly what to ex- 
 pect, he started back, struck with the beauty and charming 
 expression of the young girl, and muttered to himself 
 
 "Charming! perfect! delightful contour ! Y\ 7 hat a model 
 for a nymph! Pray sit down, mademoiselle." 
 
 The young lady seemed a little confused at this reception ; 
 however, she did as she was bid ; and the artist, rolling an 
 arm-chair opposite to the place she occupied on the sofa, fixed 
 his eyes upon her, and began 
 
 " Well, mademoiselle 1" 
 
 The young lady trembled, and seemed more and more con- 
 fused ; and as the artist examined her beautiful features, he 
 was struck more and more with the sweetness, intelligence, 
 and modest simplicity which pervaded them ; but, he was as- 
 tonished to see so young a creature presenting herself quite 
 alone, without companion or protector of any kind. 
 
 " What have you to say to me?" 
 
 He began again, perceiving her trembling and blushing 
 
 " Probably this is the first time you have ever appeared be- 
 fore a stranger alone. Had you no mother, no aunt, to accom- 
 pany you?" 
 
 4 'My mother is no more, sir; and I never had an aunt; 
 
 8 
 
266 A SOLDIER'S FORTUKE. 
 
 and, indeed indeed I was very much afraid to come alone 
 I hardly dared to come into the house I did not know whom 
 I might meet ; and and I have a great secret to confide to 
 you." 
 
 " A secret, mademoiselle!" he could not help exclaiming, 
 with some surprise ; "at your age !" 
 
 But, as he said so, the young girl lifted up two large black 
 eyes, so soft, so gentle, so full of goodness and purity, that he 
 added 
 
 "If I can be of the least service to you, you have only to 
 command me." 
 
 " Ah, sir! so I was told I have heard so much of your 
 kindness, that I have taken the liberty sir, a person who is 
 fond of painting, and well acquainted with your works, has 
 assured me that you took pupils that you had a class of young 
 ladies, and that you condescended to give lessons in drawing 
 and miniature painting. Ah, sir! it is such a charming art; 
 I entreat you, as the greatest favour in the world, to permit 
 me to take lessons I cannot do much, but I can copy pretty 
 well; and I have already taken a few portraits. Mamma had 
 a great talent for painting, sir, and she taught me ; and I had 
 masters too, then ; but since since I have lost mamma, sir, 
 and now I can have no masters ; and yet and yet 'tis abso- 
 lutely necessary I must be an artist, sir." 
 
 D'Horly's eyes sparkled with joy; he caught her hand 
 eagerly 
 
 ""An artist! an artist my dear child! Yes, to be sure! 
 You shall be an artist, my pretty young lady to be sure you 
 shall; I see the simplicity of genius its sensibility, its feeling 
 in every line of your countenance. To be sure you shall be 
 an artist only speak only explain yourself, and tell me what 
 I can do for you." 
 
 " Ah, sir! how good you are! I think, I know at least I 
 believe I have been told the price of your lessons. Indeed, 
 sir, I will try to pay very exactly I embroider for a very 
 good house and I do not doubt that I shall be able, by work- 
 ing an additional two hours every night, to earn what is suffi- 
 cient for the monthly payments if it is not more than I think. 
 See, sir! I have earned enough to begin with if you will 
 have the great goodness to accept it, and receive me into your 
 class though indeed I have no one in the world to recom- 
 mend me." 
 
 As she finished her speech with trembling eagerness, the 
 colour of her cheek heightened, and her large humid eyes bent 
 earnestly upon him ; she presented a piece of white paper, 
 very neatly folded, which appeared to contain a piece of gold. 
 
 The painter was charmed with this little petition. He was 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUKE. 267 
 
 a kind-hearted, worthy man ; and he had already forgotten 
 her beauty, and the picture of which he had fancied her serving 
 as a model, in the tender and paternal interest, which he al- 
 ready felt, for this simple and industrious little girl. 
 
 She still held the paper in her hand, while he said 
 
 "But, mademoiselle, what can render so great a sacrifice 
 on your part necessary ? I can understand the love of art 
 the desire of improvement. Yes, my child, when one is very 
 poor, as I was a wretched orphan. But you your age, 
 your education, your manners, all would prove that you can- 
 not be alone in the world. You must have relations, friends?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I have a father and my father has a friend 
 but" 
 
 "Well, mademoiselle, ought not your father " 
 
 " Ah, sir, that is exactly the secret I had to entrust you 
 with." 
 
 "Ah, ha!" 
 
 "My father must not know that I am going to pay you." 
 
 "How so, mademoiselle?" 
 
 Instead of answering, the young person pressed her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes. 
 
 " Has he forsaken you then?" cried the artist. 
 
 "Oh no, sir! he loves me dearly dearly I am the only 
 comfort he has in the world and for his sake " 
 
 " Tell me the whole truth, my dear little girl; consider me 
 already as your master as your friend." 
 
 " Oh willingly, sir ! My father has been very unfortunate ; 
 and his labour is scarcely able to maintain us both, though 
 we spend so little. If he knew that I intended to sit up at 
 night, he would forbid it. He would only work the harder 
 himself and I would not for the universe add to his fatigue." 
 
 " Ah, I understand!" said the artist, wiping his eyes. "And 
 you hope, poor child " 
 
 "Yes, sir I do hope, and I do believe, that if I work very 
 hard and can get some good lessons, I shall at last be a suffi- 
 ciently good artist to maintain my father. I do believe I have 
 some talent ; mamma always thought so, and intended I should 
 be an artist." 
 
 "But, my dear child, how can the father of a young lady, 
 educated as you evidently have been, labour as you call it? 
 No doubt he has some place but labour " 
 
 "No sir my father is a workman. He is a weaver." 
 
 "A weaver! Do not be surprised, mademoiselle, at my as- 
 tonishment. My father, too, was a weaver, and I mi<rht have 
 been a weaver also, if, like you, mademoiselle, the love of the 
 fine arts so you need not blush." 
 
 "Ah! sir," replied Susanne with enthusiasm, "do von 
 
268 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 
 
 think I could blush for such a father. A father who conde- 
 scends to labour at his loom to maintain his child 7, sir! he 
 was an officer. I am the daughter of a brave soldier who 
 has shared all the victories of the Grande Armee sir, 
 he was an officer of la Vieille Garde ; he was covered with 
 wounds at the battle of Waterloo and he now labours at the 
 loom, to maintain me." 
 
 "Of an officer! of an officer wounded at Waterloo! Ah, 
 mademoiselle, forgive me if I have failed in respect. An offi- 
 cer who condescends to throw the shuttle to maintain his child!" 
 he kept repeating, as he walked up and down the room, wiping 
 his eyes, from time to time, with the skirt of his dressing-gown. 
 He seemed lost in emotion, and almost to have forgotten 
 the presence of the little girl, who at last ventured to approach 
 him, and in her usually gentle tone of voice, said 
 
 " Will you then condescend, sir, to receive me among your 
 pupils? And, if you should see papa, will you have the 
 goodness not to tell him my secret, and to let him believe, 
 that my labour is a sufficient return for my lessons ?" 
 
 The only answer d'Horly could make to this was, to catch 
 the little girl in his arms, and surprise her with two or three 
 hearty kisses. Then he took her by the hand, and, drawing 
 her quickly through two or three handsomely furnished apart- 
 ments, opened the door of the room in which his wife was 
 seated. Madame d'Horly was in her arm-chair of richly 
 carved mahogany, covered with crimson Utrecht velvet; she 
 was embroidering; and the flowers were bursting into blow 
 under her fingers, in tints as lively, and forms almost as 
 graceful, as those which adorned the pictures of her husband. 
 
 She imagined him busy in his atelier, and at his sudden 
 apparition, with a countenance full of emotion, and leading 
 a lovely young girl, her cheeks wet with tears, by the hand 
 she started, rose, and almost threw down her frame. 
 
 "My dearest Helena," cried d'Horly, "this is the little 
 treasure I found in my atelier. A little love, a little model. 
 Genius, industry, and goodness; a little angel, and you must 
 be her friend, her guardian, her mother." And d'Horly 
 impetuously repeated to his wife all that had passed. 
 
 Helena had as good a heart as her husband, and an imagi- 
 nation to the full as lively and excitable. Before he had 
 finished his recital, the tears were in her eyes, while, with an 
 expression of the utmost sweetness and kindness, she had 
 taken hold of the young girl's hand, had drawn her nearer 
 and nearer, till, exclaiming, " Sweet and good child!" she had 
 pressed her to her bosom, while looking up at d'Horly, she 
 added with a sigh 
 
 Ah, d'Horly! why have we no such treasures?" 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 269 
 
 The tone of voice, something kind and maternal in the 
 accent, reminded poor Susanne of her mother. She took 
 Madame d'Horly's hand, pressed it, and kissed it. 
 
 This little action completely vanquished the kind Helena ; 
 she threw her arm round the little girl's waist, pressed her 
 once more to her bosom, kissed her on the forehead, made her 
 sit down by her on a sofa, and began : 
 
 " What is your name, my dear child?" 
 
 " Susanne." 
 
 " Susanne! That is a very pretty name and your 
 father's?" 
 
 " The Capitaine Gerard." 
 
 " And you have no mother?" in a kind and feeling tone. 
 
 Susanne lifted up her large black eyes, and fixed them 
 upon those of Helena; their expression went to her heart; 
 she pressed the little girl closer to her, and said very 
 tenderly 
 
 " No one need ever ask you that question again, my child; 
 only let me be your mother. I have no child God gives me 
 one now; you will be that child ; d'Horly shall teach you to 
 draw and paint, and I will watch over you, and take care of 
 you, and provide for your wants while you are cultivating 
 your talents, as a good mother ought to do. And you will 
 take us to your father, will you not, that we may make 
 him exquisitely happy, by telling him what a child he 
 possesses?" 
 
 Susanne could only answer by her tears, and by gently 
 pressing herself against the bosom of her new and kind friend ; 
 but she half muttered 
 
 **Ah, my dear little black sister! how glad you will be!" 
 
 "You have a sister, then?" said Madame. 
 
 " No, madame, a very kind friend." 
 
 "But, why do you call her black?" 
 
 " Because, madame, she is a little black nun." 
 
 "A nun! Good Heavens! Poor child how did you get 
 into such hands ? Take care, my love; they will impose upon 
 your understanding, they will mislead your conscience, they 
 will tear you from your father, they will throw you into a 
 convent. Ah! my dear child, does your father know you are 
 acquainted with a nun?" 
 
 Madame seemed to set no limits to her fears of the influence 
 that a holy sister might exercise over a young orphan creature 
 so ingenuous, simple, and good as Susanne ; and, to tell the 
 truth, she had too much reason, after the manner things went 
 at that time in France, for her apprehensions; but Susanne's 
 reply reassured her. 
 
 "Ho, madame," said she, gently but firmly; "no nun on 
 
270 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 earth could ever persuade me, that it would be right to forsake 
 iny father my father! no, never! never! besides I will 
 be an artist." 
 
 " Bravo! bravo, child!" cried the painter, "and you shall 
 be an artist. Talents, industry, invincible determination ! 
 genius, in its divine, original characters ! Yes, you shall 
 be a painter, child ; and when you have sacrificed at the sacred 
 altar of the muses, there will be nothing left to fear either from 
 the caprice of fortune or the ingratitude of man. Alms were 
 dropped into the helmet of Belisarius, as, blind and forsaken, 
 he begged for his bread. Your father's sword is broken, and 
 his shuttle alone remains in his hand ; but the ruin of empires 
 destroys not the work of the muses; the Apollo survives 
 the sack of Rome. There, my dear young lady, you must put 
 your name down in this little book ; and be not ashamed of 
 the name of artist from this moment fortune, liberty, and 
 bloodless, unstained glory are yours." 
 
 And it was thus, that this true child of the muses, declaimed 
 in white jean dressing-gown, velvet slippers, and stockings 
 falling about his heels ; his cheek kindling, his eye animated 
 with all the generous confidence of genius genius which, it 
 must be said in praise of his country, meets there with a res- 
 pect, consideration, and almost adoration, which in others is 
 lavished too often on the golden calves of Jeroboam. 
 
 His wife smiled affectionately, as she looked at him; but 
 the heart of Susanne kindled with something of the same sac- 
 red fire. She took the pen with a feeling of almost devout 
 respect; and while her hand trembled with emotion, wrote 
 the following words in his little book bound in blue morocco, 
 and elegantly gilt and ornamented: 
 
 " Susanne Gerard, aged fifteen years and two months, 
 daughter of Pierre Adrien Gerard, captain of grenadiers in 
 the Vieille Garde, and now journeyman weaver, living in the 
 Rue des Deux Eglises, near Saint Jacques du Haut-Pas." 
 
 While Susanne was writing this, d'Horly whispered his wife 
 to detain the little girl till dinner-time ; and as soon as she had 
 finished writing, put his book into his pocket, and left the room. 
 
 Madame d'Horly and Susanne sat down together, like the 
 two best friends in the world : and Susanne, fixing her large 
 eyes upon her friend's face, began her history; relating 
 the sorrows and sufferings of her father, the generous sacrifices 
 of Dervieux, and the kindness of the good nun ; who, she 
 added, was the only friend she had had in the world since her 
 mother's death. 
 
 Madame d'Horly kissed her, and fondly repeated, in the 
 kindest and warmest accents, that she would be a friend and a 
 mother too. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 27- 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 NICOLAS. 
 
 THE artist returned into his atelier, but it was not to take 
 up his pencils. He looked about for a little silver bell, that 
 stood upon his table with a hundred other things, which lay 
 there in most admired confusion. He flings them about, as 
 his custom was '* making confusion worse confounded," and, 
 as his custom likewise was, unable to find what he was looking 
 for. A sheet of white paper, neatly folded, attracted his at- 
 tention : he took it up it was the offering presented by the 
 little girl, half an hour before. The artist coloured to the 
 temples; a feeling of mingled shame and sorrow swelled in 
 his bosom. 
 
 " What! I accept the hard-earned pittance of a poor soldier's 
 daughter the pittance wrung from the sleep of childhood 
 the recompense of days of painful labour?" 
 
 He had his hand upon the lock of the door, he was going to 
 return the money instantly, but a sudden thought arrested 
 him. He smiled, but the tears stood in his eyes. He opened 
 the paper it contained a napoleon, new and shining. " And 
 why should I ? what right have I to refuse it ? where would 
 be the goodness, the virtue, and the courage of this excellent 
 child, if I refused to accept the fruit of her industry and exer- 
 tion? What right have I to stifle, in their birth, the noble 
 feelings of this delightful creature? Shall I, by a false indul- 
 gence, put an end to those sacrifices which fill me with admir- 
 ation, and say to this child, My dear, your courage, your 
 industry, your filial piety, melt nie to the very soul, and 
 therefore 1 will take care, in future, that you shall have no 
 opportunity of practising these virtues?' Fatal, absurd, per- 
 nicious conclusion ! no, sweet child, I reverence your resolution 
 I love and admire the spirit and energy of your young and 
 generous heart. Yes, you shall experience the pleasures of a 
 hard-earned independence. Yes, you shall pay for your 
 lessons; you shall owe your success only to yourself it will 
 raise and ennoble you in your own eyes. You shall fulfil 
 your sublime vocation. I will keep your gold at least for 
 the present." 
 
 The resolution cost him dear, and the hand of the artist 
 trembled as he opened the drawer of his table. He first took 
 out three other pieces of gold, but a moment's reflection made 
 him replace two. 
 
 " We must take care," said he, "and avoid all exaggeration. 
 The child might have given me two pieces. Impossible that 
 she should have earned three or four." 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 vhile he muttered these last words, he added the ad- 
 piece to the one contained in Susanne's paper, and 
 
 - L_^n both into his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards he had the infinite satisfaction of 
 finding his silver bell, the sound of which soon reverberated 
 from one side of the house to the other. 
 
 Joseph was already in the room. 
 ' Come, come, Joseph quick! what are you about?" 
 
 * Ready, sir. What did you please to want, sir?" 
 1 Quick, quick, my colours, my pencils!" 
 
 c Here, sir ; all ready." 
 
 4 Nonsense ! what are you thinking of? I mean my boots, 
 my waistcoat, my coat, my hat. Now fetch me & fiacre directly, 
 my good fellow." 
 
 D'Horly dressed himself as quickly, and rather more exactly 
 than he usually did. It was seldom that something might not 
 by a curious eye be detected as wanting to complete his toilet 
 complete toilets not being, perhaps, among the attributes 
 belonging to. those of the highest merit in this world. 
 
 He enters the fiacre. 
 
 " Coachman, to the Rue des Deux Eglises." 
 
 " The Rue des Deux Eglises!" said the coachman, settling 
 the hat upon his head. " And where the devil, please your 
 worship, can that possibly be?" 
 
 "And how the devil am I possibly to know? is it my 
 business to know the names of all the streets in Paris? 
 Drive to every church you know of, and ask every beadle and 
 gens-d'arme you meet till you find it." 
 
 D'Horly stepped into the fiacre the coachman mounted 
 his seat, flourished his whip over the poor, lean, miserable 
 beast that stumbled between the shafts, and set out in search 
 of the Rue des Deux Eglises. 
 
 And while he is engaged blundering amid the labyrinth of 
 streets, we will relate what the reader already suspects how 
 in the benevolent artist he meets with the soft-hearted, blue- 
 eyed Nicolas who sat sobbing behind the cottage-door, sketch- 
 ing his mother's coffin with a bit of charcoal. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE FATE OF MAI THE JACQUES. 
 
 WE must return once more to the cottage of Maitre Jacques, 
 fils de Jacques, et petit-fils de Jacques, the 4th of March, 
 1761, at six o'clock in the morning, when a brave and resolute 
 child, driven by cruelty and tyranny to desperation, left his 
 bed, his home, his father's house, and flung himself, almost 
 naked, and absolutely penniless, upon the wide, wide world. 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 273 
 
 He opened the shutters, as we may recollect, with caution, 
 lest he should awaken the heavy snoring drunkard, his father ; 
 or disturb the slumbers of poor little Nicolas, who slumbered, 
 his pale face blistered with'his tears, having sobbed and cried 
 himself asleep. 
 
 Maitre Jacques slept longer than usual that morning, having 
 reeled to bed more drunk than ever; and it was seven o'clock, 
 and the sunbeams fell bright upon his forehead, before he 
 opened his large, red, animal eyes, cruel and sensual as that 
 of the Cyclops and with that weight upon his spirits which 
 the most hardened must feel, when they awaken with the dim 
 recollection of a yesterday spent in cruelty and vice, he arose 
 coughing, swearing, and surly, from his mattress. 
 
 "Up, up, you rascals! seven o'clock! what the d 1 are 
 you all about ! snoring like hogs. To work, you vagabonds S" 
 
 " Yes, papa," answers one little soft trembling voice ; one 
 little child slips from his mattress to the floor, and begins with 
 trembling haste to dress himself. 
 
 Maitre Jacques now observed the shutter was open. 
 
 "What the d 1 has been here? how comes the window 
 to be opened ?" 
 
 Nicolas made no answer; he was sitting on the floor, push- 
 ing his feet into his heavy shoes; but at this he started up, 
 rubbed his eyes, and looked round. No brother was there. 
 He remembered but too well the determination taken by Jac- 
 quot the evening before; and the poor little child, gentle, 
 tender, and affectionate as his mother, burst into an agony of 
 tears, sobs, and cries. 
 
 His Jacquot was gone his friend, his protector, his cham- 
 pion almost his divinity the being he loved, honoured, clung 
 
 to the only possession he had in the world and the despair 
 
 of his infant heart can only be judged of by these who are well 
 acquainted with children, and who know how to appreciate 
 the depth and the intensity of feeling of which that age is 
 sometimes capable. 
 
 His cries roused the neighbours once more. 
 
 '* Is that scoundrel at it again? he'll never have done till 
 he has murdered those poor children." 
 
 And the village was once more assembled round his door: 
 men, women, children above all, young mothers, crying shame 
 upon him, and threatening and abusing him that he did not 
 let the children alone. 
 
 Maitre Jacques stood firm. When they knocked, he opened 
 the door; and good Simonde, the old friend of the unfortu- 
 nate Madeleine, was the first to enter. 
 
 She ran to the unhappy child, took him on her lap, wiped 
 his eyes, consoled and fondled him; while half-a-dozen other 
 
'274 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 women stood round the door, with eyes starting, hair dishe- 
 velled, and fists clenched, and threatening, like the Furies 
 themselves. Jacques cast one look of dark, surly defiance on 
 the exasperated crowd; then turned away, dogged and sullen, 
 took his chair, sat down to his loom, and plied his task in 
 sulky silence. 
 
 The women, somewhat daunted, continued to crowd round 
 the door, their eyes searching round the room, no one ventur- 
 ing, however, to cross the threshold but Simonde, an old 
 friend a sort of privileged person, even with the brutal 
 weaver ; and she said and did what she pleased. 
 
 "And what's the matter, now?" she asked, fixing her eye 
 upon him. " What is the poor child crying for, poor lamb? 
 One must have the heart of a tiger to beat him." 
 
 Jacques lifted his head from his loom turned, cast a look 
 of indifference on Simonde and his child, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and resumed his task. The unusual moderation of such 
 conduct encouraged the good gossip, and she went on: 
 
 " Don't think to look big, and make me afraid of you. I 
 know what I am saying. I am their poor mother's, that was, 
 cousin-germain ; and I have a right to speak for these poor 
 babes, and speak for them I will. What's the matter with 
 the child? Speak up, Nicolas; tell me what's the matter 
 with thee? What do'st cry so for?" 
 
 Nicolas sobbed so that he could scarcely articulate: a few 
 broken syllables, however, burst forth, more like screams than 
 words the screams of utter despair : 
 
 * ' Brother ! brother ! Jacquot ! Jacquot !" 
 
 "Brother! Jacquot! Mercy of Heaven ! What has be- 
 come of him? Wretch! monster! where is thy son?" 
 
 The violent agitation with which Simonde, starting from her 
 seat, flung the poor little Nicolas to the earth, and confronted 
 the father at his loom the screams, cries, and execrations 
 of the crowd at the door, at length, seemed to arouse Muitre 
 Jacques from his affected insensibility. 
 
 " Where is he?" starting up, and in a voice of thunder 
 " Where is he! where I please: what business is it of yours, 
 or any of you? Do I come meddling into your houses when 
 you please to correct your children? Parbleu! I am master 
 of mine. I'll beat, flog, kick, murder them, if I please; and 
 drive to any one who dares interfere with me." 
 
 "O mercy!" cried Simonde. "What has he done with 
 him! he may have murdered him. He has murdered him! 
 he has murdered him!" 
 
 "Murder! murder!" echoed the screeching crowd, pressing 
 forward into the house. 
 
 Jacques roared with passion; he seized a huge weaver's 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 275 
 
 beam that lay near the loom, and brandished it furiously over 
 his head. 
 
 " Out with ye! out with ye! every rascally she-d 1 of ye 
 Jill, out of my house! out of my house!" and he flourished his 
 terrible beam. 
 
 The house was cleared in a second, the women rushed, 
 shrilly screaming, into the street; Maitre Jacques banged to 
 the door, fastened it, barred it, closed the shutters, and re- 
 mained in silence and darkness alone with the poor child, who, 
 crouching in a corner, was now too much terrified even to 
 shed a tear. His large dry eyes were fixed upon his father, 
 who, in the dim twilight that penetrated into the apartment, 
 might be seen, a huge figure with arms folded and head dropped 
 upon his breast, slowly pacing the apartment. 
 
 He was suffering those agonies that wring the hard heart, 
 when remorse at length has found an entrance. He was 
 deploring, in silent bitterness, his brutality to his son the 
 noble, courageous boy, bounding under his lash, laughing, 
 defying, scorning to yield, before tyrannous injustice and 
 cruelty. His open, frank, ingenuous countenance, his clear 
 bold eye, his brave energetic bearing, his brow so resolute 
 and so fair, all, all, were before the father's eye! 
 
 Yet was his remorse only a species of rage, rage against 
 himself, rage against every living creature ; and had Nicolas 
 once moved, or given sign of life, during this terrible hour, 
 the first effects of the father's despair on account of one child 
 would have probably been the annihilation of the other. 
 
 He was not long, however, left to his reflections ; he was 
 soon aroused by a hail of stones, clods, and every sort of 
 missile, thrown at his windows; and the cries of all the 
 children of the village abusing him as a brute ! a drunkard ! an 
 assassin ! a murderer ! 
 
 The courage and obstinacy of Jacques seemed at last about 
 to give way ; he paused a moment, but then kindling afresh 
 with indignation, he opened the shutters, and presented him- 
 self, bare-headed, to the storm which assailed him. 
 
 Never had he appeared more terrible; there, as he stood 
 almost sublime in his magnificent hardihood, confronting alone 
 the storm of his assailants. They were to a man cowed, and 
 began to slink one by one away. But another sound was heard, 
 loud knocks, as of one having authority, sounded upon the 
 door, and the voice of the gardc-champetre was heard: 
 
 "Maitre Jacques, the weaver, you are commanded to open 
 your door in the name of the Maire, before whom I have 
 orders to conduct you." 
 
 The terrible summons, as it would have appeared to many, 
 was to Maitift Jacques a relief. Conscious of his innocence, 
 
276 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. .. 
 
 yet, intrepid as be was, almost, borne down by popular fury, 
 he felt the interference of the civil magistrate as a protection. 
 He unbarred his door, and calmly received the garde-chain- 
 petre. Eight of the most vigorous fellows of the parish, 
 armed with rusty guns, without either flints or ramrods, pre- 
 sented themselves. Maitre Jacques smiled disdainfully at 
 this formidable array, and the posse comitatus shrank back, 
 somewhat appalled at the daring appearance of the criminal. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, my good fellows, "said Jacques; "if I 
 did not mean to follow you I'd make no bones of throwing 
 you all out of the window:" and, turning towards Nicolas, 
 who was trembling in a corner, " Come, you little fool! Put 
 on your clothes, and walk first, to show the rascals I have not 
 murdered thee." 
 
 This precaution was not useless, for the general indignation 
 was aroused to such a pitch, that there is little doubt Jacques 
 would have been stoned by the enraged mob, if the delicate 
 and innocent child had not been in his hand. Nicolas, his 
 large blue eyes staring mournfully around, his golden hair 
 hanging in thick curls round his delicate cheeks, softened the 
 hearts of the multitude to pity; and the weaver arrived, 
 accompanied by the eight braves, at the house of M. le Maire. 
 
 The parish council was already assembled ; the little court 
 before the house was filled with the gaping, pushing, murmur- 
 ing crowd of the curious vulgar, ever delighted with excitement, 
 be tbe cause what it may. Maitre Jacques was interrogated, 
 and frankly related all that had happened; that, returning 
 very late from the ale-house, he had seen his two sons, as 
 usual, in bed and fast asleep; that he slept soundly all night, 
 and awoke rather later than usual in the morning; that he 
 found the window open, his eldest son gone, and Nicolas 
 sleeping alone. 
 
 This simple relation bore every character of truth, and was 
 ccniirmed by Nicolas ; who, with many sobs and tears, said, 
 that he was sure Jacquot had run away, because he always said 
 he would, and, the very night before, had tried to persuade 
 11 im to go too, and enlist for a soldier, like Grandfather Jean. 
 
 In consequence of this information, the mayor had the 
 whole . country searched, but nothing could be heard of the 
 little fugitive ; no wanderer answering to the description had 
 been seen upon any of the roads, or had entered the neigh- 
 bouring villages. 
 
 Maitre Jacques appeared to take no interest in the result 
 of these inquiries ; in his usual dogged manner, he persisted 
 in saying Jacquot was a good-for-nothing fellow, an obstinate, 
 ill-conditioned, idle boy, and that for his part he was glad to 
 be well rid of him, 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 277 
 
 It will be recollected that little Jacquot had swum the 
 river, and by that means had obliterated all traces of his route. 
 
 The inquiries were prosecuted for nearly a month, and, 
 during that time, public opinion left Maitre Jacques at rest; 
 but when it had been ascertained, beyond the possibility of a 
 doubt, that the child had nowhere been seen, and that at no 
 house, within the circle of three days' journey, had any child, 
 answering to the description, presented himself, frightful sus- 
 picions of the father's guilt again took possession of everyone. 
 
 It seemed impossible, that a child of twelve years old, 
 without a sou in his pocket, could have travelled three days 
 without seeking food or shelter somewhere; and as for enlist- 
 ing, who would enlist a child of twelve years old? besides, a 
 little ragged wretch like that, without friends or papers, would 
 have been certainly arrested wherever he went. Since 
 Jacquot had nowhere appeared, Jacquot had never left the 
 village ; and as Jacquot had never left the village, Jacquot 
 must have met with foul play Jacquot must have been mur- 
 dered by his father. The inference seemed inevitable. 
 
 "It is very possible," said the wiseacres of the place, as 
 they settled the matter together, "that Jacques did not mean 
 to murder the boy out and out ; but we all know how cruelly 
 he used to strap the poor fellow. JSTo doubt he struck once 
 too often. He has buried him somewhere, and knows well 
 enough, if he chose to sing out, that he is not five leagues off. 
 As for what Nicolas says, he was tutored, that's plain, and 
 daren't for his life tell any other tale." 
 
 Such were the reasonings which circulated from mouth to 
 mouth curses not loud but deep, reached once more the ears 
 of the unhappy man. It is true the first fury of his com- 
 panions had exhausted itself, and nothing was said of a second 
 summons before the Maire ; but his situation was not the less 
 dreadful. The man does not exist, brutal and hardened as 
 he may be, who can behold himself, unmoved, the object of 
 unmitigated detestation to his fellows. 
 
 Jacques felt it all bitterly ; for, savage as he was, he had 
 strong feelings, and when once excited his sensations were 
 terrible. He wandered about solitary, gloomy, ferocious a 
 prey to that dark despair with which we may imagine the first 
 murderer visited, when, driven from the face of man, he 
 became a wanderer and a vagabond upon the earth. 
 
 JSTo one spoke to him, no one saluted him men turned 
 away when he was seen approaching those he looked upon 
 refused to meet his eye. The cure had not forbidden him the 
 church, it is true, but into the church he dared not enter 
 that house of peace and mercy was closed as by a charm to him. 
 
 Once he had attempted to take his place there, upon which 
 
278 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 the whole congregation had immediately quitted their seats, 
 leaving him absolutely alone. He never tried again. 
 
 Even Nicolas, the innocent little Nicolas, seemed smitten 
 by the curse which had fallen upon his father. People loved 
 and pitied him ; but the effects of hatred and indignation are 
 with the vulgar, alas ! far more powerful than those resulting 
 from the tender emotions. The detestation inspired by the 
 father blighted the child, and he, too, became as the pariah 
 of the village. But the climax of Maitre Jacques' disgrace 
 was, when the keeper of that public-house, where from gene- 
 ration to generation all the Jacques, from father to son, had 
 drunk, sung, boasted, domineered, and spent the best part of 
 their wages the keeper of that very house, his devotion to 
 which had been the cause of all Jacques' misfortunes, gave 
 him to understand, that he would be glad to dispense with 
 his company; seeing that while he favoured him with his 
 visits, not another villager would darken his doors. 
 
 Maitre Jacques' determination was at length taken; he 
 yielded ; and he abandoned the field to his enemies. 
 
 He went to the Maire, and told him it was his intention to 
 quit the village. The worthy magistrate strengthened him 
 in this determination; and the very next day the cottage 
 where the Jacques, from father to son, had lived, with its little 
 vineyard and field, was put up to sale. It was difficult for 
 Jacques, hardened as he was, to restrain his tears, when the 
 home of his forefathers was knocked down to the highest 
 bidder, and passed into the possession of another; but the 
 proud spirit lingered yet within. He concealed his emotion 
 under a brutal laugh; which apparent insensibility served 
 only to draw fresh curses upon his head. Jacques was a bad 
 man, but the misery he felt at that moment outweighed all 
 that he had ever inflicted. 
 
 The sale completed, he bought a small cart, drawn by a 
 strong sinewy ass, and having flung into it his scanty posses- 
 sions, his weaver's loom and his mattresses, he mounted little 
 Nicolas upon the beast; and at nine o'clock in the evening 
 of April the 17th, on a still, calm night, he began his melan- 
 choly journey; leading his ass by the bridle in silence inter- 
 rupted only by the creaking wheels of his little cart, as it 
 dragged slowly through the heavy sand. 
 
 No one bade him farewell, no one bade God speed him. 
 The accursed of God and man went on his way gloomy and 
 impenitent. One only sentiment he uttered "Cursed village, 
 we are rid of each other!" He cast one glance behind him 
 on the roof that had covered his forefathers on the church- 
 yard where poor Madeleine was sleeping, and then he began 
 to whistle, and whistled till he was out of hearing. 
 

 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 GERARD AT HIS LOOM. 
 
 MAITRE JACQUES carried away with him the sum of 2000 
 francs, or eighty English pounds a considerable sum for him; 
 arising from the sale of those possessions of his ancestors, of 
 which he had taken leave for ever. He had provided himself 
 with extracts from the acts of baptism, marriage, birth, &c. ; 
 in short, of all that was necessary to establish the age, rank, 
 profession, and political existence of himself and his son, duly 
 attested by the mayor and the cure a precaution which is 
 indispensable in France when a man chooses to change his 
 place of abode and to open new relations elsewhere. 
 
 Resolved never more to hold the slightest communication 
 with his native place, and to prevent the possibility of any 
 one of his ancient acquaintance, should they be so inclined, 
 from tracing his footsteps, he took the road to La Fieche; 
 and arrived, as morning dawned, at the angles formed by the 
 junction of the three roads to Angers, Bauge, and Darnal 
 Here he paused, and, for almost the first time, lifting up his 
 head, which, with an expression of dogged resolution, had 
 hung upon his breast, he looked round. He was alone ; the 
 first dawn was breaking over the distant horizon, and the 
 small birds were twittering to the fresh breeze of morning 
 little Nicolas slumbering upon the ass, his poor head jolted 
 from side to side by the movements of the quiet animal. 
 Jacques cast a last and resentful look, but a look, in which a 
 tinge of sorrow was mingled with anger, down the road he 
 had traversed, then hastily glancing down the others, he sud- 
 denly changed his direction ; and plunged into a narrow by- 
 road which led to Le Lion d'Angers. 
 
 The night had fallen as he entered Segre ; and now, relieved 
 from all fear of interruption, he pursued his journey more 
 quietly towards the west; sparing as well as he might his 
 own strength, as well as that of his ass, his cart, and his little 
 boy. 
 
 Slowly and silently the little company traversed Ponance, 
 Chateaubriant, Bain, Loheac, Guer, Pioermel; and on the 
 tenth day arrived at Pontioy, a pretty considerable town, 
 about fifty leagues from Angers ; which, to a peasant of those 
 ignorant and simple days, appeared like the end of the world. 
 So here, in this beautiful country, Maitre Jacques determined 
 once more to depose his household gods, and erect his loom. 
 
 A small village in the neighbourhood, watered by a flowing 
 stream, and surrounded by little woods, hedges, and gardens ; 
 
280 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE, 
 
 and, above all, possessing rather more than a sufficiency of 
 quinguettes, to say nothing of two cabarets, was soon found; 
 and, like the pious ^Eneas, who thought Troy restored, on 
 beholding the palaces of Carthage, Maitre Jacques, the less 
 pious, felt at home where there was a cabaret. Ubi bene ibi 
 patria had he been a Latin scholar, he might have exclaimed. 
 
 In this village he bought a little hut; there he put up his 
 two beds, placed his three chairs, poor Madeleine's winders, 
 which it was now the task of little Nicolas to turn the grid- 
 iron, the frying-pan, the water-jug, the tinder-box, the pipe 
 and tobacco he put together the ruins of an old cupboard; 
 Jie established his loom ; and when all was in order, he sus- 
 pended the fatal rod against the wall. Sad object of terror 
 to the unfortunate Nicolas! And thus surrounded by the 
 objects to which he was accustomed, he settled himself down ; 
 going regularly four times a day to the cabaret, with a crown 
 in his pocket: and might, had he been so inclined, have here 
 added to his Latin quotations, Cesium non animum mutant, &c. 
 
 Things went on thus for about a year Maitre Jacques 
 drowned sorrow at the cabaret little Nicolas laboured hard 
 to perform his tasks the rod hung idle against the wall, and 
 all was well. But the purse emptied rather faster at the 
 cabaret than it filled at the loom; as the resources of the 
 father began to fail, his ill-humour returned ; and the helpless 
 boy was once more in danger of becoming its victim, when 
 a turn in the capricious wheel of fortune rescued him. 
 
 Little Nicolas, who had already become no despicable pro- 
 ficient in the art of weaving, and who showed a singular taste 
 in the blending and disposition of colours, had accomplished 
 two handkerchiefs of so singular beauty, that they attracted 
 the eyes of all beholders; and more especially excited the 
 admiration of a certain round, rosy, jolly, good-humoured 
 widow, who, having just thrown aside her weeds and com- 
 pleted the first year of her widov/hood, was enjoying the 
 possession of a very pretty farm, bequeathed to her by her 
 last husband. 
 
 Anne Richi was not only rosy, round, and good-humoured, 
 she was likewise quite the fine lady of the place; rich antique 
 lace adorned her caps ; her gown on fete-days was of silk ; her 
 purse was well lined, and her smiles were ever ready. Maitre 
 Jacques thought proper to carry the admired handkerchiefs 
 to the farm, in company with the little artist. Anne Richi 
 caressed the child she had no child of her own Jacques 
 flattered the widow ; and, in short, managed matters so well, 
 that in due time he became master of the farm of d'Horly, 
 which was the name of her possession ; and, in consequence, 
 might justly consider himself as the richest and most impor- 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 281 
 
 tant personage of the village. So, to distinguish himself from 
 certain other Jacques who inhabited the place, he found it 
 convenient, as well as dignified, to assume upon his own 
 authority the name of the little property, and signed himself 
 in consequence Jacques d'Horly. 
 
 And thus Nicolas, as well as his brother, became possessed 
 of a name to which he had no title, and involved in a labyrinth 
 of circumstances which bade fair to obliterate all trace of his 
 birth-place, and of everything by which his identity might 
 have been traced. 
 
 For a few weeks this improvement in his circumstances 
 appeared to produce an equally happy improvement in the 
 manners and behaviour of M. Jacques. He worked upon 
 his new farm with all the pleasure and assiduity of a pro- 
 prietor. His widow was neither very young nor very pretty ; 
 but she was gay in her temper, and, like many ordinary 
 people, very good-natured to others, when she herself was 
 pleased ; and the beams of her good star fell upon the little 
 Nicolas; who, for the first time during his sorrowful life, 
 began to taste the joys of the upper turn of Fortune's wheel. 
 
 No more weaving, no more winding the rod was lost or 
 broken. Good soup white bread a discretion a world of 
 kisses and caresses from his step-mother a ne,w suit a whole 
 shirt, and a clean one too face and hands washed, and his 
 beautiful curling locks combed out on Sundays, and floating 
 round a face to which health, happiness, and sensibility gave 
 the air of a blue-eyed cherub. 
 
 Such was the once sickly, miserable child. His days were 
 spent among the neighbouring woods, drinking in that ex- 
 quisite pleasure which a child of imagination draws, unre- 
 flecting, from the scenes of nature; listening to the birds; 
 impressing on his memory the wild and beautiful forms of the 
 tangled scenery about him : his evenings, in tracing with a 
 burnt stick upon the white walls of the farm the form of every 
 cow, horse, dog, sheep, or cat thereunto belonging. Alas! 
 the golden age of childhood passes away in a few short years, 
 even with the happiest and among the best, and life, real life, 
 the iron age of reality, succeeds; but with this poor child, 
 fated, as it seemed, to prove only the pains of dependence, and 
 not the pleasures of protection, this happy interval was short. 
 
 Habit! I once read an awful sermon on the power of 
 habit, on. that vain self-flattery, which postpones self-amend- 
 ment, till habit has rendered self-amendment impossible. I 
 felt the effect might be to discourage those whose habits a 
 long course of years had strengthened. " It is never too late 
 to mend," is hearty and comfortable, as are mostly our old 
 English proverbs, and as true. 
 
282 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 Let us not despair of amendment. But such amendment 
 
 is rarely the effect of external circumstances alone that is, 
 
 of external circumstances acting upon the character, without 
 that return upon self, that repentance, and remorse, and 
 breaking down of the soul, which, with better assistance, will 
 sometimes perfect the difficult work of making a new man. 
 "The dog who returns to his vomit, and the sow to her wal- 
 lowing in the mire," of the wise man seem invariably to 
 typify the state of him, whose habits, as I observed, are only 
 combated by change in his circumstances. But enough of this ! 
 
 Jacques was not destined to disprove King Solomon's 
 maxims. In a few weeks, to labour on the farm, even though 
 that farm was his own, was found much less delightful than 
 to boast of his acres at the cabaret, and, alas ! for the poor 
 widow on his return. ^ If Madeleine, the gentle, unremon- 
 strating Madeleine, the only creature for whom Maitre Jacques 
 had ever felt real affection (for, in spite of all, he had sin- 
 cerely loved his Madeleine): if Madeleine, beautiful and 
 beloved, had found her influence powerless to restrain him, 
 either in the intemperance of his habits, or the intemperance 
 
 of his passions, what chance had the poor widow, Richi good 
 
 woman, with her coarse, homely features, and her rough and 
 noisy tongue, her objurgations and her reproaches? 
 
 Some one once said, with much wit, and, alas ! too much 
 truth, if a Frenchman marries a woman he does not like, for 
 her money, he thinks himself bound in honour to acknowledge 
 the obligation, and atone for his indifference by good nature 
 and politeness; an Englishman seems as if he thought his 
 honour concerned, to treat the woman he dislikes ill, and the 
 woman he is obliged to, worse. Jacques was an English 
 husband in this respect. He hated Richi because he was 
 indebted to her ; and he tyrannised over her unmercifully to 
 prove his independence, when every sixpence he possessed 
 was derived from her. The widow wept, and would have 
 stormed ; but Maitre Jacques was not a man to allow of that ; 
 and the ill humour, which he with a strong hand repressed, 
 soon found another course, and vented itself upon the unhappy 
 little boy. 
 
 While her purse was emptied, to fill the pockets of the man 
 she now most hated in the world the master of the seducing 
 cabaret her farm was running to ruin from her husband's 
 negligence and evil example. Neglected by the husband for 
 whom she had sacrificed all, the kind feelings "which she had 
 cherished for poor Nicolas began to yield to the irritation of 
 her mind. 
 
 Her pet during the first happy days of courtship and wed- 
 lock, he soon began to be what unfortunate children too often 
 
A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 283 
 
 become loaded with all the faults of temper which exist in 
 
 the minds of their persecutors. Gentle, docile, affectionate 
 he was accused of pettishness, obstinacy, and insensibility ; 
 in short, poor Madame d'Horly fancied, that the indifference 
 of her husband was increased by an object that divided his 
 affection, and she determined to get rid of him. 
 
 She had a cousin, a glazier, at Paris; and to him she 
 thought of despatching the boy. 
 
 " Why cannot you get your living, like your brother? 
 Why must you be always kicking your heels about my farm, 
 a plague and a burden to us all?" 
 
 '* So I would gladly get my living: if you would only send 
 me to Paris, and bind me apprentice to an honest trade, I 
 would get my living like the rest." 
 
 So to Paris Nicolas was sent. 
 
 The certificate and papers which he carried with him were, 
 by an oversight on the part of the man who made them out 
 at the JMTaison Communale, delivered as to the son of Jacques 
 d'Horly ; so that under this name Nicolas was launched into 
 the great world. 
 
 Maitre Jacques Landry, the glazier, to whom little Nicolas 
 was apprenticed, was fortunately a worthy and respectable 
 man, and held no insignificant rank among his fellow- trades- 
 men of the Rue St. Martin, where his shop was situated. He 
 had served his time with credit to himself; had married the 
 daughter of his master ; had in due course of years succeeded 
 to the business ; and now flourished not far from la Rue Grand 
 Hurleur, under the sign of lafougere literally, the fern leaf. 
 
 His wife was lively, good-humoured, and embonpoint, with 
 a rosy cheek and a laughing eye. She had two brothers : one 
 was a picture-frame gilder, the other a picture cleaner. The 
 good star of Nicolas had guided him to a family of artists, 
 and his destiny was secured. The three families lived close 
 together, and were the best friends in the world. 
 
 Our tale becomes tedious. The talents of Nicolas were 
 discovered ; he found friends who sent him to Rome ; at Rome 
 he met with his wife ; he returned to Paris, became a success- 
 ful artist, made his fortune, and wanted nothing to complete 
 his felicity but a child some object to inherit his prosperity, 
 and on which the overflowing kindness of himself, and his 
 wife, could expand itself. 
 
 Often did he sigh and think of his brother that brother so 
 much loved and never forgotten the only person in the world 
 to whom he could claim affinity; but in spite of the most 
 persevering search, no clue for the discovery of his brother 
 could be found ; and d'Horly was in danger of sinking, as he 
 advanced in life, into that misanthropy and uncomfortable 
 
284 A SOLDIER'S FORTUNE. 
 
 feeling of dissatisfaction and whimsical discontent which 
 attends the old age of those who have nothing to do but to 
 please themselves, when Susanne presented herself, as we 
 have said, at his studio. 
 
 And now, with a strange sort of interest, he mounts the 
 narrow stairs which lead to the simple apartment of Gerard ; 
 he hears as he ascends the well-remembered sound the treadles 
 and tap of the loom. 
 
 He opens the door, his heart beating and fluttering, he 
 knows not why. 
 
 The chamber was simple in the extreme : the loom, an easel, 
 on which hung an unfinished picture, and two chairs, consti- 
 tuted its furniture. Its decoration was the sword, the epau- 
 lettes, and the cross of the legion of honour, arranged as a 
 sort of trophy above the loom. 
 
 The noble old soldier was leaning over his work ; his stern 
 and war-worn features shaded by a few scanty locks of sable 
 silvered hair, as he bent his fine military brow to his humble 
 employment. 
 
 D'Horly gazed for a moment ; something in the look, the 
 air, the figure, the ineffaceable lines of family resemblance, 
 struck him to the heart. 
 
 He stood silent the soldier raised his head. 
 
 D'Horly's heart beat thicker and thicker. 
 
 At last advancing suddenly to the loom, he cried 
 
 "And my name was Nicolas, and my father was a weaver." 
 
 The blue eyes, the still curling locks, the whole child re- 
 vealed in the man, stood there. 
 
 And the brothers were locked in each other's arms. 
 
 Some people like to hear how it all went on afterwards. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the happiness of this little family 
 party, among which, Dervieux took the place of more than a 
 brother ; and where the little nun, whenever she had time to 
 come near them, was feted and caressed above them all. 
 
 li is true they had but one sweet Susanne, on whom to 
 centre all their honest affections; but before very long the 
 sweet Susanne married a young and promising artist, named 
 Albert; and in clue time, if there was only one daughter, 
 there were at least six or seven grandchildren, such as never 
 were seen before, to be divided among them. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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