When he had finished his tale, La Tulipe relighted his pipe, which had gone out, and emptied his glass.
“My friend,” I said, “justice is a virtue. For a Garde française it must be admitted that you are a finished story-teller. But I have a strong impression that I have already heard that story somewhere.”
“It may be that Julie herself related it. She was a creature of infinite wit.”
“And what became of her?”
“She knew some happy times in the days of the Consulate. Nevertheless, of an evening she would whisper sorrowful secrets to the trees in her park. You see, Monsieur, she was better armed against death than against love.”
“And he who wrote such elegant letters?”
“He became a baron and prefect under the Empire.”
“And little Pierre?”
“He died a colonel of gendarmerie at Versailles, in 1859.”
“The deuce he did!”