“Ah, par Dieu! that was an unfortunate affair for me; then began all my mishaps. But for that, I should never have been sent to Fontainebleau; never have played leap-frog with the Emperor; never have been sent a soldier into Spain. True,” said he, laughing, “I should never have had the happiness of your acquaintance. But still, I’d much rather have met you first in the Place des Victoires than in the Estrella Mountains.”
“Who knows?” said I; “perhaps your good genius prevailed in all this.”
“Perhaps,” said he, interrupting me; “that’s exactly what the Empress said,—she was my godmother,—‘Jules will be a Maréchal de France yet.’ But certainly, it must be confessed, I have made a bad beginning. However, you wish to hear of my disgrace at court. Allans donc. But had we not better wait for a halt?”
“Agreed,” said I; “and so let us now press forward.”
CHAPTER LII.
THE PAGE.
Under the deep shade of some tall trees, sheltered from the noonday sun, we lay down to rest ourselves and enjoy a most patriarchal dinner,—some dry biscuits, a few bunches of grapes, and a little weak wine, savoring more of the borachio-skin than the vine-juice, were all we boasted; yet they were not ungrateful at such a time and place.
“Whose health did you pledge then?” inquired St. Croix, with a half-malicious smile, as I raised the glass silently to my lips.
I blushed deeply, and looked confused.