It was, then, with some surprise and not much sympathy that I beheld my venerable host appear one morning at breakfast with a large white cockade in the breast of his frock-coat, and a huge white lily in a wineglass before him. His elated manner and joyous looks were all so many riddles to me; while the roll of drums in the peaceful little town, the ringing of bells, and the shouts of the inhabitants were all too much even for apathy like mine.
'What is the tintamarre about?' said I pettishly, as I saw the old gentleman fidget from the table to the window and then back again, rubbing his hands, admiring his cockade, and smelling at the lily, alternatively.
'Tintamarre!' said he indignantly, 'savez-vous, monsieur? Ce n'est pas le mot, celui-là. We are restored, sir! we have regained our rightful throne! we are no longer exiles!'
'Yes!' said the old lady, bursting into the room, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, and then into mine, in a rapture of enthusiasm—'yes, brave young man! to you and your victorious companions in arms we owe the happiness of this moment. We are restored!'
'Yes! restored! restored!' echoed the old gentleman, throwing open the window, and shouting as though he would have burst a blood-vessel; while the mob without, catching up the cry, yelled it louder than ever.
'These people must be all deranged,' thought I, unable to conjecture at the moment the reasons for such extravagant joy. Meanwhile, the room became crowded with townspeople in holiday costume, all wearing the white cockade, and exchanging with one another the warmest felicitations at the happy event.
I now soon learned that the Allies were in the possession of Paris, that Napoleon had abdicated, and the immediate return of Louis xviii. was already decided upon. The trumpets of a cavalry regiment on the march were soon added to the uproar without, accompanied by cries of 'The English! The brave English!' I rushed to the door, and to my astonishment beheld above the heads of the crowd the tall caps of a British dragoon regiment towering aloft. Their band struck up as they approached; and what a sensation did my heart experience as I heard the well-remembered air of 'Garryowen' resound through the little streets of a French village!
'An Irish regiment!' said I, half aloud.
The word was caught by a bystander, who immediately communicated it to the crowd, adding, by way of explanation, 'Les Irlandois! oui, ces sont les Cossaques d'Angleterre.'
I could not help laughing at the interpretation, when suddenly my own name was called out loudly by some person from the ranks. I started at the sound, and forcing my way through the crowd I looked eagerly on every side, my heart beating with anxiety lest some deception might have misled me.