I saw that he would not be questioned by me, and, forbearing at once, from the risk of offending him, I ate my meal in silence.
“I am ready now, sir,” said I, standing up in front of him.
He wheeled me round by the arm to look at me in my new dress. He adjusted my belt, and arranged my sword-knot more becomingly, muttering to himself a few words of approval at my appearance, and then said aloud,—
“Salute all whom you see in this uniform, boy, and bear yourself haughtily as you pass the 'canaille.' Remember that between you and them must be the struggle at last, and show that you do not blink it.”
He patted me good-naturedly on the shoulder as he said this, and, with the word “Go,” half-pushed me from the room.
I soon found myself in the open air, and, having inquired my way to the Rue Lepelletier, walked rapidly along, endeavoring, as best I might, to disguise the astonishment I felt at so many new and wonderful objects. As I emerged from the meaner quarter of the Battignolles, the streets grew finer and more spacious, and the dress of the people and their appearance generally improved also. Still, there was none of that splendor of equipage of which I had heard so much. The carriages were few, and neither rich nor well-appointed. The horses were poor-looking, and seemed all over-worked and exhausted. The same tired and worn-out air pervaded the people too. They all looked as though fatigue and excitement had finally conquered them, and that they were no longer capable of endurance. At the bakers' shops that I passed, great crowds were assembled, waiting for the distribution of bread which the Government each morning doled out to the population. I watched these, and saw, to my amazement, that the ration was a small piece of black and coarse bread, weighing two ounces, and for this many were content to wait patiently the entire day. In my curiosity to see this, I had approached an old man of a strong, athletic appearance, who, leaning on his staff, made no effort to pierce the crowd, but waited calmly till his name was called aloud, and even then received his pittance as it was passed to him from hand to hand. There was something of dignity in the way he subdued every trace of that anxious impatience so perceptible around him, and I drew nigh to speak to him, with a sense of respect.
“Is that meant for a day's subsistence?” asked I.
He stared at me calmly for a few seconds, but made no reply.
“I asked the question,” began I, with an attempt to apologize, when he interrupted me thus:—
“Are you one of the Troupe Dorée, and ask this? Is it from you, who live in fine houses and eat sumptuously, that comes the inquiry, how men like me exist?”