“Not Mr. Burke, is it?”

“Yes,” said I, bowing in return.

“Eh, mon camarade,” said he, holding out his hand, “delighted to see you. Have you breakfasted? Well, you 'll find all ready for you in the quarters. I shall be back soon. I 'm only going to a morning drill, which won't last half an hour; so make yourself at home, and we'll meet soon again.”

So saying, he once more saluted me, and passed on. “Not very like what I feared,” thought I, as I entered the quarters, whose look of neatness and comfort so pleasantly contrasted with my late abode. I had barely time to look over the prints and maps of military subjects which ornamented the walls, when my new friend made his appearance.

“No parade to-day, thank Heaven,” said he, throwing down his cap and sabre, and lolling at full length on the little camp sofa. “Now, mon cher camarade, let us make acquaintance at once, for our time is likely to be of the shortest. My name is Tascher, a humble sous-lieutenant of the Twenty-first Regiment of Foot. As much a stranger in this land as yourself, I fancy,” continued he, after a slight pause, “but very well contented to be adopted by it.”

After this opening, he proceeded to inform me that he was the nephew of Madame Bonaparte,—her sister's only son,—who, at his mother's death, left Guadaloupe, and came over to France, and became an éleve of the Polytechnique. There he had remained five years, and after a severe examination, obtained his brevet in an infantry corps; his uncle Bonaparte having shown him no other favor nor affection than a severe reprimand on one occasion for some boyish freak, when all the other delinquents escaped scot-free.

“I am now under orders for service,” said he; “but where for, and when, I can't tell. But this I know, that whatever good fortune may be going a-begging, I, Lieutenant Tascher, am very likely to get only the hem of the garment.”

There was a tone of easy and frank good-nature in all he said, which at once disposed me to like the young Creole; and we spent the whole afternoon recounting our various adventures and fortunes, and before night came on were sworn friends for life.

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CHAPTER XXII. THE TUILERIES IN 1803