“Then there 's but one thing to do, my boy; give him a pleasanter souvenir to look back upon. Besides,” added he, in a lower tone, “the general is ever harsh at the moment of victory; and such is the present. In a few days more, France will have an emperor; the Senate has declared, and the army wait but for the signal to salute their monarch. And now for your own duties. Make your arrangements to start to-night by post for Mayence; I shall join you there in about ten days. You are, on your arrival, to report yourself to the general in command, and receive your instructions from him. A great movement towards the Rhine is in contemplation; but, of course, everything awaits the progress of political changes in Paris.”
Thus conversing, we reached the corner of the Rue de Rohan, where the general's quarters were.
“You'll be here then punctually at eight to-night,” said he; and we parted.
I walked on for some time without knowing which way I went, the strange conflict of my mind so completely absorbed me,—hope and fear, pride, shame, and sorrow, alternately swaying me with their impulses. I noticed not the gay and splendid streets through which I passed, nor the merry groups which poured along. At length I remembered that but a few hours remained for me to make some purchases necessary for my journey. My new uniform as aide-de-camp, too, was yet to be ordered; and by some strange hazard I was exactly at the corner of the Rue de Richelieu on the Boulevard, at the very shop of Monsieur Grillac where some months before began the singular current of ill luck that had followed me ever since. A half shudder of fear passed across me for a second as I thought of all the dangers I had gone through; and the next moment I felt ashamed of my cowardice, and pushing the glass door before me, walked in. I looked about me for the well-known face of the proprietor, but he was nowhere to be seen. A lean and wasted little old man, hung round with tapes and measures, was the only person there. Saluting me with a most respectful bow, he asked my orders.
“I thought this was Crillac's,” said I, hesitatingly.
A shrug of the shoulders and a strange expression of the eyebrows was the only reply.
“I remember he lived here some eight or ten months ago,” said I again, curious to find out the meaning of the man's ignorance of his predecessor.
“Monsieur has been away from Paris for some time then?” was the cautious question of the little man, as he peered curiously at me.
“Yes; I have been away,” said I, after a pause.
“Monsieur knew Criliac probably when he was here?”