"You are a soldier, then?"
"I served in the Third Artillery under the Republic, and afterward in the
Guard, through all the commotions. I was at Jemappes and at Waterloo; so
I was at the christening and at the burial of our glory, as one may say!"
I looked at him with astonishment.
"And how old were you then, at Jemappes?" asked I.
"Somewhere about fifteen," said he.
"How came you to think of being a soldier so early?"
"I did not really think about it. I then worked at toy-making, and never dreamed that France would ask me for anything else than to make her draught-boards, shuttlecocks, and cups and balls. But I had an old uncle at Vincennes whom I went to see from time to time—a Fontenoy veteran in the same rank of life as myself, but with ability enough to have risen to that of a marshal. Unluckily, in those days there was no way for common people to get on. My uncle, whose services would have got him made a prince under the other, had then retired with the mere rank of sub- lieutenant. But you should have seen him in his uniform, his cross of St. Louis, his wooden leg, his white moustaches, and his noble countenance. You would have said he was a portrait of one of those old heroes in powdered hair which are at Versailles!
"Every time I visited him, he said something which remained fixed in my memory. But one day I found him quite grave.
"'Jerome,' said he, 'do you know what is going on on the frontier?'
"'No, lieutenant,' replied I.