* I need scarcely remind the reader that "poor" Sergeant Bernadotte, to whom Eulalie referred, the most distinguished of all "the children of the Republic," died in 1822, Marshal Prince of Ponte Corvo, and King of Sweden.
The unfortunate chevalier saw them take his epaulettes and sash from his shoulders and tread them under foot; he saw his sword broken over his head and flung away, and he only vouchsafed a scornful smile; but when the red ribbon and gold cross of St. Louis, with its motto Bellicoe Virtutis Proemium, was rent from his breast, "the iron seemed to enter his soul," and a scarlet flush rose to his pale thin temples; for this badge of long and faithful military service he valued more than all the heraldic honours of the line of Mazancy. To have it torn thus from his breast, and trampled under the foot of Thibaud de Rouvigny—the clown whom he had brought from his Seigneurie in Dauphiny—the wretch whom he fostered and promoted—oh, it was a bitterness too much even for an old soldier's philosophy.
M. le Chevalier Dutriel endeavoured to lessen these degradations, but the attempt nearly cost him his own life.
"My cross," I heard my father exclaim; "take it! Bravely was it won when leading Frenchmen—yea, the fathers of many among you—at Belleisle, in Western Florida, and under La Fayette, for the freedom of America. The hands of our anointed king gave it to me, and those of rebels cannot degrade it."
"Down with the aristocrat!" cried the troops.
"A la lanterne!" added the copper-coloured Bacchantes.
"Down with the enemy of France, of liberty, and the people!" shouted the multitude.
My father now proceeded to accuse Rouvigny of ingratitude, and of seducing the garrison from their allegiance; but, as in the case of their royal master, the drums were ordered to beat that his voice might not be heard.
Rouvigny now unsheathed his sword, and pointing to the prison window, on the bars of which I clung, said something to my father, who trembled and turned towards it. Still more to embitter his last moments, the wretch was no doubt informing him of the vicinity of his only child, for he stretched his fettered hands towards the grating, with a piteous expression in his venerable face.
"Father—father!" I exclaimed, but at that moment Rouvigny forced him down upon his knees; a handkerchief was bound over his eyes; I saw the gleam of arms as the firing platoon drew up, and a coffin was borne through the excited mob, who parted before and collapsed behind it, like the waves of the sea round a vessel. I was voiceless, breathless, powerless! I could not even pray!