"Well then, the Oriflamme be it."
"You will behold teeth and eyes that some of our dames in the great world of fashion would give fifty thousand francs to possess."
Turning down the street, we entered a restaurateur's, on whose sign the Eagle of Napoleon had lately given place to the ancient ensign of the Bourbons.
A very pretty girl who sat within the bar with a handkerchief over her head, tied en marmotte, arose and welcomed us with a smile.
"Ah, entrez Antoine St. Florian," said she, raising her arched eyebrows with a true Parisian expression of pleasure and familiarity; "entrez, Monsieur."
St. Florian called her his 'belle Janette,' and saluted her cheek with all the freedom of an old friend, as she ushered us along a corridor, on each side of which were neat little chambers, or cabinets, each having a single table and two chairs.
That appropriated for us, had a lustre with two lights, and the walls were decorated with coloured prints of Jena, Marengo, Leipsic, and other hard-fought battles, on which St. Florian soon began to comment with all the ardour and enthusiasm of a French soldier; and by his sentiments soon revealed, that though poverty or policy had compelled him to assume the scarlet trappings of King Louis' guards, his heart was still with the fallen Emperor—the idol of a hundred thousand soldiers.
"And so your old regiment was the 23rd?" said I.
"Ah, the 23rd of the Emperor," he replied with a sigh, while his eyes lighted up at the name.
"I remember that we charged your regiment at the passage of the Nive, where I was on the very point of sabreing a young officer, before I fortunately perceived that the poor fellow's sword arm was tied up in a sling, and that he was quite defenceless."