You might probble thought that they had their own idees about Napoleon, and so had I.
He waded through seas of blood and sufferin’, personal sufferin’ as well, up from obscurity to the topmost pinnacle of worldly glory. He left achin’, bleedin’ hearts on all sides on him, from Josephine’s down to the widders and sweethearts of dead soldiers, as he stalked along with his arms folded, and that old hat of hisen on, and his inscrutable eyes fixed on the heights, so I spoze; but he loved his country, and there wuz sunthin’ about the man that drew hearts to him, that turned grizzled old soldiers into babies when they spoke on him, that made ’em willin’ to live for him, to die for him.
With his arms folded, and that old hat of hisen on, and his inscrutable eyes fixed on the heights.
I d’no, I spoze some of that resistless charm rested on the sublime magnificence of that place, and always will, so fur as I know.
I felt queer.
But Martin could not pause long even in this place, and for all I know all the while we wuz there he wuz a-pricein’ in his mind the marble and porphry and all the matchless splendor of the tomb, and a-calculatin’ on how much the money invested there would bring if he had the handlin’ of it. Anyway, we wuz probble milds and milds apart in our minds, though the left tab of my mantilly brushed aginst him.
Josiah observed as we turned away that he wuz “hungry and dog tired.”
Al Faizi wuz deep in thought, and Alice and Adrian took up in lookin’ about ’em, and wonderin’ at the grand and solemn magnificence of the interior.
One day we went to the cemetery of Père La Chaise. Alice and Al Faizi and Adrian went with us that day; Martin had got to go to see some big man or other, who owned a ranch in Montana, in the neighborhood of some of Martin’s friends.