One day—so the story runs—conversation turned upon a recent marriage, in which the bridegroom was some thirty years the lady's senior. The General in round, honest way, inveighed against the man as a deceiver of innocence, and avowed strongly his belief that such inequality of age was not only preposterous, but wicked.
Poor Mademoiselle Odier!—her fond heart feeding so long blindly on hope, lighted by romance and love, could not bear the sudden shock. She grew pale—paler still, and, to the surprise of the few friends who were present—fainted.
Even yet the General lived in ignorance; and would perhaps have died in ignorance, had not some kind friend made known to him the state of Mlle[.] Odier's feelings. The General was too gallant a man to be conquered in loving; and the issue was, in a week, an acknowledged troth of the banker's daughter with the General Cavaignac.
Upon the evening preceding the change of the Republic, they were together—father, daughter, and lover—at the first presentation of a new play. The marriage was fixed for the week to come. But in view of the unsettled state of affairs, the General advised a postponement. The next morning he was a prisoner, on his way to Ham.
He wrote—the gossips tell us—a touching letter to Mademoiselle Odier, giving up all claim upon her, as a prisoner, which he had so proudly boasted while free, and assuring her of his unabated devotion.
She wrote—the gossips tell us—that he was dearer to her now than ever.
So the matter stands; with the exception that Cavaignac has been freed, and that the day of marriage is again a matter of consultation.
May they have a long life, and a happy one—longer and happier than the life of the Republic!
The drawing of the “Lottery of Gold” was the event of Paris which preceded the coup-d'état. Some seven millions of tickets had been sold at a franc each; and the highest prize was, if we mistake not, a sum equal to a hundred thousand dollars. Interest was of course intense; and the National Circus, where the lots were drawn, was crowded to its utmost capacity. The papers give varying accounts as to the fortunate holder of the ticket drawing the first prize, one account represents her as a poor washerwoman, and another, as a street porter. A story is told of one poor fellow who, by a mistaken reading of one figure, imagined himself the fortunate possessor of the fortune. He invited his friends to a feast, and indulged in all sorts of joyous folly. The quick revulsion of feeling, when the truth appeared, was too much for the poor fellow's brain, and he is now in the mad-house.