Robert had another joy on this eventful day. Toward night he was going on an errand for Madame Gaudin, and near the Pont Neuf, by the Place Dauphine, he heard the voice of a man uttering a kind of lament for Napoleon. The voice was loud and strong, and in its modulations there was so much sorrow that he hastened toward the man, to see if his features verified a suspicion that came across his mind. He knew he had seen this man before. He was a street singer; and the longer he listened to him, the more convinced was he in his belief. Soon his eyes were fixed on a large wound in his forehead, and, no longer doubting, he called out, "O Cyprien! my good Cyprien!" at the same time holding out his hand.
"Pardon—excuse me—I do not know you."
"But are you not Cyprien Hardy, ex-grenadier of the Imperial Guards?" said Robert.
"I am no other person; but I can't remember to have seen you before."
"I remember you," said Robert, with expression. "The little orphan that you took before the palace at Fontainebleau and conducted to Paris, although eight years ago, has not forgotten his protector and friend, and now wishes to shake hands with him; you will not refuse me that pleasure surely?"
"Ah! truly no—a thousand times no—I cannot refuse. Touched there," said he, putting his hand on his heart, "I know it is Robert who speaks to me; my little Robert, grown to be a man. You have changed much, young man, and so have I; but that does not matter; I have suffered cruelly. Oh my loved emperor! if I could only go to him."
"Come with me," said Robert; "we can talk entirely as we please when alone; come with me and I will take you to a person who knows you already, and who, I am certain beforehand, will be glad to see you."
The idle and curious people who were standing by when this touching recognition took place all walked off and left the place clear to our friends.
"A thousand thunders, Mister Robert, you are no prouder now in Paris than when we came in together, but you walk too fast for my old legs."