Dix contes modernes des meilleurs auteurs du jour - Paul Arène; Alphonse Daudet; Ernest Daudet; Henry de Forge; Ernest Laut; Guy de Maupassant; Montjoyeux; François de Nion; Jacques Normand; Jean du Réb

On arriving at Nançay, he remained very much by himself in the small room which he had rented in the village inn. From the very start everybody in Nançay had talked about him; those who patronized the inn asked: "Who on earth is that man?" "I don't know him very well," was the answer, "but he is an honest man, and he pays for his little room without trying to beat me down. He used to be a bookkeeper at the city hall in Paris, and they say that the government gives him a pension. Then, too, you see that he wears a ribbon in his buttonhole, and that proves that he is an honorable man." Some one asked again: "What is that decoration?" and an old man answered in an embarrassed voice, "Oh, I know! They give that to a man who has rescued the flag in battle." From that moment Olivier was famous in the village. When he entered the inn everybody stopped drinking and saluted him. He commenced to be puffed up by the respect by which he was greeted. The people, however, said that it was only his modesty. Thus he became a curiosity, and bicyclists as they passed the inn would ask to see M. Olivier, who had once rescued the flag. Everybody admired the hero, and a nobleman in the neighborhood sent for him and asked him for the story of his noble deed. M. Olivier, however, answered: "It is not worth while to tell the story of the affair. I only did my duty." A brave man does not like to talk about his heroic deeds. Thus, even at Paris, the story was known; only there, instead of repeating it as a legend, the nobleman told it as a true story to all his friends, saying: "It was the 37th dragoons, who were saved from death and destruction by the man whom you can see in flesh and blood if you will only promise to come and visit me at Nançay." It happened that the country was in the throes of a political election. Each candidate, in order to get more votes, promised to have M. Olivier decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor instead of the simple medal which he wore. No one thought of investigating the title of the old soldier to the decoration, until one day the Radical candidate made a little inquiry, and then he had posted a notice saying that M. Olivier was only a former policeman who had once pulled a drunken man away from the river. The man was only trying to drink a little water, but on a report of the circumstance the government granted Olivier the medal. This was too much for the inhabitants of Nançay; they asked to see Olivier, and one of them demanded, in a trembling voice, if it was true; and Olivier answered modestly: "Did I ever say the contrary?"

PAROLE D'HONNEUR.

THEY had taken the poor boy with arms in his hands, and the company of soldiers was going to shoot him. He was only eighteen years old, and the execution was to take place at the foot of the neighboring barricade. The poor little apprentice used to live with his parents without ever thinking of politics; but after the death of his father, killed by the Prussians during that terrible winter, when the streets were covered with snow and ice, the boy used to go and gather potatoes in the fields. One day he was severely wounded by a Prussian bullet, and then he enlisted, with many of his comrades, in the army. He had no heart in the struggle, and he was sure to die soon. If he could only give his life to his country! But now he was captured, and in thinking of all he had suffered he did not care whether he lived or died. It was certainly very hard to leave the mother whom he loved so well, but the thought consoled him that she was very sick, and that she would not have to suffer much longer. He would say good-by and...

"Come now, my youngster, you know what you have to expect," said a voice behind him. The young fellow looked up and saw an officer who was followed by several soldiers. "Are you ready for us, and are you not afraid?" "No, captain, I am not afraid of anything," was the proud answer of the boy. "I'm sure, if I told you to get out of here just as quickly as you can, that it would be soon done. I should never see you again." "Well, just try me for an hour, not a moment more. I'll give you my word of honor, and I'll keep it. At any rate, it wouldn't matter very much whether you shoot one more or less, and if I promise, I shall keep my word." "Come," said the captain, "you must think that I am very stupid. It would indeed be strange if you returned to get killed. You can't make me believe that." "Listen, captain; my mother is at the point of death; I must kiss her once more, and then, on my word of honor, I will deliver myself into your hands. Just grant me one hour of liberty and I will bless you for this supreme consolation." The voice of the youth trembled with emotion. The officer was evidently struck by the force of the words, for, taking on a very stern expression, he demanded: "What is your name? How old are you? Where does your mother live? Why did you leave home? Where is your father?" The boy told his story, and added that his mother lived near, at Belleville. The captain thought a moment, and then said: "Go ahead; I'll give you until this evening."

Our hero rushed away, and after ten minutes he entered his mother's home. He entered the room on tiptoe, for they told him that she was asleep. They were mistaken; the sick woman opened her eyes. Without saying a word the son rushed into her arms and sobbed as though his heart would break. "You have nothing to fear," said the mother; "take off that costume, return to your work, and I will hurry up and get well. You see that I am already very much better. Time will make us forget this horrible dream of war and death." These words tired the mother, and she let her head fall back on the pillow, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. The young man imprinted a kiss on his mother's forehead, looked at her a few minutes in silence, and then ran from the room. Without stopping, he returned to the captain, who was greatly astonished to see him so soon. He looked at him in astonishment as the boy told the story of his mother.

"You are really a very brave boy," said he, at last, "and I am going to pardon you. Return to your mother; it would be a pity to shoot such a brave fellow." The son flew back to his mother's house. She awoke as he came in, and cried out: "Victor, where are you?" The boy became later a famous officer in the French army.