profound respect. I will not obtrude myself upon your noble heart."

Monsieur Mutuel,--a gentleman in every thread of his cloudy linen, under
whose wrinkled hand every grain in the quarter of an ounce of poor snuff
in his poor little tin box became a gentleman's property,--Monsieur
Mutuel passed on, with his cap in his hand.

"I little thought," said the Englishman, after walking for several
minutes, and more than once blowing his nose, "when I was looking round
that cemetery--I'll go there!"

Straight he went there, and when he came within the gate he paused,
considering whether he should ask at the lodge for some direction to the
grave. But he was less than ever in a mood for asking questions, and he
thought, "I shall see something on it to know it by."

In search of the Corporal's grave he went softly on, up this walk and
down that, peering in, among the crosses and hearts and columns and
obelisks and tombstones, for a recently disturbed spot. It troubled him
now to think how many dead there were in the cemetery,--he had not
thought them a tenth part so numerous before,--and after he had walked
and sought for some time, he said to himself, as he struck down a new
vista of tombs, "I might suppose that every one was dead but I."

Not every one. A live child was lying on the ground asleep. Truly he
had found something on the Corporal's grave to know it by, and the
something was Bebelle.

With such a loving will had the dead soldier's comrades worked at his
resting-place, that it was already a neat garden. On the green turf of