above me, and the reprehensible paw raised to strike me. My nerves," said
Bonaparte, suddenly growing faint, "always delicate--highly strung--are
broken--broken! You could not give a little wine, a little brandy my
friend?"

The old German hurried away to the bookshelf, and took from behind the
books a small bottle, half of whose contents he poured into a cup.
Bonaparte drained it eagerly.

"How do you feel now?" asked the German, looking at him with much sympathy.

"A little, slightly, better."

The German went out to pick up the battered chimneypot which had fallen
before the door.

"I am sorry you got the fright. The birds are bad things till you know
them," he said sympathetically, as he put the hat down.

"My friend," said Bonaparte, holding out his hand, "I forgive you; do not
be disturbed. Whatever the consequences, I forgive you. I know, I
believe, it was with no ill-intent that you allowed me to go out. Give me
your hand. I have no ill-feeling; none!"

"You are very kind," said the German, taking the extended hand, and feeling
suddenly convinced that he was receiving magnanimous forgiveness for some
great injury, "you are very kind."

"Don't mention it," said Bonaparte.