"Come here, you false prophet," he would say to Julio. "You are a
Frenchy."

The grandchild protested as though he had been insulted. His mother had
taught him that he was an Argentinian, and his father had suggested that
she also add Spanish, in order to please the grandfather.

"Very well, then; if you are not a Frenchy, shout, 'Down with
Napoleon!'"

And he looked around him to see if Desnoyers might be near, believing
that this would displease him greatly. But his son-in-law pursued the
even tenor of his way, shrugging his shoulders.

"Down with Napoleon!" repeated Julio.

And he instantly held out his hand while his grandfather went through
his pockets.

Karl's sons, now four in number, used to circle around their grandparent
like a humble chorus kept at a distance, and stare enviously at these
gifts. In order to win his favor, they one day when they saw him alone,
came boldly up to him, shouting in unison, "Down with Napoleon!"

"You insolent gringoes!" ranted the old man. "That's what that shameless
father has taught you! If you say that again, I'll chase you with a
cat-o-nine-tails. . . . The very idea of insulting a great man in that
way!"

While he tolerated this blond brood, he never would permit the slightest