married in Venice that winter, and I might have done the same,
for I loved her with all my heart; but Etienne Gerard has his
sword, his horse, his regiment, his mother, his Emperor, and his
career. A debonair Hussar has room in his life for love, but
none for a wife. So I thought then, my friends, but I did not
see the lonely days when I should long to clasp those vanished
hands, and turn my head away when I saw old comrades with their
tall children standing round their chairs. This love which I had
thought was a joke and a plaything--it is only now that I
understand that it is the moulder of one's life, the most solemn
and sacred of all things-- Thank you, my friend, thank you! It
is a good wine, and a second bottle cannot hurt.

And now I will tell you how my love for Lucia was the cause of
one of the most terrible of all the wonderful adventures which
have ever befallen me, and how it was that I came to lose the top
of my right ear. You have often asked me why it was missing.
To-night for the first time I will tell you.

Suchet's head-quarters at that time was the old palace of the
Doge Dandolo, which stands on the lagoon not far from the place
of San Marco. It was near the end of the winter, and I had
returned one night from the Theatre Goldini, when I found a note
from Lucia and a gondola waiting. She prayed me to come to her
at once as she was in trouble. To a Frenchman and a soldier
there was but one answer to such a note. In an instant I was in
the boat and the gondolier was pushing out into the dark lagoon.

I remember that as I took my seat in the boat I was struck by the
man's great size. He was not tall, but he was one of the