"Fire! both arms! /Vive Napoleon/!" And he drew a flourish in the air
with his stick.

"The nature of his wound has no doubt made him childish," said
Derville.

"Childish! he?" said another old pauper, who was looking on. "Why,
there are days when you had better not tread on his corns. He is an
old rogue, full of philosophy and imagination. But to-day, what can
you expect! He has had his Monday treat.--He was here, monsieur, so
long ago as 1820. At that time a Prussian officer, whose chaise was
crawling up the hill of Villejuif, came by on foot. We two were
together, Hyacinthe and I, by the roadside. The officer, as he walked,
was talking to another, a Russian, or some animal of the same species,
and when the Prussian saw the old boy, just to make fun, he said to
him, 'Here is an old cavalry man who must have been at Rossbach.'--'I
was too young to be there,' said Hyacinthe. 'But I was at Jena.' And
the Prussian made off pretty quick, without asking any more
questions."

"What a destiny!" exclaimed Derville. "Taken out of the Foundling
Hospital to die in the Infirmary for the Aged, after helping Napoleon
between whiles to conquer Egypt and Europe.--Do you know, my dear
fellow," Derville went on after a pause, "there are in modern society
three men who can never think well of the world--the priest, the
doctor, and the man of law? And they wear black robes, perhaps because
they are in mourning for every virtue and every illusion. The most
hapless of the three is the lawyer. When a man comes in search of the
priest, he is prompted by repentance, by remorse, by beliefs which
make him interesting, which elevate him and comfort the soul of the