At the beginning of April I was entirely cured of my last misfortune. I
had recovered all my usual vigour, and I accompanied my converter to
church every day, never missing a sermon. We likewise spent the evening
together at the cafe, where we generally met a great many officers. There
was among them a Provencal who amused everybody with his boasting and
with the recital of the military exploits by which he pretended to have
distinguished himself in the service of several countries, and
principally in Spain. As he was truly a source of amusement, everybody
pretended to believe him in order to keep up the game. One day as I was
staring at him, he asked me whether I knew him.

"By George, sir!"--I exclaimed, "know you! Why, did we not fight side by
side at the battle of Arbela?"

At those words everybody burst out laughing, but the boaster, nothing
daunted, said, with animation,

"Well, gentlemen, I do not see anything so very laughable in that. I was
at that battle, and therefore this gentleman might very well have
remarked me; in fact, I think I can recollect him."

And, continuing to speak to me, he named the regiment in which we were
brother officers. Of course we embraced one another, congratulating each
other upon the pleasure we both felt in meeting again in Parma. After
that truly comic joke I left the coffee-room in the company of my
inseparable preacher.

The next morning, as I was at breakfast with De la Haye, the boasting
Provencal entered my room without taking off his hat, and said,