"I am glad of that,--yes, very glad!" And the old man glared fiercely
round on a troop of boys who were audibly abusing the dead lion.

"I would have bit out my tongue rather than it had joined in the base
joy of these yelping curs. Heavens! when I think what shouts I have
heard when the name of that man, then deemed little less than a god, was
but breathed!--and now--why do you look at me, Sir? My eyes are moist;
I know it, Sir,--I know it. The old battered broken soldier, who made
his first campaigns when that which is now dust was the idol of France
and the pupil of Turenne,--the old soldier's eyes shall not be dry,
though there is not another tear shed in the whole of this great
empire."

"Your three sons?" said I; "you did not weep for them?"

"No, Sir: I loved them when I was old; but I loved Louis /when I was
young/!"

"Your oppressed and pillaged country?" said I, "think of that."

"No, Sir, I will not think of it!" cried the old warrior in a passion.
"I will not think of it--to-day, at least."

"You are right, my brave friend: in the grave let us bury even public
wrongs; but let us not bury their remembrance. May the joy we read in
every face that we pass--joy at the death of one whom idolatry once
almost seemed to deem immortal--be a lesson to future kings!"

My comrade did not immediately answer; but, after a pause and we had