and cardboard bought at the stationer's shop. You might see it was
nothing more, if you tried to see. Did a soul present think of such
minute investigation? Not one. In the actor's hand that trumpery became
at once the glorious thing by which Napoleon had planted the sentiment of
knightly heroism in the men whom Danton would have launched upon earth
ruthless and bestial, as galley-slaves that had burst their chain.

The badge, wrought from foil and cardboard, took life and soul: it begot
an interest, inspired a pathos, as much as if it had been made--oh! not
of gold and gems, but of flesh and blood. And the simple broken words
that the veteran addressed to it! The scenes, the fields, the hopes, the
glories it conjured up! And now to be wrenched away,--sold to supply
Man's humblest, meanest wants,--sold--the last symbol of such a past!
It was indeed "/propter vitam vivendi perdere causas/." He would have
starved rather,--but the child? And then the child rose up and came into
play. She would not suffer such a sacrifice,--she was not hungry,--she
was not weak; and when her voice failed her, she looked up into that iron
face and smiled,--nothing but a smile. Outcame the pocket-handkerchiefs!
The soldier seizes the cross, and turns away. It shall be sold! As he
opens the door, a dog enters gravely,--licks his hand, approaches the
table, raises itself on its hind legs, surveys the table dolefully,
shakes its head, whines, comes to its master, pulls him by the skirt,
looks into his face inquisitively.

What does all this mean? It soon comes out, and very naturally. The dog
belonged to an old fellow-soldier, who had gone to the Isle of France to
claim his share in the inheritance of a brother who had settled and died
there, and who, meanwhile, had confided it to the care of our veteran,
who was then in comparatively easy circumstances, since ruined by the
failure and fraud of a banker to whom he had intrusted his all; and his