contemplate, without sharing, the rude dances or jostling promenade of
the promiscuous merry-makers. Much hubbub, much humour; some persons for
the dog, some against him; privilege and decorum here, equality and
fraternity there. A Bonapartist colonel sees the cross on the soldier's
breast, and, /mille tonnerres/! he settles the point. He pays for three
reserved seats,--one for the soldier, one for the child, and a third for
the dog. The veteran enters,--the child, not strong enough to have
pushed through the crowd, raised on his shoulder, Rolla-like; the dog led
by a string. He enters erect and warrior-like; his spirit has been
roused by contest; his struggles have been crowned by victory. But (and
here the art of the drama and the actor culminated towards the highest
point)--but he now at once includes in the list of his dramatis persona
the whole of his Gatesboro' audience. They are that select company into
which he has thus forced his way. As he sees them seated before him, so
calm, orderly, and dignified, /mauvaise honte/ steals over the breast
more accustomed to front the cannon than the battery of ladies' eyes.
He places the child in a chair abashed and humbled; he drops into a seat
beside her shrinkingly; and the dog, with more self-possession and sense
of his own consequence, brushes with his paw some imaginary dust from a
third chair, as in the superciliousness of the well dressed, and then
seats himself, and looks round with serene audacity.

The chairs were skilfully placed on one side of the stage, as close as
possible to the front row of the audience. The soldier ventures a
furtive glance along the lines, and then speaks to his grandchild in
whispered, bated breath: "Now they are there, what are they come for?
To beg? He can never have the boldness to exhibit an animal for sous,--
impossible; no, no, let them slink back again and sell the cross." And
the child whispers courage; bids him look again along the rows; those
faces seem very kind. He again lifts his eyes, glances round, and with