month.

On the evening before the wedding the Count De Lorme, who had lately
returned to the chateau, sent word to Mother Moreau, that, with the
permission of the wedding-party, he would be present at the church, to
give away the bride.

With that perfect punctuality which is a part of true politeness, he
came at the exact time appointed; and, leaning on his arm, there came a
slight, pale young officer, Captain Henri, now Colonel De Lorme. With
respectful eagerness Jean stepped forward to greet him, and, in his joy
and faithful devotion, would have kissed the hand held forth, but that
De Lorme, with a sudden impulse of affection, extended his arms, and
the brothers in heart embraced. This is a custom in France with men,
but only when they are equal in rank. At this moment the young noble
caught sight of that mournful empty sleeve. A look of pain crossed his
face; he gently lifted the sleeve and pressed it to his lips.

"Jean," he said at last, in a soft, unsteady voice, "I bring you good
news! The Emperor himself witnessed your gallant conduct in rescuing
me and our colors, and if you had not been disabled, you would have
been promoted. As it is, you will receive the pension of a lieutenant.
And, Jean, I give you joy, _mon frere_ (my brother), _he_ sends you
_this_, the highest reward of a brave soldier of France, the best
wedding present for a hero."

With these words the young Colonel placed on the breast of the poor
conscript a shining ornament,--the grand cross of the Legion of Honor!

So the wedding of Jean and Marie was a merry one after all. The good
old Count not only gave away the bride, but gave with her a nice little
_dot_, or portion. All the villagers who were rich enough gave them
presents, and the poor gave blessings, which doubtless turned into good
things in time.

Marie Moreau proved such an energetic, devoted wife, that Jean felt
that he had more than got his right arm back again; yet he was no
idler, for he found that with practice he could do many things with his
left arm, and at length adopted the business of a vine-grower.

As he grew older, his beard grew heavier, so that in a few years little
Henri, his son, had to part, with his chubby fingers, the thick, crisp
hair, to get at that sabre-scar, when he wanted to hear the story of
the hard fight for the young captain and the banner, and of the great
Emperor on the hill overlooking everything with his keen, gray,
unflinching eyes.