tombed four of them to-day," he said; "see how nicely we
shall lift the fifth one."

There was, indeed, a certain sleight whereby he slung it across his
shoulder, but no reason in the world for tossing it upon the hearse with
a slam. They covered its nakedness with velvet, and the _cocher_, having
taken a cigar from his pocket, and looking much as if he would like to
smoke, put it back again sadly, cracked his whip, and the cortege went
on. The _croquemorts_ kept a little way ahead, sauntering upon the
sidewalk, and their cloaks and oil-cloth hats protected them from a
drizzling rain, which now came down, to the grief of the mourners,
walking in the middle of the street behind the body. They were seven in
number, Messrs. Plade, Pisgah and Simp, going together, and apparently a
trifle the worse for the lunch; Freckle followed singly, having been
told to keep at a distance to render the display more imposing; the
landlady and her niece went arm in arm after, and behind them trode a
little old hunchback gentleman, neatly clothed, and bearing in his hand
a black, wooden cross, considerably higher than himself, on which was
painted, in white letters, this inscription:

CHRISTOPHER LEES,
CAROLINA DU NORD,
ETATS CONFEDERE
AMERIQUE.
AGE VINGT-QUATRE.

A wreath of yellow immortelles, tied to the crosspiece, was interwoven
with these spangled letters:

"R-E-G-R-E-T-S;"

and the solemn air of the old man seemed to evidence that they were not
meaningless.

The hunchback was Lees' principal creditor. He kept a small restaurant,
where the deceased had been supplied for two years, and his books showed
indebtedness of twenty-eight hundred francs, not a sou of which he
should ever receive. He could ill afford to lose the money, and had
known, indeed, that he should never be paid, a year previous to the
demise. But the friendlessness of the stranger had touched his heart.
Twice every day he sent up a basket of food, which was always returned
empty, and every Sunday climbed the long stairway with a bottle of the
best wine--but never once said, "Pay my bill."

Here he was at the last chapter of exile, still bearing his creditor's
cross.

"Give the young man's friends a lunch," he had said to the landlady: "I
will make it right;"--and in the cortege he was probably the only honest
mourner.

Not we, who know Frenchmen by caricature merely, as volatile, fickle,
deceitful, full of artifice, should sit in judgment u