s dashing appearance, his decision of
character, could not fail to please the masses, to whom his
degradations were, for the most part, unknown, and indeed the
bourgeoisie themselves scarcely suspected its extent. Max played a
role at Issoudun which was something like that of the blacksmith in
the "Fair Maid of Perth"; he was the champion of Bonapartism and the
Opposition; they counted upon him as the burghers of Perth counted
upon Smith on great occasions. A single incident will put this hero
and victim of the Hundred-Days into clear relief.

In 1819, a battalion commanded by royalist officers, young men just
out of the Maison Rouge, passed through Issoudun on its way to go into
garrison at Bourges. Not knowing what to do with themselves in so
constitutional a place as Issoudun, these young gentlemen went to
while away the time at the cafe Militaire. In every provincial town
there is a military cafe. That of Issoudun, built on the place d'Armes
at an angle of the rampart, and kept by the widow of an officer, was
naturally the rendezvous of the Bonapartists, chiefly officers on
half-pay, and others who shared Max's opinions, to whom the politics
of the town allowed free expression of their idolatry for the Emperor.
Every year, dating from 1816, a banquet was given in Issoudun to
commemorate the anniversary of his coronation. The three royalists who
first entered asked for the newspapers, among others, for the
"Quotidienne" and the "Drapeau Blanc." The politics of Issoudun,
especially those of the cafe Militaire, did not allow of such royalist
journals. The establishment had none but the "Commerce,"--a name which
the "Constitutionel" was compelled to adopt for several years after it
was suppressed by the government. But as, in its first issue under the
new name, the leading article began with these words, "Commerce is
essentially constitutional," people continued to call it the
"Constitutionel," the subscribers all understanding the sly play of
words which begged them to pay no attention to the label, as the wine
would be the same.

The fat landlady replied from her seat at the desk that she did not
take those papers. "What papers do you take then?" asked one of the
officers, a captain. The waiter, a little fellow in a blue cloth
jacket, with an apron of coarse linen tied over it, brought the
"Commerce."

"Is that your paper? Have you no other?"

"No," said the waiter, "that's the only one."

The captain tore it u