."

"Gilet rob a man! Come, don't say that to any one but me, Monsieur
Canivet," cried Potel. "If you do, I'll make you swallow your tongue,
--and without any sauce."

Every household in town offered prayers for the honorable Colonel
Bridau.

CHAPTER XVI

Towards four o'clock the following day, the officers of the old army
who were at Issoudun or its environs, were sauntering about the place
du Marche, in front of an eating-house kept by a man named Lacroix,
and waiting the arrival of Colonel Philippe Bridau. The banquet in
honor of the coronation was to take place with military punctuality at
five o'clock. Various groups of persons were talking of Max's
discomfiture, and his dismissal from old Rouget's house; for not only
were the officers to dine at Lacroix's, but the common soldiers had
determined on a meeting at a neighboring wine-shop. Among the
officers, Potel and Renard were the only ones who attempted to defend
Max.

"Is it any of our business what takes place among the old man's
heirs?" said Renard.

"Max is weak with women," remarked the cynical Potel.

"There'll be sabres unsheathed before long," said an old
sub-lieutenant, who cultivated a kitchen-garden in the upper Baltan.
"If Monsieur Maxence Gilet committed the folly of going to live under
old Rouget's roof, he would he a coward if he allowed himself to be
turned off like a valet without asking why."

"Of course," said Mignonnet dryly. "A folly that doesn't succeed
becomes a crime."

At this moment Max joined the old soldiers of Napoleon, and was
received in significant silence. Potel and Renard each took an arm of
their friend, and walked about with him, conversing. Presently
Philippe was seen approaching in full dress; he trailed his cane after
him with an imperturbable air which contrasted with the forced
attention Max was paying to the remarks of his two supporters.
Bridau's hand was grasped by Mignonnet, Carpentier, and several
others. This welcome, so different from that accorded to Max,
dispelled the last feeling of cowardice, or, if you prefer it, wisdom,
which Flore's entreaties, and above all, her tendernesses, had
awakened in the latter's mind.

"We shall fight," he said to Renard, "and to the death. Therefore
don't talk to me any more; let me play my part well."

After these words, spoken in a feverish tone, the three Bonapartists
returned to the group of officers and mixed among them. Max bowe