d dreamed
away my life in a state almost of apathy--dead to the exciting events of
the campaign, which, even in the seclusion where I lived, were from time
to time reported. The brilliant march of our victorious troops through
the Pyrenees and the south of France, Nivelle, Orthez, and Toulouse, I
read of as people read of long past events. Life to me appeared to have
run out; and my thoughts turned ever backward to the bright morning
of my career in Ireland--my early burst of manhood, my first and only
passion.

The old royalist seigneur upon whom I was billeted could evidently
make nothing of the stolid indifference with which I heard him and his
antiquated spouse discuss the glorious prospect of a restoration of
the Bourbons: even the hope of liberty was dying away within me. One
ever-present thought had damped all ardour and all ambition--I had done
nothing as a soldier; my career had ended as it begun; and, while others
had risen to fame and honour, _my_ name had won nothing of distinction
and repute. Instead of anxiously looking forward to a meeting
with Louisa Bellew, I dreaded the very thoughts of it. My mother's
fashionable _morgue_ and indifference I should now feel as a sarcasm
on my own failure; and as to my cousin Julia, the idea alone of her
raillery was insufferable. The only plan I could devise for the future
was, as soon as I should recover my liberty, to exchange into some
regiment in the East Indies, and never to return to England.

It was, then, with some surprise and not much sympathy that I beheld
my venerable host appear one morning at breakfast with a large white
cockade in the breast of his frock-coat, and a huge white lily in a
wineglass before him. His elated manner and joyous looks were all so
many riddles to me; while the roll of drums in the peaceful little town,
the ringing of bells, and the shouts of the inhabitants were all too
much even for apathy like mine.

'What is the _tintamarre_ about?' said I pettishly, as I saw the old
gentleman fidget from the table to the window and then back again,
rubbing his hands, admiring his cockade, and smelling at the lily,
alternatively.

'Tintamarre!' said he indignantly, 'savez-vous, monsieur? Ce n'est pas
le mot, celui-la. We are restored, sir! we have regained our rightful
throne! we are no longer exiles!'

'Yes!' said the old lady, bursting into the room, and throwing herself
into her husband's arms, and then into mine, in a rapture of
enth