ranco-Prussian War; then,
with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlines
of history; I felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a man
who not only knew history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewest
but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. But
seeing his wife's eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and
no more did I get from him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that
in order to help over the awkwardness, though I'm not really sure there
was any, I began to hum a song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn't
think what I was humming; it was some subterranean association of
things, I suppose--but that doesn't matter here. I only state it to
clear myself of any unnecessary insolence. These were the words I was
maundering with this noble voice of mine:

"'The news I bring, fair Lady,
Will make your tears run down

Put off your rose-red dress so fine
And doff your satin gown!

Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas!
And buried, too, for aye;

I saw four officers who bore
His mighty corse away.
.............
We saw above the laurels,
His soul fly forth amain.

And each one fell upon his face
And then rose up again.

And so we sang the glories,
For which great Malbrouck bled;
Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine,
Great Malbrouck, he is dead.'

"I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs.
Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make
angels sorry--a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping
pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man's name was Malbrouck; her name was
Malbrouck--awful insolence! But surely there was something in the story
of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was it.
Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something stern
and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantly
his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionate
expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appear
that I hadn't noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on,
intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse:

"'Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,
Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!'

"I ended there; because Malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder,
a