es, whereupon all the passengers looked at
him. "At eighteen I enlisted as a private for the famous campaign of
1813; but I was present at only one battle, that of Hanau, where I was
promoted sergeant-major. In France, at Montereau, I won the rank of
sub-lieutenant, and was decorated by,--there are no informers here, I'm
sure,--by the Emperor."

"What! are you decorated?" cried Oscar. "Why don't you wear your cross?"

"The cross of 'ceux-ci'? No, thank you! Besides, what man of any
breeding would wear his decorations in travelling? There's monsieur," he
said, motioning to the Comte de Serizy. "I'll bet whatever you like--"

"Betting whatever you like means, in France, betting nothing at all,"
said Mistigris's master.

"I'll bet whatever you like," repeated Georges, incisively, "that
monsieur here is covered with stars."

"Well," said the count, laughing, "I have the grand cross of the Legion
of honor, that of Saint Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle,
that of the Annunciation of Sardinia, and the Golden Fleece."

"Beg pardon," said Mistigris, "are they all in the coucou?"

"Hey! that brick-colored old fellow goes it strong!" whispered Georges
to Oscar. "What was I saying?--oh! I know. I don't deny that I adore the
Emperor--"

"I served under him," said the count.

"What a man he was, wasn't he?" cried Georges.

"A man to whom I owe many obligations," replied the count, with a silly
expression that was admirably assumed.

"For all those crosses?" inquired Mistigris.

"And what quantities of snuff he took!" continued Monsieur de Serizy.

"He carried it loose in his pockets," said Georges.

"So I've been told," remarked Pere Leger with an incredulous look.

"Worse than that; he chewed and smoked," continued Georges. "I saw him
smoking, in a queer way, too, at Waterloo, when Marshal Soult took him
round the waist and flung him into his carriage, just as he had seized a
musket and was going to charge the English--"

"You were at Waterloo!" cried Oscar, his eyes stretching wide open.

"Yes, young man, I did the campaign of 1815. I was a captain at
Mont-Saint-Jean, and I retired to the Loire, after we were all
disbanded. Faith! I was disgusted with France; I couldn't stand it. In
fact, I should certainly have got myself arrested; so off I went, with
two or three dashing fellows,--Selves, Besson, and others, who are now
in Egypt,--and we entered the service of pacha Mohammed; a queer sort of
fellow