ed in a remote
faubourg than in the gilded _salons_ of the Tuileries. She had been
relating some anecdotes of military life, which came within her own
experience; and evidently amused her auditory as much by her manner as
the matter of her narrative.

"Oui, parbleu," said she, drawing a long breath, "I was only the wife
of a sergeant in the 'Gardes Francaises' in those days; but they were
pleasant times, and the men one used to see were men indeed. They were
not as much laced in gold, nor had not so much finery on their jackets;
but they were bold, bronzed, manly fellows. You 'd not see such a poor,
miserable little fellow as De Custine there, in a whole demi-brigade."
When the laugh this speech caused, and in which her own merry voice
joined, subsided, she continued; "Where will you find, now, anything
like the Twenty-second of the line? Pioche was in that. Poor Pioche! I
tied up his jaw in Egypt when it was smashed by a bullet. I remember,
too, when the regiment came back, your husband, the General, reviewed
them in the court below, and poor Pioche was quite offended at not
being noticed. 'We were good friends,' quoth he, 'at Mount Tabor, but
he forgets all that now; that 's what comes of a rise in the world. "Le
Petit Caporal" was humble enough once, I warrant him; but now he can't
remember me.' Well, they were ordered to march past in line; and there
was Pioche, with his great dark eyes fixed on the General, and his big
black beard flowing down to his waist. But no, he never noticed him no
more than the tambour that beat the rappel. He could bear it no longer;
his head was twisting with impatience and chagrin; and he sprang out of
the lines, and seizing a brass gun,--a _piece de quatre_,--he mounted
it like a fusee to his shoulder, and marched past, calling out, 'Tu'--he
always _tu'toied_ him--' tu te rappelles maintenant, n'est-ce pas,
petit?'"

No one enjoyed this little story more than Madame Bonaparte herself, who
laughed for several minutes after it was over. Story after story did she
pour forth in this way; most of them, however, had their merit in
some personality or other, which, while recognized by the rest, had no
attraction for me. There was in all she said the easy self-complacency
of a kind-hearted but vulgar woman, vain of her husband, proud of
his services, and perfectly indifferent to the habits and usages of a
society 'whose manners she gave herself no trouble to imitate, nor of
whose ridicule was