andsome uniform, in the breast of which
he wore his decoration of St. Louis, from which descended a bright bow
of crimson ribbon. A slight bustle at one of the doorways of the tower
suddenly seemed to attract his attention, and I saw that he turned
quickly round, and forced his way through the crowd to the place.
Eager to learn what it was, I followed him at once. Pushing with some
difficulty forward, I reached the doorway, on the step of which lay a
young man in a fainting fit. His face, pale as death, had no color save
two dark circles round the eyes, which, though open, were upturned and
filmy. His cravat had been hastily removed by some of the bystanders,
and showed a purple welt around his neck, on one side of which a mass
of blood escaping beneath the skin, made a dreadful-looking tumor. His
dress denoted a person of condition, as well as the character of his
features; but never had I looked upon an object so sad and woe-begone
before. At his side knelt Greorge; his strong arm round his back, while
his great massive hand patted the water on his brow. The stern features
of the hardy Breton, which ever before had conveyed to me nothing
but daring and impetuous passion, were softened to a look of womanly
kindliness, his blue eye beaming as softly as though it were a mother
leaning over her infant.

"Bouvet, my dear, dear boy, remember thou art a Breton; rally thyself,
my child,--bethink thee of the cause."

The name of the youth at once recalled him whom I had seen some months
before among the _Chouan_ prisoners, and who, sad and sickly as he then
seemed, was now much further gone towards the tomb.

"Bouvet," cried Greorge, in an accent of heartrending sorrow, "this will
disgrace us forever!"

The youth turned his cold eyes round till they were fixed on the other's
face; while his lips, still parted, and his cheek pale and flattened,
gave him the appearance of a corpse suddenly called back to life.

"There, my own brave boy," said Greorge, kissing his forehead--"there,
thou art thyself again!" He bent over till his lips nearly touched
the youth's ear, and then whispered: "Dost thou forget the last words
Monsieur spoke to thee, Bouvet? 'Conserve-toi pour tes amis, et centre
nos ennemis communs!'"

The boy started up at the sounds, and looked wildly about him, while his
hands were open wide with a kind of spasmodic motion.

"_Tonnerre de ciel!_" cried George, with frantic passion; "what have they
done with him?