nce. He was not accustomed to hear so
much noise anywhere but on the battle-field. Nevertheless, his ears
soon inured themselves to the clangor of the instruments; and the
fatigue of the day, the pleasure of being comfortably seated, and the
labor of digestion, plunged him into a doze. He woke up with a start at
this famous patriotic song:

"_Guerre aux tyrans! jamais, jamais en France,_
_Jamais l'Anglais ne regnera!_"[8]

"No!" cried he, stretching out his arms toward the stage. "Never! Let us
swear it together on the sacred altar of our native land! Perish,
perfidious Albion! _Vive l'Empereur!_"

The pit and orchestra arose at once, less to express accord with Fougas'
sentiments, than to silence him. During the following _entr'acte_, a
commissioner of police said in his ear, that when one had dined as he
had, one ought to go quietly to bed, instead of interrupting the
performance of the opera.

He replied that he had dined as usual, and that this explosion of
patriotic sentiment had not proceeded from the stomach.

"But," said he, "when, in this palace of misused magnificence, hatred of
the enemy is stigmatized as a crime, I must go and breathe a freer air,
and bow before the temple of Glory before I go to bed."

"You'll do well to do so," said the policeman.

He went out, haughtier and more erect than ever, reached the Boulevard,
and ran with great strides as far as the Corinthian temple at the end.
While on his way, he greatly admired the lighting of the city. M.
Martout had explained to him the manufacture of gas; he had not
understood anything about it, but the glowing and ruddy flame was an
actual treat to his eyes.

As soon as he had reached the monument commanding the entrance to the
_Rue Royale_, he stopped on the pavement, collected his thoughts for an
instant, and exclaimed:

"Oh, Glory! Inspirer of great deeds, widow of the mighty conqueror of
Europe! receive the homage of thy devoted Victor Fougas! For thee I have
endured hunger, sweat, and frost, and eaten the most faithful of horses.
For thee I am ready to brave further perils, and again to face death on
every battle-field. I seek thee rather than happiness, riches, or power.
Reject not the offering of my heart and the sacrifice of my blood! As
the price of such devotion, I ask nothing but a smile from thy eyes and
a laurel from thy hand!"

This prayer went all glowing to the ears of _Saint Marie Madeleine_, the
patroness of the ex-t