re
Vents, and the little chimney with its wreath of smoke. "'Tis
Catherine who made the fire," I thought, "and she is preparing our
coffee." Then I would moderate my steps in order to get my breath a
little, while I scanned the little windows and laughed with anticipated
pleasure. The door opens, and Mother Gredel, with her woollen
petticoat and a big broom in her hand, turns round and exclaims: "Here
he is! here he is!" Then Catherine runs up, always more and more
beautiful, with her little blue cap, and says: "Ah! that is good; I was
expecting thee!" How happy she is, and how I embrace her! Ah! to be
young! I see it all again!

I go into the old room with Catherine, and Aunt Gredel flourishes her
broom and exclaims energetically: "No more conscription--that is done
with!" We laugh heartily and sit down, and while Catherine looks at
me, aunt commences again:

"That beggar of a minister, has he not written yet? Will he never
write, I wonder? Does he take us for brutes? It is very disagreeable
always to be ordered about. Thou art no longer a soldier, since they
left thee for dead. We saved thy life, and thou art nothing to them
now."

"Certainly, you are right, Aunt Gredel," I would say; "but for all that
we cannot be married without going to the mayor--without a permit--and
if we do not go to the mayor, the priest will not dare to marry us at
the church."

Then aunt would be very grave, and always ended by saying: "You see,
Joseph, that all those people from first to last have fixed everything
to suit themselves. Who pays the guards, and the judges, and the
priests, and who is it that pays everybody? It is we! and yet they
dare not marry us. It is shameful; and if it goes on, we will go to
Switzerland and be married." This would calm us, and we would spend
the rest of the day in singing and laughing.

II

In spite of my great impatience every day brought something new, and it
comes back to me now like the comedies that are played at the fairs.
The mayors and their assistants, the municipal counsellors, the grain
and wood merchants, the foresters and field-guards, and all those
people who had been for ten years regarded as the best friends of the
Emperor, and had been very severe if any one said a word against his
majesty, turned round and denounced him as a tyrant and usurper, and
called him "the ogre of Corsica." You would have thought that Napoleon
had done them some great injury, when