made the campaign of Egypt and Austria is worthy of all our care.
Where is he?"

"About a mile from this; but the road is not practicable for a
horseman."

"Well, you shall have two of my men; they will soon bring him hither."
And as he spoke, he ordered two troopers to dismount, who, quickly
disencumbering themselves of their sabres, prepared to follow me.

"We shall expect you at the bivouac," cried the sergeant, as he resumed
his way; while I, eager to return, breasted the mountain with renewed
energy.

"You belong to the Guard, my friends," said I, as I paused for breath at
a turn of the path.

"The Fourth Cuirassiers of the Guard," replied the soldier I addressed;
"Milhaud's brigade."

How my heart leaped as he said these words! They were part of the
division General d'Auvergne once commanded; it was the regiment of poor
Pioche, too, before the dreadful day of Austerlitz.

"You know the Fourth, then?" rejoined the man, as he witnessed the
agitation of my manner.

"Know the Fourth?" echoed his comrade, in a voice of half-indignant
meaning. "_Sacrebleu!_who does not know them? Does not all the world
know them by this time?"

"It is the Fourth who wear the motto 'Dix contre un' on their caps,"
said I, desirous to flatter the natural vanity of my companions.

"Yes, Monsieur; I see you have served also."

I answered by a nod, for already every word, every gesture, recalled to
me the career I had quitted; and my regrets, so late subdued by reason
and reflection, came thronging back, and filled ray heart to bursting.

Hurrying onward now, I mounted the steep path, and soon regained the
spot I sought. The poor father was sleeping; overcome by fatigue and
weariness, he had fallen on the mossy bank, and lay in a deep, soft
slumber. Lifting him gently, the strong troopers crossed their hands
beneath, and bore him along between them. For an instant he looked up;
but seeing me at his side, he merely pressed my hand, and closed his
eyes again.

"_Ma foi!_" said one of the dragoons, in a low voice, "I should not be
surprised if this were the Pere Arsene, who served with the army in
Italy. We used to call him 'old Scapulaire'. He was the only priest I
ever saw in the van of a brigade. You knew him too, Auguste."

"Yes, that I did," replied the other soldier. "I saw him at Elkankah,
where one of ours was unhorsed by a Mameluke, spring forward, and
seizing a pistol at the holster, shoot the Turk through the head, a