m a Strasbourg
merchant who had served in the Old Guard. I wouldn't part with it for a
hundred crowns."

"Then there is some particular sentiment attached to it?"

"Sentiment, no," answered the peasant; "but I too was discharged from
the Fourth Regiment of Hussars, a brave regiment, monsieur. There were
only eight men left of our squadron, so when the Little Corporal passed
in front of the line he saluted us--yes, monsieur, raised his hat to us!
That was something to make us ready to die to the last man, look you.
Ah! he was the father of the soldier!"

Here the peasant began to fill his pipe, looking the while at the black
frame and the withered leaf. In this reminder of a marvelous destiny
there was evidently for him a whole romance of youth, emotion, and
regret. He recalled the last struggles of the Empire, in which he had
taken part, the reviews held by the emperor, when his mere presence
aroused confidence in victory; the passing successes of France's famous
campaign, so soon expiated by the disaster at Waterloo; the departure of
the vanquished general and his long agony on the rock of Saint Helena.

Arnold respected the old soldier's silent preoccupation and waited until
he should resume the conversation.

The arrival of supper roused him from his reverie; he drew up a chair
for his guest and took his place at the opposite side of the table.

"Come! fall to on the soup," he cried brusquely. "I have had nothing
since morning but two swallows of cognac. I should eat an ox whole
to-night."

To prove his words, he began to empty the huge porringer of soup before
him.

For several moments nothing was heard but the clatter of spoons followed
by that of the knives cutting up the side of bacon served by the
farmer's wife. His walk and the fresh air had given Arnold himself an
appetite that made him forget his Parisian daintiness. The supper grew
gayer and gayer, when all at once the peasant raised his head.

"And Farraut?" he asked. "I have not seen him since my return."

His wife and the children looked at each other without answering.

"Well, what is it?" went on Moser, who saw their embarrassment. "Where
is the dog? What has happened to him? Why don't you answer, Dorothee?"

"Don't be angry, father," interrupted Jean; "we didn't dare tell you,
but Farraut went away and has not come back."

"A thousand devils! You should have told me!" cried the peasant,
striking the table with his fist. "What road did he