t.
To the student of history, the light thrown on the rise and
fall of the Bourbon popularity in France, 1813-14, in this
novel, will always be of interest. Chatrian died in Paris on
September 4, 1890, and Erckmann at Luneville, on March 14,
1899.

_I.--Napoleon Returns_

Never was anything so joyous as the spring of 1814 Louis XVIII. was
king, and the war was over. All except the old soldiers were content;
and only when the nobles, who had fled at the Revolution, returned, and
it was said that they were going to bring back all their old ideas, did
M. Goulden express any dissatisfaction. There were great religious
processions everywhere and expiatory services, and talk of rebuilding
all the convents, and setting up the nobles again in their castles. But
these things did not trouble me, because I was married to Catherine, and
knew nothing about politics.

The treatment of the old soldiers enraged me. On the day of the
religious procession at Phalsbourg, half a dozen old veterans, restored
prisoners, were set upon in our town by that rascal Pinacle and the
people of Baraques, and knocked about. Pinacle did this to curry favour
with Louis XVIII., and M. Goulden warned us that if ruffians like
Pinacle got the upper hand it would open people's eyes.

Sure enough, Pinacle received the cross of honour in the autumn when the
Duc de Berry came to review the troops at Phalsbourg, and even Aunt
Gredel, who was fond of abusing Napoleon and the Jacobins, and
applauding the king and the clergy, thought this a shameful thing.

It really was scandalous the way titles and honours were given to
worthless people who shouted for the king. Worse than this was the way
Napoleon's old officers were treated. Men who had fought and bled for
France for twenty years were now well-nigh starving, driven out of the
army to make room for the king's favourites.

We read all this in the "Gazette," and Zebede, who had come back alive
and in time for my wedding, and was still in the army, would often come
in and tell us of the growing indignation of the soldiers. The whole of
that winter the indignation was spreading in the town at the sight of so
many brave officers, the heroes of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Wagram,
wandering forlornly about, starving on half-pay, and deprived of their
posts.

How well I remember one day in January, 1815, two of these officers,
pale and gaunt, coming into the workshop to sell a watch.