ore between men. When we desire to
be distinguished by our brethren, do we not thus prove our esteem and our
sympathy for them? The longing for admiration is but one side of love.
No, no; the true glory can never be too dearly paid for! That which we
should deplore, child, is not the infirmities which prove a generous
self-sacrifice, but those which our vices or our imprudence have called
forth. Ah! if I could speak aloud to those who, when passing, cast looks
of pity upon me, I should say to the young man whose excesses have dimmed
his sight before he is old, 'What have you done with your eyes?' To the
slothful man, who with difficulty drags along his enervated mass of
flesh, 'What have you done with your feet?' To the old man, who is
punished for his intemperance by the gout, 'What have you done with your
hands?' To all, 'What have you done with the days God granted you, with
the faculties you should have employed for the good of your brethren?' If
you cannot answer, bestow no more of your pity upon the old soldier
maimed in his country's cause; for he--he at least--can show his scars
without shame."

October 16th.--The little engraving has made me comprehend better the
merits of Father Chaufour, and I therefore esteem him all the more.

He has just now left my attic. There no longer passes a single day
without his coming to work by my fire, or my going to sit and talk by his
board.

The old artilleryman has seen much, and likes to tell of it. For twenty
years he was an armed traveller throughout Europe, and he fought without
hatred, for he was possessed by a single thought--the honor of the
national flag! It might have been his superstition, if you will; but it
was, at the same time, his safeguard.

The word FRANCE, which was then resounding so gloriously through the
world, served as a talisman to him against all sorts of temptation. To
have to support a great name may seem a burden to vulgar minds, but it is
an encouragement to vigorous ones.

"I, too, have had many moments," said he to me the other day, "when I
have been tempted to make friends with the devil. War is not precisely
the school for rural virtues. By dint of burning, destroying, and
killing, you grow a little tough as regards your feelings; 'and, when the
bayonet has made you king, the notions of an autocrat come into your head
a little strongly. But at these moments I called to mind that country
which the lieutenant spoke of to me, and I whispere