hich realized the dream of every
shopkeeper after he has made his fortune. Nothing was lacking, not even
the earthen lions at the steps, or the little garden with its glittering
weather-vane, or the rock-work basin for goldfish. On warm days the past
summer passers-by might have seen very often, under the green arbor,
bourgeoisie in their shirt-sleeves and women in light dresses eating
melons together. The poet's imagination fancied at once this picture of
a Parisian's Sunday, when suddenly a young assistant appeared at an
open window on the first floor, wiping his hands upon his blood-stained
apron. He leaned out and called to a hospital attendant, that Amedee had
not noticed before, who was cutting linen upon a table in the garden:

"Well, Vidal, you confounded dawdler," exclaimed he, impatiently, "are
those bandages ready? Good God! are we to have them to-day or tomorrow?"

"Make room, if you please!" said at this moment a voice at Amedee's
elbow, who stepped aside for two stretchers borne by four brothers
of the Christian doctrine to pass. The poet gave a start and a cry of
terror. He recognized in the two wounded men Maurice Roger and Colonel
Lantz.

Wounded, both of them, yes! and mortally. Only one hour ago.

Affairs had turned out badly for us down there, then, on the borders of
the Marne. They did a foolish thing to rest one day and give the enemy
time to concentrate his forces; when they wished to renew the attack
they dashed against vast numbers and formidable artillery. Two generals
killed! So many brave men sacrificed! Now they beat a retreat once more
and lose the ground. One of the chief generals, with lowered head and
drooping shoulders, more from discouragement than fatigue, stood glass
in hand, observing from a distance our lines, which were breaking.

"If we could fortify ourselves there at least," said he, pointing to an
eminence which overlooked the river, "and establish a redoubt--in one
night with a hundred picks it could be done. I do not believe that the
enemy's fire could reach this position--it is a good one."

"We could go there and see, General," said some one, very quietly.

It was Pere Lantz, the "old dolphin," who was standing there with
Maurice beside him and three or four of the auxiliary engineers; and,
upon my word, in spite of his cap, which seemed to date from the time of
Horace Vernet's "Smala," the poor man, with his glasses upon his nose,
long cloak, and pepper colored bear