ovil's prize.

"You will think of the lad, sometimes," said the old Baronet to the
girl. "He was not lucky enough to win you, but he loved you and he
died with your name on his lips."

"I shall remember him always," said the new-made wife.

"His name shall be held in highest honor in my house as a brave
soldier, a true lover and a most gallant gentleman," added the new-made
husband.

Marteau would never forget the picture of the Emperor sitting on his
horse at La Belle Alliance that June evening, stern, terrific, almost
sublime, watching the Guard go by to death. He was glad he had not
seen him in the retreat of which he afterward heard from old Bal-Arret.
But that was not the last picture of the Emperor that he had. Although
he was scarcely strong enough to be moved, he insisted on being taken
to Portsmouth with his young wife. Sir Gervaise went with him. He had
no other object in life it seemed but to provide happiness for these
young people. He could scarcely bear them out of his sight.

One day, a bright and sunny morning late in July, they put the
convalescing soldier into a boat with his wife and the old Baronet and
the three were rowed out into the harbor as near as the cordon of
guard-boats allowed them to approach to a great English
ship-of-the-line, across the stern of which in gold letters they read
the name, "_Bellerophon_."

"Bonaparte gener'ly comes out 'n the quarter-gal'ry of the ship, 'bout
this hour in the mornin'," said one of the boatmen. "An' if he does we
can see him quite plain from yere."

There were other boats there whose occupants were moved by curiosity
and various emotions, but when the figure of the little man with the
three-cornered cocked hat on his head, still wearing the green uniform
of the chasseurs of the Guard stepped out on the quarter-gallery, his
eyes, as it were instinctively, sought that particular boat.

"Help me up," said Marteau brokenly.

The boat was a large one and moving carefully they got the young
officer to his feet. He was wearing his own battle-stained uniform.
He lifted his trembling hand to his head in salute. The little Emperor
bent over the rail and stared hard at the trio. Did he recognize
Marteau? Ah, yes! He straightened up presently, his own hand returned
the salute and then he took off that same cocked hat and bared his brow
and bent his head low and, with a gesture of farewell, he turned and
reentered his cabin--Prometheus on the way