"I've never," wrote the General
Baron D'Hubert, "wished for your death during all the time of our
deplorable quarrel. Allow me," he continued, "to give you back in
all form your forfeited life. It is proper that we two, who have been
partners in so much military glory, should be friendly to each other
publicly."

The same letter contained also an item of domestic information. It was
in reference to this last that General Feraud answered from a little
village on the banks of the Garonne, in the following words:

"If one of your boy's names had been Napoleon--or Joseph--or even
Joachim, I could congratulate you on the event with a better heart. As
you have thought proper to give him the names of Charles Henri Armand,
I am confirmed in my conviction that you never loved the Emperor. The
thought of that sublime hero chained to a rock in the middle of a savage
ocean makes life of so little value that I would receive with positive
joy your instructions to blow my brains out. From suicide I consider
myself in honour debarred. But I keep a loaded pistol in my drawer."

Madame la Generale D'Hubert lifted up her hands in despair after
perusing that answer.

"You see? He won't be reconciled," said her husband. "He must never, by
any chance, be allowed to guess where the money comes from. It wouldn't
do. He couldn't bear it."

"You are a brave homme, Armand," said Madame la Generale, appreciatively.

"My dear, I had the right to blow his brains out; but as I didn't,
we can't let him starve. He has lost his pension and he is utterly
incapable of doing anything in the world for himself. We must take
care of him, secretly, to the end of his days. Don't I owe him the
most ecstatic moment of my life? . . . Ha! ha! ha! Over the fields, two
miles, running all the way! I couldn't believe my ears! . . . But for
his stupid ferocity, it would have taken me years to find you out. It's
extraordinary how in one way or another this man has managed to fasten
himself on my deeper feelings."

A PATHETIC TALE

IL CONDE

"Vedi Napoli e poi mori."

The first time we got into conversation was in the National Museum
in Naples, in the rooms on the ground floor containing the famous
collection of bronzes from Herculaneum and Pompeii: that marvellous
legacy of antique art whose delicate perfection has been preserved for
us by the catastrophic fury of a volcano.

He addressed me first, over the celebrated Resting Hermes which we had