AN EPISODE OF JULY 1830. 89 



Jacques burst into a fit of laughter. 



" We have destroyed the old musty parchment," said he ; "'tis 

 only fit for wadding, and they are getting up a new one." 



" But hundreds fell in defence of the other!" 



ce Very true, 'tis the same thing, they will be buried with military 

 honours." 



"And young Napoleon ?" 



" None of us ever thought of him." 



" Bah ! for whom then have I been fighting ?" 



" For Louis-Philippe d' Orleans : he had possession of our hearts, 

 though his name was never uttered by our lips." 



" But we shouted Vive la Republique /" 



" Our thoughts/' replied Jacques, " are better known to others 

 than to ourselves : the people are proclaimed sovereign." 



" The people! what becomes, then, of the sovreignty of the Duke 

 of Orleans?" 



" The people have decided in his favour." 



" Already ! where? when ? how ?" 



" No matter : Five la liberte !" 



" The more I hear, the less I understand/' said Pierre. 



" Comrade, thou art a fool/' replied Jacques. 



We ought to have mentioned that Pierre had a small bag of money 

 concealed in the red woollen sash that encircled his loins ; and that 

 the contents of this bag the product of the savings he had made in 

 the south of France were destined for his mother. It was to see 

 that afflicted parent, and to lay his little offering at her feet,, that he 

 had undertaken the weary journey, the termination of which was 

 marked by such unlooked-for and such maddening events. Just as 

 Jacques pronounced the word fool, Pierre discovered that his pre- 

 cious sash was gone ! He uttered a piercing cry then, turning 

 abruptly away, he bent his steps towards the dark, narrow street 

 where his family formerly resided : disappointment and self-re- 

 proach sat on his brow. 



He knocked loudly at the door it flew open, and the portier 

 thrust his head out of the window of his lodge. He was an old man 

 and nearly blind ; he did not recognize Pierre, but put the usual 

 question to him : 



" Qm demandez vous ?" 

 My mother !" 



' Ah ! Pierre/' cried the portier, recollecting the young man's 

 vo ce, " when did you return ?" 



' Yesterday ; does ray mother still live on the fifth floor ?" 



' No ; she occupies the entresol." 



( Impossible ! she was so poor, I left her in the garret without 

 resource !" 



" Her misery became known to good people, who lodged and fed 

 her, and a small pension was granted to your grandmother.*' 

 " By whom ?" 

 " By Charles the Tenth." 



ee Charles the Tenth 1" exclaimed Pierre, and the blood forsook 

 his cheeks. 



M.M. No. 103. N 



