rested his broad disk on the top of the enormous
forest on the western bank of the river,
Abinoam pointed to a low thatched cottage,
made of rough unbarked trees, and intimated
that that was the palace inhabited by the
Egyptian Pasher.

"Go along," he said, "and lift the latch.
He don't like many folks at a time, so I won't
go in to interduce yer. I must be off to old
Hiram to help lay the foundation stone of the
town-hall, or he swears he won't give me a
lease of the principal hotel in the city—the
Hiram Arms."

The major bestowed a gratuity on the
expectant landlord, and gave him instructions
for the bestowal of his luggage when it
arrived; and, occupied with many thoughts
and anticipations, he proceeded towards the
hut. It was surrounded with more signs of
civilisation than he had yet encountered in
the back-woods. There were large tracts of
pasture and corn land partitioned into fields;
a farm-yard well filled with stacks gave
evidence of the fertility of the soil; while
long lines of stables and cattle-sheds gave
farther proof of agricultural wealth. The
major walked quietly up to the door of the
cottage. A low, almost noiseless knock
received no answer, and he at last lifted
the latch and stood upon the smooth clay
floor.

"Sang de San Gennaro!" a voice exclaimed
from a corner of the room. "I hear a
soldier's step! Who goes there?" The
voice proceeded from a low truckle-bed without
curtains, almost hidden from view by the
depth of the recess it occupied.

"A friend," answered Grasigny, in the
language in which he had been addressed,
advancing towards the bed and gazing compassionately
on the wasted features of his
evidently dying host.

"This is too much happiness," exclaimed
the latter, in a feeble voice. "I never
expected to hear the dear old sounds again.
You are a soldier?"

"I was a soldier," replied the major, "when
swords and courage were of more value than
ribbons and genealogical trees."

"Where have you served?" again inquired
the sick man.

"Everywhere—Italy, Egypt, Germany,
Russia—"

"And I—and I—! What arm?"

"The Old Guard—Our last fight was
Waterloo."

"Give me your hand; I was at all—except
the last. Oh! would I had had the fortune
to have charged on that day, the event might
have been different! Who knows? You remember
the Pyramids?"

"Aye, I was wounded by a Mameluke
spear. I was in Desaix's division, and a sharp
fight we had of it."

"You were pushed by the cavalry on all
the sides of the square. I saw your need—"

"We owed our victory to the gallant
Murat. Never shall I forget the noble
charge that drove the enemy into the Nile.
I see the white plume yet in the tempest of
dust and smoke—ever foremost, ever
unsullied—then his war-cry sounded louder and
more inspiring than a trumpet, and his
generosity was equal to his valour. There
has been no such Frenchman as the King of
Naples since the days of Bayard."

"You recall many things to my recollection
which in this hour were perhaps better
forgotten," said the dying man with a sigh. "Do
you intend to return to Europe?"

"Never!" replied the major. "The old
countries have no use for a man like me."

"The time will come," said the other after
a pause. "The eagle will have another flight,
and you may live to see the spreading of his
wings. When that moment comes, all the
true sons of France must be found at their
posts. You will press once more the soil of
our noble land; you will bear from me a
message; you will say that, living or dying,
there was but one thought in my heart—will
you do this? Promise it to a brother-soldier
and a dying man?"

A closer grasp of the hand he held was the
major's reply; and, gratified by his consent,
the invalid closed his eyes and in a few
moments was asleep. The company of his
countryman had a wonderful effect in renewing
the old man's strength. Day after day
passed on in the midst of recollections of their
campaigns; a friendship such as only exiles
in a foreign land can know, sprang up
between them. Pierre Laverdy could not
bear Grasigny to be absent a moment from
the side of his bed. He called in the services
of our friend Hiram Blotts, and made a will
in favour of the major, leaving him all the
property he possessed. All legal formalities
were gone through, and Pierre seemed
contented to die now that a countryman and old
fellow-soldier was to succeed to his effects.
Grasigny was grateful, as befitted a person
who derived so much benefit from the affection
of his friend; and a hundred times a day
repeated the promise he had given to be his
benefactor's messenger to his relatives in
France, and to convey to them the memorials
of their friend's recollection. This repeated
promise appeared to give increased satisfaction,
when the salutary influence of Grasigny's
presence lost its effect, and the disease under
which he suffered made alarming progress.
He felt at last that a few hours would bring
his course to a close, and one night when a
single candle was dimly illuminating the little
chamber, he had himself propped up upon
his pillow, and with his hand pressed in the
major's, thus began:—

"I have not told you, my dear Grasigny,
who I really am. Pierre Laverdy is an
assumed name; but, though a vow of silence
on that subject seals my lips, you will learn
my history when you go back to Europe.
That you have seen me will not even be