in a good mood for talking, for he is feeling
the palm of his hand, which he glories in
being hard as wood, and not dimpling on
pressure any more than an oak plank would.
He does not boast about this, but smiles, and
says, "Dieu merci, I am very hearty for an
old man who fought at Austeriitz, and saw
Moscow burning"

"What, were you at Moscow, Monsieur
Achille? I never heard that." (I trust I
shall be forgiven this assertion, which was
not strictly true.)

"Tête de Dieu, that was I, and should
never have been here but for three pounds of
chocolate Major Fourgeon shared with me,
when the rest of us were living on birch
bark, which is bad eating even for bears."

"And dreadfully, I suppose, those swarms
of Cossacks stung and worried you?"

"Monsieur loves to hear an old man talk.
We ought to be getting on with those
irregular verbs. Those Cossacks? Bah!
They were mere robbers—pouf! — blow at
them, and they are gone. I should not care
with two dozen men for a hundred of them.
You English always make such a — what you
call fuss with these Cossacks. Bah! I have
cut off the heads of dozens of them. What
has a Cossack to fight with?—a lance—he
thrusts — you pull your horse round—he
misses yon, and you cut the spear-head off;
with your sword as he rides by. What has
he then left — this Cossack! — only a stick of
the broom—a broom-steek."

Having nothing practical to reply to this,
I covered my retreat by ringing for coffee.

"You served under Le Beau Sabreur, did
not you, Monsieur Vielleroche?"

"I did, and under Vendamme. You should
have seen Vendamme at Austerlitz. He was
one of the old Republicans, and cared for
nothing. The soldiers used to say nothing
but a mine would kill him. Over and over
again they sent to tell him to retire, but he
would not. ' Every man might fall,' he said,
'but I remain — tell the Emperor so.'"

"Were you at the great military school?"

"I was. We slept on iron beds, ate ration
bread, and drank out of iron jugs. Tête de
Dieu, monsieur, we were tough as young
lions. We would walk to Fontainebleau,
play about in the forest, and then walk back.
Our very games were building up redoubts,
and then storming them; but then I had had
bombshells for playthings before I could
walk."

"As how, monsieur? Vous badinez."

"No. I jest not. My father was mayor
of Lille, and died on the walls there when
Prince Coburg was driven back in the early
revolution, for I am old now. My uncle died
of fatigue in carrying on the same defence.:
The first thing I can remember is seeing the
stones of our courtyard taken up, and the
square strewn with dung to deaden the shells
and shot. I remember on Easter Sunday,
my mother taking us down into a
bombproof cellar out of the way of the rain of
fire. I did not care much for a cannonball
then, since then—bah!—well, at the
military school we were divided into two
strong parties, one in favour of Mademoiselle
Mars, and the other in favour of Mademoiselle
George, who then, with Talma, divided the
stage between them. On special nights I
used to scale the walls, to get to the
theatre,and swell the ranks of my party.
Ah! it is a long time since. It is so long a
road to look back, that it is easier to look
forward to the dark door through which I
shall soon with a bow return into space."

Monsieur Achille was a sceptic. I said
nothing; his reminiscences amused me so
much.

"Ah! Talma, mon Dieu, what an actor!—
what an enthusiast! He told me he would
not wear a shirt as Pharamond, because at
that age shirts were not known. I remember
seeing him in Cinna, monsieur; in that
celebrated speech of the great Corneille, where
he draws so powerful yet horrible a picture of
the miseries of the civil wars. He used to
quietly take off his helmet and hold it behind
him. Then, when he came to those terrific
lines,

      Le fils tout dégouttant du meurtre de sou père
      Et sa tête à la main demandant son salaire,

he would suddenly thrust forward his hand,
and shake the helmet in the face of Emile.
At first, the ladies thought it was a real
human head, and ma foi — they fainted by
dozens. The boxes were like a field of
battle."

"You seem in pain. I trust no—"

"O, it is only that English bullet I got in
my hip when we took Capri from your Sir
Hudson Lowe, who we caught napping. I
was early on the ladders, and got an English
bayonet, too, through the fleshy part of my
left arm. I never cared much about wounds,
but that terrible fièvre de suppuration—"

"What is that, monsieur?"

Monsieur Achille was too absorbed now in
old recollections to hear what I was saying.

"I remember," he went on, "when I joined
my regiment at Amsterdam, just after rness,
the second day, a friend coming to tell me
they were going to feel my pulse; it being
then the custom to try the courage of a new
comer by a duel. So out I went, but luckily
ran my fellow through the arm, and after
that they left me alone. Our great amusement
at night there was to get hold of the
old klappermichels, or watchmen, and tie them
up in their watch-boxes; but if half-a-dozen
got together, and sprang their rattles, we had
a hard fight to escape the rasphaus. I think
in all Europe I never knew so vicious a
people as the Dutch were at that time."

I asked Vielleroche if he was at Waterloo.
Vielleroche said he was not, he did not
think much of that victory. He was with
Grouchy, and broke his sword over his knee