Come, young man, we must say, with our old Marot: 'Adieu la cour, adieu les dames! Adieu les filles et les femmes! Adieu vous dy pour quelque temps; Adieu vos plaisans parse-temps! Adieu le bal, adieu la dance; Adieu mesure, adieu cadance, Tabourins, Hautbois, Violons, Puisqu'a la guerre nous allons!'" These old verses and the air of the Marechal made all the guests laugh, except three persons.
"Heavens!" he continued, "it seems to me as if, like him, I were only seventeen years old; he will return to us covered with embroidery.
Madame, we must keep his chair vacant for him." The Marechale suddenly grew pale, and left the table in tears; every one rose with her; she took only two steps, and sank into another chair.

Her sons and her daughter and the young Duchess gathered anxiously around her, and heard her say, amid the sighs and tears which she strove to restrain: "Pardon, my friends! it is foolish of me--childish; but I am weak at present, and am not mistress of myself.

We were thirteen at table; and you, my dear Duchess, were the cause of it.

But it is very wrong of me to show so much weakness before him.

Farewell, my child; give me your forehead to kiss, and may God conduct you! Be worthy of your name and of your father." Then, as Homer says, "smiling under tears," she raised herself, pushed her son from her, and said: "Come, let me see you on horseback, fair sir!" The silent traveller kissed the hands of his mother, and made a low bow to her; he bowed also to the Duchess, without raising his eyes.