"You are in presence of a hero who carried the Emperor's orders at the battle of Montereau." Coloquinte saluted.

"That's were I lost my missing arm!" he said.
"Coloquinte, look after the den.

I'm going up to see my nephew." The two soldiers mounted to the fourth floor, where, in an attic room at the end of a passage, they found a young man with a cold light eye, lying on a dirty sofa.

The representative of the press did not stir, though he offered cigars to his uncle and his uncle's friend.
"My good fellow," said Giroudeau in a soothing and humble tone, "this is the gallant cavalry officer of the Imperial Guard of whom I spoke to you." "Eh! well ?" said Finot, eyeing Philippe, who, like Giroudeau, lost all his assurance before the diplomatist of the press.
"My dear boy," said Giroudeau, trying to pose as an uncle, "the colonel has just returned from Texas." "Ah! you were taken in by that affair of the Champ d'Asile, were you?
Seems to me you were rather young to turn into a Soldier-laborer." The bitterness of this jest will only be understood by those who remember the deluge of engravings, screens, clocks, bronzes, and plaster-casts produced by the idea of the Soldier-laborer, a splendid image of Napoleon and his heroes, which afterwards made its appearance on the stage in vaudevilles.

That idea, however, obtained a national subscription; and we still find, in the depths of the provinces, old wall-papers which bear the effigy of the Soldier-laborer.