France is still the queen of the world, is she not ?" "Certainly," said Leon.
"How is the Emperor ?" "Well." "And the Empress ?" "Very well." "And the King of Rome ?" "The Prince Imperial?
He is a very fine child." "How?
A fine child! And you have the face to say that this is 1859!" M.Nibor took up the conversation, and explained in a few words that the reigning sovereign of France was not Napoleon I., but Napoleon III.
"But then," cried Fougas, "my Emperor is dead!" "Yes." "Impossible! Tell me anything you will but that! My Emperor is immortal." M.Nibor and the Renaults, who were not quite professional historians, were obliged to give him a summary of the history of our century.

Some one went after a big book written by M.de Norvins and illustrated with fine engravings by Raffet.

He only believed in the presence of Truth when he could touch her with his hand, and still cried out almost every moment: "That's impossible! This is not history that you are reading to me: it is a romance written to make soldiers weep!" This young man must indeed have had a strong and well-tempered soul, for he learned in forty minutes all the woful events which Fortune had scattered through eighteen years, from the first abdication up to the death of the King of Rome.

Less happy than his old companions in arms, he had no interval of repose between these terrible and repeated shocks, all beating upon his heart at the same time.

One could have feared that the blow might prove mortal, and poor Fougas die in the first hour of his recovered life.