I dreams of her images in my exiles! When I learns at my acadamies ze young ladees, ze beautifool Eenglish mees, I tinks of ma belle Marie, her figure, and her face angelique, wheech I sail nevaire forgets--no, nevaire! And I says to myselfs, `Ah! she ees more beautifools dan dese!' Mais, mon ami, I was deceives by her all dat time.

Not sooner go I from France, dan she ees marie to un grand, gros, fat epicier of La Villette--Marie dat was fiancee au moi, gentilhomme! Mais, mon Dieu; when I was heard ze news, I was enrage--I goes back to Paris.

I fears notings--no mouchard--no gend'armerie--no notings-- although, I was suspect and deporte de France! I sends un cartel--you comprends--to ze gros bon ami de ma Marie, ce cochon d'un epicier! We meets in ze Bois: I gives him one leetel tierce en carte dat spoils his lovemakings for awhile; and, I leeves France again for evers--dat is, unless ma patrie and ze sacred cause of ze Republique Francaise calls upon me--but, not till den! So, you sees, my youngish friends, dat oders suffer like yourselfs.

I have told to you my story; cheer oop! If ze ladees have deceives you, she is not wort one snaps of ze fingers!" "But, she has not deceived me," I said.
"Den why are you melancolique ?" "Because, because--" I hesitated:--I was ashamed to say what made me despondent.
"For ze reasons dat you don't knows weder she lofes you or not ?" he asked.

"Ah, ha! Den, why not ask her, my friends?
You are young; you have a deesposeetion good; you are handsome--" "O-oh, Monsieur Parole," I exclaimed at his nattering category of my attributes, almost blushing.
"Ah, but yes," he went on--"I am quaite raite.