it really true that the permit has come?" Then I would say to myself, "Yes; it is true." But toward morning I slept. When I wakened it was broad day, and I jumped out of bed to dress myself, when Father Goulden called out, as happy as possible, "Come, Joseph, come to breakfast."
"Forgive me, Mr. Goulden," I replied; "I was so happy I could hardly sleep."
"Yes, yes, I heard you," he answered and we went into the workshop, where the table was already laid.
VI
After the joy of marrying Catherine, my greatest delight was in thinking I should be a tradesman, for there was a great difference between fighting for the King of Prussia and doing business on one's own account. Mr. Goulden had told me he would take me into partnership with him, and I imagined myself taking my little wife to mass and then going for a walk to the Roche-plate or to Bonne-Fontaine. This gave me great pleasure. In the meantime I went every day to see Catherine; she would wait for me in the orchard, while Aunt Grédel prepared the little cakes and the bride's loaf for the wedding. We did nothing but look at each other for hours together; she was so fresh and joyous and grew prettier every day.
Mr. Goulden would say on seeing me come home happier every night, "Well! Joseph, matters seem to be better than when we were at Leipzig!"
Sometimes I wanted to go to work again, but he always stopped me by saying, "Oh! pshaw! happy days in life are so few. Go and see Catherine, go! If I should take a fancy to be married by and by, you can work for us both." And then he would laugh. Such men as he ought to live a hundred years, such a good heart! so true and honest! He was a real father to us. And even now, after so many years, when I think of him with his black silk cap drawn over his ears, and his gray beard eight days old, and the little wrinkles about his eyes showing so much good-humor, it seems to me that I still hear his voice and the tears will come in spite of me. But I must tell you here of something which happened before the wedding and which I shall never forget. It was the 6th of July and we were to be married on the 8th. I had dreamed of it all night. I rose between six and seven. Father Goulden was already at work, with the windows open. I was washing my face and thinking I would run over to Quatre Vents, when all at once a bugle and two taps of a drum were heard at the gate of France, just as when a regiment arrives, they try their mouthpieces, and tap their drums just to get the sticks well in hand. When I heard that my hair stood on end, and I exclaimed, "Mr. Goulden, it is the Sixth!"
"Yes, indeed, for eight days everybody has been talking about it, but you hear nothing in these days. It is the wedding bouquet, Joseph, and I wanted to surprise you."
I listened no longer, but went downstairs at a jump. Our old drummer Padoue had already lifted his stick under the dark arch, and the drummers came up behind balancing their drums on their hips; in the distance was Gémeau, the commandant, on horseback, the red plumes of the grenadiers and the bayonets came up slowly; it was the Third battalion. The march commenced, and my blood bounded. I recognized at the first glance the long gray cloaks which we had received on the 22d of October, on the glacis at Erfurth; they had become quite green from the snow and wind and rain. It was worse than after the battle of Leipzig. The old shakos were full of ball holes, only the flag was new, in its beautiful case of oil-cloth, with the fleur-de-lis at the end.
Ah! only those who have made a campaign can realize what it is to see your regiment and to hear the same roll of the drum as when it is in front of the enemy, and to say to yourself, "There are your comrades, who return beaten, humiliated, and crushed, bowing their heads under another cockade." No! I never felt anything like it. Later many of the men of the Sixth came and settled down at Pfalzbourg, they were my old officers, old sergeants, and were always welcome, there was Laflèche, Carabin, Lavergne, Monyot, Padoue, Chazi, and many others. Those who commanded me during the war sawed wood for me, put on tiles, were my carpenters and masons. After giving me orders they obeyed me, for I was independent, and had business, while they were simply laborers. But that was nothing, and I always treated my old chiefs with respect, I always thought, "at Weissenfels, at Lutzen, and at Leipzig, these men who now are forced to labor so hard to support themselves and their families, represented at the front the honor and the courage of France." These changes came after Waterloo! and our old Ensign Faizart, swept the bridge at the gate of France for fifteen years! That is not right, the country ought to be more grateful.
It was the Third battalion that returned, in so wretched a state that it made the hearts of good men bleed. Zébédé told me that they left Versailles on the 31st of March, after the capitulation of Paris, and marched to Chartres, to Chateaudun, to Blois, Orleans and so on like real Bohemians, for six weeks without pay or equipments, until at last at Rouen, they received orders to cross France and return to Pfalzbourg, and everywhere the processions and funeral services for the King, Louis XVI., had excited the people against them. They were obliged to bear it all, and even were compelled to bivouac in the fields while the Russians, Austrians, and Prussians, and other beggars, lived quietly in our towns.
Zébédé wept with rage as he recounted their sufferings afterward.
"Is France no longer France?" he asked. "Have we not fought for her honor?"
But it gives me pleasure now in my old age, to remember how we received the Sixth at Pfalzbourg. You know that the First battalion had already arrived from Spain, and that the remnant of this regiment and of the 24th infantry of the line formed the 6th regiment of Berry, so that all the village was rejoicing that instead of the few old veterans, we were to have two thousand men in garrison. There was great rejoicing, and everybody shouted, "Long live the Sixth;" the children ran out to St. Jean to meet them, and the battalion had nowhere been better received than here. Several old fellows wept and shouted, "Long live France." But in spite of all that, the officers were dejected and only made signs with their hands as if to thank the people for their kind reception.
I stood on our door-steps while three or four hundred men filed past, so ragged that I could not distinguish our number, but suddenly I saw Zébédé, who was marching in the rear, so thin that his long crooked nose stood out from his face like a beak, his old cloak hanging like fringe down his back, but he had his sergeant's stripes, and his large bony shoulders gave him the appearance of strength. On seeing him, I cried out so loud that it could be heard above the drums, "Zébédé!"
He turned round and I sprang into his arms and he put down his gun at the corner of the rue Fouquet. I cried like a child and he said, "Ah! it is you, Joseph! there are two of us left then, at least."
"Yes, it is I," said I, "and I am going to marry Catherine, and you shall be my best man."
We marched along together to the corner of the rue Houte, where old Furst was waiting with tears in his eyes. The poor old man thought, "Perhaps my son will come too." Seeing Zébédé coming with me, he turned suddenly into the little dark entrance to his house. On the square, Father Klipfel and five or six others were looking at the battalion in line. It is true they had received the notices of the deaths, but still they thought there might be mistakes, and that their sons did not like to write. They looked amongst them, and then went away while the drums were beating.
They called the roll, and just at that moment the old grave-digger came up with his little yellow velvet vest and his gray cotton cap. He looked behind the ranks where I was talking with Zébédé, who turned round and saw him and grew quite pale, they looked at each other for an instant, then I took his gun and the old man embraced his son. They did not say a word, but remained in each other's arms for a long while. Then when the battalion filed off to the right to go to the barracks, Zébédé asked permission of Captain Vidal to go home with his father, and gave his gun to his nearest comrade. We went together to the rue de Capucins. The old man said: "You know that grandmother is so old that she can no longer get out of bed, or she would have come to meet you too."
I went to the door, and then said to them, "You will come and dine with us, both of you."
"I
