"I will go with you," I said, at the same time giving him the two sous.
He took them without any remonstrance. On the way we met a poor old
family, singing and begging in the streets. "They must live," said my
friend, "and we will give them our mite in partnership." So he added two
sous to those I had given him, and tossed them to the beggars. This was
genuine charity, given not for ostentation, but to relieve suffering and
administer comfort. I found him at all times entirely true to his
principles, and became very much interested in him.

We took a walk together one evening, to hear music in the Luxembourg
Gardens. As we approached them, the clock on the old building of the
Chamber of Peers struck eight, and at once the band commenced playing
some operatic airs of exquisite beauty. Now a gay and enlivening passage
was performed, and then a mournful air, or something martial and
soul-stirring. The music ceased at nine, and a company of soldiers
marched to the drum around the frontiers of the gardens, to notify all
who were in it that the gates must soon close.

"What very fine drumming," I said to my companion.

"Yes," he replied, "but you should hear a night _rappel_. I heard it
often in the days of the June fight. One morning I heard it at three
o'clock, calling the soldiers together for battle. You cannot know what
a thrill of horror it sent through every avenue of this great city. I
got up hastily, and dressed myself and ran into the streets. It was not
for me to shrink from the conflict. But the alarm was a false one.
Soldiers were in every street, but there was no fighting that day."

A few months before, my friend ventured to publish a pamphlet on the
subject of French interference in Italy. He condemned in unequivocal