"Ha!" said the Marshal once more, "this to my face? Lafontaine,"--; to the
aide--de--camp,--"a file of soldiers." The handsome young officer
hesitated hung in the wind, as we say, for a moment--moved, as I imagined,
by my extreme youth.

This irritated the Marshal rose, and stamped on the floor. The colonel
essayed to interfere. "Sentry--sentry--a file of grenadiers--take him
forth," and--here he energetically clutched the steel hilt of his sword,
and instantly dashed it from him--"Sacre!--the devil--what is that?" and
straightway he began to pirouette on one leg round the room, shaking his
right hand, and blowing his fingers.

The officers in waiting could not stand it any longer, and burst into a
fit of laughter, in which their commanding officer, after an unavailing
attempt to look serious--I should rather write fierce joined, and there he
was, the bloody Davoust--Duke of Auerstad Prince of Eckmuhl--the Hamburgh
Robespierre--the terrible Davoust--dancing all around the room, in a
regular guffaw, like to split his sides. The heated stove had made his
sword, which rested on it, nearly red--hot.

All this while the quiet, plain--looking little man sat still. He now
rose; but I noticed that he had been fixing his eyes intently on me. I
thought I could perceive a tear glistening in them as he spoke.

"Marshal, will you intrust that boy to me?"

"Poo," said the Prince, still laughing, "take him--do what you will with
him;"--then, as if suddenly recollecting himself, "But, Mr----, you must
be answerable for him--he must be at hand if I want him."