their fields were manured with
them for years. Men, women, children, all rushed upon them. Pitchforks,
stones, mattocks, all served for the slaughter. It was a true wolf
hunt!"

The veins swelled on the soldier's forehead, and his cheeks flushed as
he spoke, for this popular heroism recalled to his memory the sublime
enthusiasm of the wars of the republic--those armed risings of a whole
people, from which dated the first steps of his military career, as the
triumphs of the Empire were the last days of his service.

The orphans, too, daughters of a soldier and a brave woman, did not
shrink from the rough energy of these words, but felt their cheeks glow,
and their hearts beat tumultuously.

"How happy we are to be the children of so brave a father!" cried
Blanche.

"It is a happiness and an honor too, my children--for the evening of the
battle of Montmirail, the Emperor, to the joy of the whole army, made
your father Duke of Ligny and Marshal of France."

"Marshal of France!" said Rose in astonishment, without understanding
the exact meaning of the words.

"Duke of Ligny!" added Blanche with equal surprise.

"Yes; Peter Simon, the son of a workman, became duke and marshal--there
is nothing higher except a king!" resumed Dagobert, proudly. "That's how
the Emperor treated the sons of the people, and, therefore, the people
were devoted to him. It was all very fine to tell them 'Your Emperor
makes you food for cannon.' 'Stuff!' replied the people, who are no
fools, 'another would make us food for misery. We prefer the cannon,
with the chance of becoming captain or colonel, marshal, king--or
invalid; that's better than to perish with hunger, cold, and age, on
straw in a garret, after toiling forty years for others.'"

"Even in France--even in Paris, that beautiful city--do you mean to say
there are poor people who die of hunger and misery, Dagobert?"

"Even in Paris? Yes, my children; therefore, I come back to the point,
the cannon is better. With it, one has the chance of becoming, like your
father, duke and marshal: when I say duke and marshal, I am partly right
and partly wrong, for the title and the rank were not recognized in
the end; because, after Montmirail, came a day of gloom, a day of great
mourning, when, as the general has told me, old soldiers like myself
wept--yes, wept!--on the evening of a battle. That day, my children, was
Waterloo!"

There was in these simple words of Dagobert an expression of s