le French army, which
had no suspicion of its danger. He did not for even a moment hesitate.
With all the strength of his voice he shouted to his men, who were within
hearing, that the enemy were upon them, and fell, bayoneted to death,
almost before the words had passed his lips. He had saved his comrades and
his commander, and had influenced the issue of the whole campaign. The
enemy, whose well-planned enterprise his self-devotion had baffled, paid a
cordial tribute of praise to his heroism, Ferdinand himself publicly
expressing his regret at the fate of one whose valor had shed honor on
every brother-soldier; but not the slightest notice had been taken of him
by those in authority in France till his exploit was accidentally
mentioned in the queen's apartments. It filled her with admiration. She
asked what had been done to commemorate so noble a deed. She was told
"nothing;" the man and his gallantry had been alike forgotten. "Had he
left descendants or kinsmen?" "He had a brother and two nephews; the
brother a retired veteran of the same regiment, the nephews officers in
different corps of the army." The dead hero was forgotten no longer. Marie
Antoinette never rested till she had procured an adequate pension for the
brother, which was settled in perpetuity on the family; and promotion for
both the nephews; and, as a further compliment, Clostercamp, the name of
the village which was the scene of the brave deed, was added forever to
their family name. The pension is paid to this day. For a time, indeed, it
was suspended while France was under the sway of the rapacious and
insensible murderers of the king who had granted it; but Napoleon restored
it; and, amidst all the changes that have since taken place in the
government of the country, every succeeding ruler has felt it equally
honorable and politic to recognize the eternal claims which patriotic
virtue has on the gratitude of the country.

Marie Antoinette had thus the honor of setting an example to the
Government and the nation. Her heart was getting lighter as the vexations
under which she had so long fretted began to disappear. The late
card-parties were often superseded, throughout the autumn, by concerts on
the terrace at Versailles, where the regimental bands were the performers,
and to which all the well-dressed towns-people were admitted, while the
queen, attended by the princesses and her ladies, and occasionally
escorted by Louis himself, strolled up and