his heart as he spoke, while such a look of
misery as crossed his features I never beheld.

"Your heart--"

"Is broken," said he, with a sigh. For some minutes he said nothing,
then whispered: "Take my pocket-book from beneath my pillow; yes, that
's it. There is a letter you 'll give my sister; you 'll promise me
that? Well, the other is for Lecharlier, the _chef_ of the Polytechnique
at Paris; that is for you,--you must be _un eleve_ there. There are
some five or six thousand francs,--it 's all I have now: they are yours;
Marie is already provided for. Tell her--But no; she has forgiven me
long since,--I feel it. You 'll one day win your grade,--high up; yes,
you must do so. Perhaps it may be your fortune to speak with General
Bonaparte; if so, I beg you say to him, that when Charles de Meudon was
dying, in exile, with but one friend left of all the world, he held this
portrait to his lips, and with his last breath he kissed it."

The fervor of the action drew the blood to his face and temples, which
as suddenly became pale again. A shivering ran through his limbs; a
quick heaving of his bosom; a sigh; and all was still. He was dead!

The stunning sense of deep affliction is a mercy from on high. Weak
human faculties, long strained by daily communing with grief, would
fall into idiocy were their acuteness not blunted and their perception
rendered dull. It is for memory to trace back through the mazes of
misery the object of our sorrow, as the widow searches for the corpse of
him she loved amid the slain upon the battlefield.

I sat benumbed with sorrow, a vague desire for the breaking day my only
thought. Already the indistinct glimmerings of morning were visible,
when I heard the sounds of men marching along the road towards the
house. I could mark, by the clank of their firelocks and their regular
step, that they were soldiers. They halted at the door of the cabin,
whence a loud knocking now proceeded.

"Halloo, there!" said a voice, whose tones seemed to sink into my very
heart; "halloo, Peter! get up and open the door."

"What's the matter?" cried the old man, starting up, and groping his way
towards the door.

The sound of several voices and the noise of approaching footsteps
drowned the reply; and the same instant the door of the little room in
which I sat opened, and a sergeant entered.

"Sorry to disturb ye, sir," said he, civilly; "but duty can't be
avoided. I have a warrant to arrest Captain de Me