hey but see him now. He pictures their sympathy and their sorrow,
and his heart feels lighter, though his eyes drop tears.

In this way the great cuirassier became an object for my thoughts by day
and my dreams by night. I fancied a hundred stories of which he was the
hero; and these imaginings served to while away many a tedious hour,
and gave me an interest in watching the little spot of earth that was
visible from my barred window.

It was in one of these reveries I sat one evening, when I heard the
sounds of feet approaching along the corridor that led to my room;
the clank of a sabre and the jingle of spurs sounded not like my gruff
visitor. My door was opened before I had time for much conjecture, and
Greneral d'Auvergne stood before me.

"Ah! mon lieutenant," cried he, gayly, "you have been thinking
very hardly of me since we met last, I 'm sure; charging me with
forgetfulness, and accusing me of great neglect."

"Pardon me, General," said I, hurriedly; "your former kindness, for
which I never can be grateful enough, has been always before my mind. I
have not yet forgotten that you saved my life; more still,--you rescued
my name from dishonor."

"Well, well; that's all past and gone now. Your reputation stands clear
at last. De Beauvais has surrendered himself to the authorities at
Rouen, and made a full confession of everything, exculpating you
completely in every particular; save the indiscretion of your
intercourse with Mehee de la Touche, or, as you know him better, the
Abbe, d'Ervan."

"And poor De Beauvais, what is to become of him?" said I, eagerly.

"Have no fears on his account," said he, with something like confusion
in his manner. "She (that is, Madame Bonaparte) has kindly interested
herself in his behalf, and he is to sail for Guadaloupe in a few
days,--his own proposition and wish."

"And does General Bonaparte know now that I was guiltless?" cried I,
with enthusiasm.

"My dear young man," said he, with a bland smile, "I very much fear that
the general has little time at this moment to give the matter much
of his attention. Great events have happened,--are happening while we
speak. War is threatening on the side of Austria. Yes, it is true: the
camp of Boulogne has received orders to break up; troops are once more
on their march to the Rhine; all France is arming."

"Oh, when shall I be free?"

"You are free!" cried he, clapping me gayly on the shoulder. "An
amnesty against all untried