to France, I to sail for Alexandria. This
was in the spring of 1798, or, as we called it, the year Six of the
Republic. For three years we never met; but when the eighth demi-brigade
returned from Egypt, we went into garrison at Bayonne, and the first man
I saw on the ramparts was Piccotin himself. There was no mistaking him;
you know the way he had of walking with a long stride, rising on his
instep at every step, squaring his elbows, and turning his head from
side to side, just to see if any one was pleased to smile, or even so
much as to look closely at him. Ah, _ma foi!_ little Piccotin knew how
to treat such as well as any one. Methinks I see him approaching his man
with a slide and a bow, and then, taking off his cap, I hear him say, in
his mildest tone, 'Monsieur assuredly did not intend that stare and that
grimace for me. I know I must have deceived myself. Monsieur is only a
fool; he never meant to be impertinent.' Then, _parbleu!_ what a
storm would come on, and how cool was Piccotin the whole time! How
scrupulously timid he would be of misspelling the gentleman's name,
or misplacing an accent over it! How delicately he would inquire his
address, as if the curiosity was only pardonable I And then with what
courtesy he would take his leave, retiring half a dozen paces before
he ventured to turn his back on the man he was determined to kill next
morning!"

"Quite true; perfectly true, Francois," said the major; "Piccotin did
the thing with the most admirable temper and good-breeding."

"That was the tone of Chalons when we were both boys," said Francois,
proudly; "he and I were reared together."

He finished a bumper of wine as he made this satisfactory explanation,
and looked round at the company with the air of a conqueror.

"Piccotin saw me as quickly as I perceived him, and the minute after we
were in each other's arms. 'Ah! _mon cher!_ how many?' said he to me, as
soon as the first burst of enthusiasm had subsided.

"'Only eighteen,' said I, sadly; 'but two were Mamelukes of the Guard.'

"'Thou wert ever fortunate, Francois,' he replied, wiping his eyes with
emotion; 'I have never pinked any but Christians.'

"'Come, come,' said I, 'don't be down-hearted; good times are coming.
They say Le Petit Caporal will have us in England soon.'

"'Mayhap,' said he, sorrowfully, for he could not get over my Turks.
Well, in order to cheer him up a little, I proposed that we should go
and sup together at the 'Gre