social
creation. To find in a lawyer's office the ten gold pieces which had
so long been refused him by so many people, and in so many ways! The
colonel was like the lady who, having been ill of a fever for fifteen
years, fancied she had some fresh complaint when she was cured. There
are joys in which we have ceased to believe; they fall on us, it is like
a thunderbolt; they burn us. The poor man's gratitude was too great to
find utterance. To superficial observers he seemed cold, but Derville
saw complete honesty under this amazement. A swindler would have found
his voice.

"Where was I?" said the Colonel, with the simplicity of a child or of
a soldier, for there is often something of the child in a true soldier,
and almost always something of the soldier in a child, especially in
France.

"At Stuttgart. You were out of prison," said Derville.

"You know my wife?" asked the Colonel.

"Yes," said Derville, with a bow.

"What is she like?"

"Still quite charming."

The old man held up his hand, and seemed to be swallowing down
some secret anguish with the grave and solemn resignation that is
characteristic of men who have stood the ordeal of blood and fire on the
battlefield.

"Monsieur," said he, with a sort of cheerfulness--for he breathed again,
the poor Colonel; he had again risen from the grave; he had just melted
a covering of snow less easily thawed than that which had once before
frozen his head; and he drew a deep breath, as if he had just escaped
from a dungeon--"Monsieur, if I had been a handsome young fellow, none
of my misfortunes would have befallen me. Women believe in men when they
flavor their speeches with the word Love. They hurry then, they come,
they go, they are everywhere at once; they intrigue, they assert facts,
they play the very devil for a man who takes their fancy. But how could
I interest a woman? I had a face like a Requiem. I was dressed like a
_sans-culotte_. I was more like an Esquimaux than a Frenchman--I, who
had formerly been considered one of the smartest of fops in 1799!--I,
Chabert, Count of the Empire.

"Well, on the very day when I was turned out into the streets like
a dog, I met the quartermaster of whom I just now spoke. This old
soldier's name was Boutin. The poor devil and I made the queerest pair
of broken-down hacks I ever set eyes on. I met him out walking; but
though I recognized him, he could not possibly guess who I was. We went
into a tavern together. In