A VETERAN OF THE ARMY OF ITALY

It was noon when Marteau presented himself before the house in which the Major of the first battalion, an old veteran named Lestoype, was quartered.

“Who shall I say wants to see him?” asked the orderly before the door.

“A soldier of the Empire,” was the bold answer, and it proved an open sesame to the astonished orderly.

Lestoype was writing at a table, but he looked up when Marteau came in.  He stared at him a moment and then rose to his feet.

“I report myself ready for duty, Major,” said the young officer, saluting.

“Good God, is it Marteau!” exclaimed the Major.

“The same.”

“We thought you dead.”

Rapidly the young officer explained the situation.

“You see,” he said in closing, “I survived the Eagle.”

“Ah, if we could only have got it back!” exclaimed the Major.

“It is back.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” cried the officer, nervously tearing away the wrappings and holding up his precious burden.

The Major came to attention, his heels clicked together, his hand went up.  He stared at the Eagle.

“Vive l’Empereur,” he said.

“Vive l’Empereur,” answered the other, but both of them spoke in whispers, for there was no Emperor, and a mention of the name was treason to the King.

“It is the same?” asked the Major, taking the precious emblem in his hand and pressing it to his heart.

“The very same.”

“But how?”

“The boy here and I marked the spot where it fell.  We took bearings, as a sailor would say; we took them independently, and when we had a chance to compare them we found that we agreed exactly.  When I was released from prison and discharged from the hospital as a convalescent, we went back to Arcis, to the bridge, to the river side.  The boy here is an expert swimmer.  The river was low.  He dove into the icy waters again and again until he found it.  We were most circumspect in our movements.  No one observed us.  I wrapped it up, concealed it carefully, learned that the regiment was here, and I surrender it into your hands.”

“It is a shame,” began Lestoype gloomily at last, laying the Eagle gently down on his desk.

“What is a shame?”

“The order.”

“What order?”

“The Eagles of all the regiments and ships are to be sent to Paris to be destroyed.”

“Impossible!”

“Nevertheless, it is true.  They have taken them wherever they could lay hands on them.  It has almost caused a revolt.”

“And are you going to send this Eagle to Paris?” asked Marteau threateningly.  “This Eagle for which I fought, this Eagle which I rescued from the Elster and the Aube, for which hundreds of brave men have died, this Eagle which has been in the forefront of every battle in which the regiment took part since the Emperor gave it into our keeping before Ulm?”

“What can I do?”

“I will throw it into the Isère first.  I will destroy it myself before that happens,” cried Marteau, snatching it up and pressing it to his heart.  “I have taken no oaths.  I am still the Emperor’s man.”

“Not so loud,” said Lestoype warningly.  “The men of the regiment may not all be true.  You may be overheard.”

“You and all the others have taken the oath of allegiance to the King?”

“What else was there to do?  Soldiering is my trade.  They offered us commissions; the Empire was dead; the Emperor banished.  It was a living, at any rate.”

“But I am free, I am not bound.”

“You must, you will take the oath,” urged Lestoype.

“How if he should come back?”

“He will not come back.”

“Will he not?  It is whispered everywhere,” said Marteau.  “I have not passed an old soldier who did not voice the hope.  It’s in the air.  ‘When the violets bloom,’ they say.  Even the peasants whisper it.  The imperial purple flower - He will return.”

“God grant it may be so.”

“And we shall be ready for him, we who have not taken the oath, and who -”

“I am afraid I shall be a forsworn man, in that case,” said the veteran, smiling grimly.  “Should the Emperor again set foot in France his presence would absolve us from all vows.  I only serve under the King’s colors because no others fly in France.”

“Be it so.”

“And you will be with us again in the regiment?”

“How can I?”

“Be advised,” said the old soldier, laying his hand upon the arm of the younger, “we must keep together.  We must keep our regimental organizations intact.  The army must be ready for him.  Take the oath as well nigh every soldier high and low in France has done, and -”

“Well, I shall see.  Meanwhile, the Eagle there.  You won’t give it up?”

“Give it up!” laughed Lestoype.  “I feel just as you do about it, but we must conceal it.  The Seventh, Labedoyere’s regiment, in garrison here, concealed their Eagle.  At least it has not been found.  There was a terrible to do about it.”

“Do you vouch for the officer at the main gate?  I had to tell him in order to be passed.  I know him but slightly.”

“The Sub-Lieutenant Drehon.”

“He is safe?”

“Beyond doubt.  Meanwhile, you require -”

“Everything,” said Marteau simply.

“The King’s paymasters are a long time in coming.  We are left to make shift as best we can.  But I am not yet penniless,” returned the old Major.  He threw a purse on the table.  “You will be my guest.  With these you can get proper clothes and uniform.”

“And the boy?”

“I will turn him over to the men.  They will be glad to welcome him.  He should have the Legion of Honor for rescuing the Eagle.  But stop.”

“What is it?”

“He won’t talk?”

“I have tested that lad.  He will be as close-mouthed as the grave.  You understand, Pierre, you are not to say a word about the Eagle until I give you leave,” said Marteau to his young comrade.  “About our other adventures you can tell.”

“I understand.  Monsieur knows that I can be silent.”

“I know.  Good-by.  I shall see you to-morrow.  Now,” began Marteau, as the orderly who had been summoned had taken Pierre away with instructions to see that he was clothed and fed, “let me ask some questions.  Who was in command of the regiment?”

“I was until yesterday.”

“And yesterday?”

“The King sent down an old officer to take the command, a
Lieutenant-Colonel.”

“And the Colonel?”

“Monsieur d’Artois.”

“So that -”

“The Lieutenant-Colonel commands the regiment, which is now known as the Regiment Dauphiné, the Comte d’Artois’ own,” said the Major, with fine scorn.  “What a name to take the place of the Fifth-of-the-Line,” he added.

“And Monsieur d’Aumenier?”

“Oh, he seems harmless enough.  He is a trained soldier, too, of royalist days before the Empire.  He even told me he had been at the school at Brienne when the Emperor was a student there.”

“And who is with him?”

“His niece, the Countess Laure d’Aumenier, engaged to that young English officer.”

“And what of him?”

“Well enough for an Englishman, I suppose,” was the careless answer.  “We were paraded yesterday and the young Englishman inspected us, the lady looking on.  Actually my gorge rose, as he handled our muskets, criticized our drill.  I heard some of the old mustaches of the regiment say they would like to put a bayonet through him, and, to be frank, I should like it myself.  I fought against these English in Spain.  There’s no love lost between us.”

“Did he disparage the regiment?”

“Oh, no, quite the contrary.  He was more than complimentary, but I hate them.  His father is here, too.”

“I see.  When is the marriage to take place?”

“How do I know?  I was surprised when the old Marquis volunteered any information to the likes of me.”

“I must see the Marquis at once; with your permission, of course.”

“You have it,” returned the other, smiling.  “You are not yet reinstated in the regiment, and, so far as I am concerned, you are free to go and come as you will.”

“He is not here now, I believe?”

“No.  He turned over the command to me temporarily.  He is driving out into the country, going out to the gap to reconnoiter for himself, I take it, but he will be back before nightfall, and meanwhile you have much to do.  We want to get you well fed, to get some good French wine into you, to put the blood into your veins and color into your cheeks, to give you a bath, to get you clothing-everything,” said the generous old veteran.