then, among us, with that quiet face. I am sure that he too recalls the fourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is King; and that it would give him pleasure to have for once, at a table together, all those whom he saw about him at such moments. Now, he has generals, and great gentlemen, and courtiers; then, there was no one but us poor soldiers. If we could only exchange a few words alone! Our general of twenty-two; our prince, who was intrusted to our bayonets! I have not seen him for fifteen years. Our Umberto! that's what he is! Ah! that music stirs my blood, on my word of honor!”
An outburst of shouts interrupted him; thousands of hats rose in the air; four gentlemen dressed in black got into the first carriage.
“'Tis he!” cried Coretti, and stood as though enchanted. Then he said softly, “By our lady, how gray he has grown!”
We all three uncovered our heads. The carriage advanced slowly through the crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elder Coretti. He seemed to me another man; he seemed to have become taller, graver, rather pale, and fastened bolt upright against the pillar.
The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace distant from the pillar. “Hurrah!” shouted many voices.
“Hurrah!” shouted Coretti, after the others.
The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt for a moment on his three medals.
Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, “The fourth battalion of the forty-ninth!”
The King, who had turned away, turned towards
