gaiety; but, when he thought himself alone, his movements, benumbed by a slowness that was less senile than calculated, attested some painful and uninterrupted thought; so the Abbé Chaperon had nicknamed him the Christian before knowing him. Always dressed in blue cloth, his rather stiff carriage and his clothes betrayed the former habits of military discipline. His gentle, harmonious voice stirred the soul. His beautiful hands, and the cut of his figure, which recalled that of the Comte d’Artois, whilst showing how charming he must have been in his youth, rendered the mystery of his life even more impenetrable. One asked one’s self involuntarily what misfortune could have overtaken the beauty, courage, grace, learning and all the most valuable qualities of heart which were formerly united in his person. Monsieur de Jordy always winced at the name of Robespierre. He took a great deal of snuff, and, strange to say, he left it off on account of the little Ursule, who, because of this habit, showed repugnance for him. From the time he was allowed to see this little one, the captain riveted long, almost passionate looks upon her. So madly did he love her games, and so much did he interest himself in her, that this affection tightened still closer the links between him and the doctor, who never dared ask this old bachelor:
“And you too have lost some children?”
There are beings, good and patient like him, who pass through life with a bitter thought in the heart and a smile both tender and mournful on the lips,
