Perhaps all that
gay circle are gone and the Lady Jane only lives now in the
memory of an old half-pay French brigadier. He at least can
never forget.
VI. How the Brigadier Rode to Minsk
I would have a stronger wine to-night, my friends, a wine of
Burgundy rather than of Bordeaux. It is that my heart, my old
soldier heart, is heavy within me. It is a strange thing, this
age which creeps upon one. One does not know, one does not
understand; the spirit is ever the same, and one does not
remember how the poor body crumbles. But there comes a moment
when it is brought home, when quick as the sparkle of a whirling
sabre it is clear to us, and we see the men we were and the men
we are. Yes, yes, it was so to-day, and I would have a wine of
Burgundy to-night. White Burgundy--Montrachet --Sir, I am your
debtor!
It was this morning in the Champ de Mars. Your pardon, friends,
while an old man tells his trouble. You saw the review. Was it
not splendid? I was in the enclosure for veteran officers who
have been decorated.
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