“Monsieur, the colonel,” said his captor, “will forgive me if I remind him that I have with me an armed force, to sustain the authority of the king’s command.” “Oh! do not disturb yourself at all on my account,” replied the colonel, “I dare say you have an armed force—so have I—what then?” “Monsieur is jesting,” answered the officer. “You must really depart at once for Paris.” “For what purpose, my good friend?” asked the colonel, with enviable _naiveté_. “Parbleu! it is the king’s pleasure,” returned the other—who began to feel that he was being quizzed. “But the king will not be in Paris when I arrive, Monsieur l’Officier. How then?” “Oh! diable! you must wait till his majesty comes back—that’s all.” “But he will never come back, Monsieur l’Officier.” “Mille tonnéres! and why not?” thundered the officer, who was waxing wroth, in proportion as his prisoner become cooler. “And why will not the king come back?” “Oh, I will tell you why, with all my heart,” replied the colonel, “and when you go back to Paris, which you will do by yourself all alone, presently, and even without your soldiers, you can retail the information in every quartier and faubourg. Here! stoop down and I’ll tell you quietly.” The officer stooped as he was bidden, with a heart full of misgiving, while the colonel shouted with the voice of an officer commanding a regiment, “Because THE EMPEROR is in France, and will be in L. in a few moments; and further, because his avant-garde is now passing through these streets on the way to the Tuilleries.” He had scarcely concluded the last sentence, before a tremendous shout of “_Vive l’Empereur_,” was heard from the street. The officer turned and fled, as Lapin sprang into the room, threw up the window which overhung the street, and joined, with all his might, in the loud viva of joy which marked the unhappy return of Napoleon Buonaparte to the land which his valor had twice won for him. Colonel and Madame Desart started for Paris early next morning, in the train of the emperor. * * * * * SYMBOLS. BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. I LOOKED all abroad for a symbol of thee, And a thousand bright symbols replied, They bloomed on the land, they shone on the sea— There were flowers and stars that likened might be To thy beautiful spirit, so nearly allied To all that is brightest on land or on sea. The brooks on the hills in their crystaline flow, Singing out of their mystical springs, The heralds of joy to the valleys below, Making all things more lovely wherever they go, Are the types of thy spirit, whose beautiful wings Make gladness and music wherever they go.