“'Fi donc, Bonaparte!' cried my aunt, blushing, while with one of her sweetest-smiles she endeavored to bring him back to good-humor. 'See how you have frightened Madame de Narbonne--she 'll never be able to play the miller's wife; and Marie here,--her tears will wash away all her rouge.' “'And this amiable gentleman, what is to become of him?' said he, interrupting her, while he laid his hand on my shoulder, and I stood trembling like a culprit beside him. “'Ah, there! that 's Tascher,' said she, laughingly; and as if happy to escape from her greater embarrassment by any means, she continued: 'Your question comes, indeed, quite a propos. I have a request to make in his favor: there's a vacancy in the huitieme, I think it is,--eh, Edward?' (I nodded slightly, for if my life depended on it, I could not have uttered a word.) 'Now, I am sure he 's been sous-lieutenant long enough; and in the infantry too.' “'Can you ride well, sir?' said he, turning to me with a half frown on his pale face. “'Yes, General,' replied I, with my heart almost choking me as I spoke. “'Well, sir, you shall be employed, and in a service worthy your present tastes, if I may judge from your costume. A detachment of prisoners is to march to-morrow from this for the Bagne de Brest; hold yourself in readiness to accompany the military escort. Go, sir, and report yourself to your colonel.' He waved his hand when he had finished; and how I left the room, reached the street, and found myself here, hang me if I can tell you.” “And is there no help for this? Must you really go?” said I, compassionating the dejected and sorrow-struck expression of the youth. “Must I go! _Ma foi_ you know little of this dear uncle of mine, if you ask such a question. When once his mind 's made up, anything like an attempt to argue only confirms his resolve. The best thing now is, to obey and say nothing; for if my aunt remonstrates, I may spend my life in garrison there over the galley slaves.” A knocking at the outer door interrupted our conversation at this moment, and a corporal of the staff entered, with a despatch-bag at his waist. “Sous-Lieutenant Tascher,” said he, touching his cap, and presenting a large official-looking letter to my companion, who threw it from him on the table, and turned away to hide his confusion. “Monsieur Burke,” said the corporal, withdrawing another ominous document from his leathern pouch. “_Diantre!_” cried Tascher, turning quickly about, “have I got you into a scrape as well as myself? I remember now the General asked me who was my 'comrade.'” I took the paper with a trembling hand, and tore it open. The first line was all I could read; it was a War Office official, appointing me to the vacant commission in the huitieme hussars.