Waterbury Democrat., 1901-05-13

D Claude de Chanrellon, dash ing some vermuth of his golden mus taches where he lay full length on three chairs outside the cafe in the Place du Gouvernement, where the lamps were just lighted. Diamonds are often found in the ragpicker's sweepings,' growled gen eral of division, who was the most ter rible martinet in the whole of the French service, but who loved his men with a great love, and who would new CT hear another disparage them, how ever he might order them blows or ex- ile them to Beylick himself
 "You are poetic, my general" said Claude de Chanrellon, .'but you are true. We are furnace, in which black guardian is burned into daredevilry and turned out as heroism. A fine manufacture that and one at which France has no equal"
 I've have right to praise the black guards" growled the general. With out them our conscripts would be very poor trash. The conscript fights be- cause he has to fight; the blackguard fights because he loves. to fight-a great difference that"
 The colonel of tirailleurs lifsed his eyes-a slight, pale, effeminate, dark eyed Parisian, who looked scarcely l stronger than a hothouse flower, yet | who, as many an African chronicle could tell, was as swift as fire, keen as steel, unerring as leopard's leap, un- l tiring as an Indian on trail once in the 1 field with his Indigenes. "In proportion as one loves powder one has been a scoundrel, my general" he murmured. What the catalogue of l your crimes must bel" The tough old campaigner laughed grimly. He took it as a high compli- l ment.
 '"The cardinal virtues don't send any, body, guess, into African service. And yet don't know. What fellows have known! have had men among my Zephyrs-.andithey were the wild est scoundrels, too-that would have ruled the world. have had more wit, more address, more genius, more devo- ton, in some headlong scamp of a pri- vate soldier than all the courts and 1 cabinets could furnish. Such lives, such lives tool" s
 Faith" laughed Chanrellon, If we all published our memoirs the world would have droli book. The real re- cruiting sergeants that send us to the ranks would be soon found to be'-
 "Women," growled the general. nA
 Cards" sighed the colonel. s "Absinth," muttered another.
 "A comedy that was hissed." ''The spleen"
 s"The dice.''
 s"The roulette"
 .The natural desire of humanity to kill and get killed.'
 "Morbleuv' cried Chanrellon as the voices closed "All those mischiefs beat the drum and send volunteers to the ranks, sure enough, but the general named the worst. Look at little Cora. The minister of war should give her the cross. She sends us ten times more fire eaters than the conscription does. Five fine fellows joined today because she has stripped them of everything, and they have nothing for it but the service. She is invaluable, Cora. It was Occur d'Acier who was the rage in my time. She ate me up, that woman, in three months. I had not a hundred l francs left. She stripped me as bare as a pigeon. Her passion was emer- aids uncut just then. We'll, emeralds made an end of me and sent me out here. Occur d'Acier was wonderful woman, and the chief wonder of her was that she was as ugly as sin. Hell To! There is the handsome corporal l listening. An, Bel-a-faire-peur, you fell, too, among the Occurs d'Acier once, will warrant!"
 The chasseur, who was passing, paus- ed and smiled a little as he saluted. Occurs d'Acier are to be found in all ranks of the sex, monsieur, fancy
 Bah! You beg the question. Did not 2 woman send you out here, eh?'
 No, monsieur-only chance"
 "A fig for your chance! Women are the mischief that casts us adrift to chance"
 Monsieur, we cast ourselves some times"
 T doubt that. We should go straight enough if it were not for them"
 The chasseur smiled again. I Monsieur le Vicomte thinks we are sure to be right, then, if for the key to every black story we ask, Who was she?''
 "Of course I do. Well, who was she? l We are all quoting our tempters to- night. Give us your story, mon brave" l Monsieur, you have it in the military records as we'll as my sword could write it."
 l Good, good" muttered the listening general The soldierlike answer pleased him, and he looked attentively at the giver of it.
 Chanrellon's brown eyes flashed 8 bright response.
 And your sword writes in a brave mans fashion = writes what France loves to read. But before you wore your sword here? Tell us of that. It was romance, wasn't it?'
 If it were, have folded down the page, monsieur"
 "Open it then. Come, what brought you out among as? Out with itv' k Monsieur, direct obedience is sol dier's duty, but never heard that in- quisitive annoyance was an officers privilege.''
 The words were calm, cold, little languid and little naughty. The man ner of old habit, the instinct of buried