The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1907-10-18
THE OUTCAST'S GRATITUDE
A TALE OF TIE
FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR.


The young Due de Hardimont was
in AK, in Savoy, for the treatment
of his famous mare, Perichole, used
up since the cold she had taken at the
Derby. He was finishing luncheon,
when, casting a careless glance at
the paper, he read the news of the
disaster of Reichshoffen.
He drained his glass of Chartreuse.
flung his napkin on the restaurant
table, gave his valet orders to pack;
two hours later he took the Paris ex-
press, and, on arriving, fastened 10
the recruiting office and enlisted.
In spite of having led, from nine
teen to twenty-five, the enervating
life of a petit creye-the word then
current-of having brutalized himself
on the race course and in the dressing
rooms of operetta singers, circum-
stances like these recalled forcibly to
him that Enguerraud de Hardimont
had died of the plague in Tunis on
the same day as st. Louis; that Jean
de Hardimont had commanded the
Grandes Companies under Du Cues
lin; and that Francois Henri de Hardi-
mont was killed at Fontenoy, charg-
ing with the Mason Rouge. Done up
though he was by his scandalous and
imbecile liaison with Lucy Violette,
the prima donna of the "Nudites-Pa-
risiennes," the young duke, on learn
ing that battle had been lost by the
French on French soil, felt his blood
rush to his head and experienced the
hideous impression of blow in the
face
Thus is was that early in Novem-
Der of 1870, having returned to Paris
with his regiment belonging to the
Vinoy Corps, Henri de Hardimont,
fusileer in the Third of the Second
and member of the Jockey, was on
guard with his company before the
redoubt of the Hautes Bruyeres, a
hastily fortified position, protected by
the guns of the Bicetre fort
1t was an Unlocking spot-a road
planted with saplings, cut up by
muddy ruts, crossing the leprous fields
of the suburb, and On this roadside
NAA obAANCiAVd IeiNClh, a CT Will
arbors, where the soldiers had estab-
lished their post. There had been
fighting here a few days before; the
grape-shot had broken in two some
of the spindling trees, all of which
bore on their bark the white scars
of the shot. AS for the house, the
look of it made one shudder; the roof
had caved in under a shell, and the
reddish walls seemed smeared with
blood. The overturned summer
houses. the Quilted shooting-gallery,
the swing with its wet ropes creaking
in the wind, and the signs near the
door scratched by bullets: Club-rooms
-Vermouth-Wine at so
cent. litre-which framed dead
rabbit, painted above two billiard-cues
tied crosswise by a ribbon-every-
thing recalled with cruel irony the
popular amusements of bygone Sun.
days. And over all this an ugly win
ter sky, covered with rolling leaden
clouds-low, angry, hateful.
At the tavern door the young duke
stood motionless, his Chassepot slung
over his shoulder, his kept showed
down on his eyes, his numbed hands
in the pockets of his. red trousers,
shivering under his sheepskin. Yield
ing himself up to his sombre reverie,
the soldier of defeat gazed with heart,
broken eyes at the slopes, half-hid-
den in fog, whence rose every second
minute with a sullen defamation the
white ball of smoke of a Krupp gun.
Suddenly he discovered he was
hungry Kneeling, he drew from his
haversack, lying against the wall near
by, big bunch of army bread; having
lost his knife, he used his teeth, and
took bite. But few mouthfuls
were enough; the bread was hard and
bitter; there would be no fresh supply
till tomorrow, if then. Allons! sold,
iering IVES not all play. And, I'M
fortunately at this moment, suddenly
he was wildly reminded of what he
used to call his hygienic breakfasts,
when on the morning following a sup
per of heating nature he used to
seat himself near a ground-fioor win
dow of the Cafe Anglais, and order,
non Dieu! the lightest fare,-a chop,
an asparagus omelette-and when the
waiter, knowing his habits, cautious
ly uncorked a slim bottle of old Leo.
vile, comfortably lying in its basket.
Fichtre de fichtrei
Good old days. He would never,
never get used to this pauper's fare.
And, in moment of Impotence, the
young man tossed the rest of his
bread into the mud
At the same instant, soldier STEP
ped out of the tavern; shopping, he
picked up the bread, walked short
distance, wiped it on his sleeve, and
began devouring it greedily. Henri de
Hardimont, already ashamed of his
fastidiousness, looked pityingly at the
poor devil who showed such a good