Manchester Democrat. [volume] (Manchester, Iowa) 1875-1930, 1907-10-30
Jean Victor. rye only lately been

1 -
at Chatillon. All! was well of at
| the hospital. What good horse-meat
broth they give you there! But it was
only scratch; the major signed my
dismissal and here am! The starv.
ing begins again. For believe me II
you like, comrade, I've been hungry
all my born days"
The speech startled the voluptuary
who had surprised himself a moment
| before, regretting the cuisine of the
Cafe Anglais. The duke gazed at his
companion In horror-stricken amaze
ment. The soldier smiled awkwardly,
|, showing his wolfish teeth, white In
the widst of his earthly face, and as If
| he understood that confidence was
| expected of him: "Tenez," he said,
suddenly ceasing to "thee" and thou"
his comrade, guessing him to be rich
and fortunate-"tenez, let us walk up
and down bit to warm our feet, and
I will tell you things you probably
never heard before. My name is Jean
-Victor-Jean-Victor. and nothing
further, for am founding. My only
happy memories are those of my earl.
lest childhood, In the Hospice. The
sheets were white on our little beds
in the dormitory; we played under
big trees in the garden, and there was
one sister, quite young, as pale as a
wax taper-she was dying of con.
sumption-whose pet was. / liked
to walk with her better than to play
with the other children, because she
used to press me against her skirt
and put her thin, hot hand on my
brow. But at twelve, after my first
communion, the wretchedness began.
The administration had put me out to
apprenticeship at chair-seater's of
the Faubourg st. Jacques. It's no
trade at all, you know-out Of the
| question to make ones living at It:
the proof of that is that usually the
patron could secure as apprentices
only the poor wretches from the Blind
| School. There is where began to
starve. The master and his wife
they were afterwards murdered-were
terrible misers. and the bread-you
got a bit cut off for you at each meal
stayed under lock and key the rest
of the time. And in the evening, at
supper, you should have seen the
missis, In her frowsy black cap, serv.
Ing out the soup to us and heaving
sigh every time she dipped the ladle.
into the tureen. The two other ap-
prentices from the Blind Asylum were
less miserable than L; they got no
more than /, but, at least, they
couldn't see the reproachful glare of
the old witch as she held out my
plate to me-and the worst was
already had my huge appetite. Was
1t any fault Of mine? starved there
as apprentice for three years-three
| years!-you can learn the trade in
month, but the administration can't
know everything and doesn't suspect
that the children are being exploited.
All! you are surprised to see me pick
bread up out of the mud! Allez! I'm
used to 1t. I've picked many a crust
out of the barbage heaps, and, when
they were too dry, let them soak
| all night In my wash-bowl. Some
/ times there were finds, to be sure,
half-nibbled buns from schoolbo>s'
baskets used to hang around the
schools when on errands. And, then
when the apprenticeship was over,
there was the trade that, as I told
you, doesn't half feed its man. oh,
tried other things, warrant you.
| put my heart into my work. I've
been shop-boy, mason's boy, floor-pol-
isher-God knows what! Bah!z One
day the work would give out, the next
I'd lose my place. In short, never
ate my fill-thunder! what tortures
I've felt passing a bakery! Luckily
for me at such moments always re-
membered the good sister at the Hos.
pice who so often told me to be hon.
est, and thought felt her hot hand
on my forehead. Finally, at eighteen,
| enlisted; you know as well as l
the trooper gets barely enough. Now
Its almost laughable-here come
siege and famine! You see, wasn't
| lying Just now when I told you I'd
always been hungry"
| AO ySuAS, uuhC was
The terrible confession, made by
| fellow-man, by soldier whose uni.
form made him his equal, moved him
deeply. Fortunately for his clubman's
reputation for sang-froid the night
wind dried in his eyes something that
threatened to dim them. Jean Wet
or" he said, "if we both survive this
terrible war, We shall meet again,
and hope to be of some use to you.
But for the present, as there is no
baker on the outposts but the cor
poral, and as my ration of bread is
twice the size of my appetite, you as
comrade must share with me, That's
settled"
The two men shook hands heartily;
then, as might was falling, and as they
were worn out by long hours and con-
slant skirmishing. they re-entered the
tavern, where dozen soldiers were
lying on straw; throwing themselves
down side by side, they sank into a
heavy sleep.
Toward midnight, Jean Victor
awoke-hungry, probably. The wind
had swept away the clouds. and
moonbeam. slipping through hole in
the roof, lay on the fair hair of the
young duke, slumbering like Endy-
mion. Still overcome at his COM
rade's kindness, Jean Victor was gaz-
ing at him with naif admiration.
when the sergeant opened the door
and called the five men whose turn
1t was to relieve the sentinels of the
outpost. The duke was among them,
but he did not wake when his name
was called.
"Hardimont!" repeated the SER
geant.
IF you've no objection. sergeant"
said Jean Victor, rising, "rll take
his place; he is sleeping SO well, and
he's my comrade.'
"As you please
And when the five men were gone,