Year: 1872

THE MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED.


had an old friend. If fate should
ever lead you to the graveyard at
Rheims, you might read his name on
slab that is neighborly with the tomb
of Able Castel, an amiable poet who
received credit for some things which
were produced by somebody else. 1t is
as much as ten years that my old friend
has lain under the cypress planted over
him by his grandchildren. The wind
has gradually filled with earth the in
scription which was intended to inform
the public, :" ere lies NJ Jean Bernard"
Moss has crept over the specimen of
lapidarv caligraphy until the letters of
the epitaph have become a velvet green
of the most picturesque appearance.


My old friend, like a goodly number
of those who sleep about him, was
something besides the kind husband
and tender father for who c soul prayers
are offered up. He WAS brave and ad-
venturous; he had travelled extensively,
had half n dozen shipwrecks, and was
the Posses-or of worldly experience
well worth consulting.


M. Bernard was fond Of telling pleas
ant stories, but while all around him
were convulsed with laughter he alone
retained his impassibility. His features
would become animated, his forehead
wrinkled, and enjoyment was plainly
visible but as to his lips, they did not
seem to be able TO express even that
silent grimace that Fontenelle tolerated
the smile.


One evening-it was on board the
English steamer Solent-a nephew of
my oil friend was sitting by my side


"Tell me-" said suddenly to the
young man, "wby is it that your uncle
never laughs?


What! Have you also remarked
that pecuiarity? IL is an old story
that dates away back to the days of his
boyhood."


''Can't you tell me about it?'


Yes; on condition, however, that
you will be careful not to make any
allusion to it in my uncle's presence


| promised; but now that my old
friend is dead, can take my turn and
tell why it was he never laughed


In 1914, during the great war in
France, M. Jean Bernard had reached
his fifteenth year. He was living in
A>dbtS Win Ills llOtIitI. Ills ldlUcf ll:tu
been killed in Leipsic, and his elder
brother, captain in the young guards,
was one of the seventy thousand he
roes who disputed, step by step, the
march of the allies on the soil of
France, whose success lay in their num-
bers alone.


1t was rainy day at the end of Feb
ruary. The Prussians, beaten the night
before by Napoleon, fled toward Nancy,
and traversed hastily the almost desert
ed streets of the town. Worn out and
covered with mud, they formed on the
public place in front of the Hotel de
Vile. Suddenly there was heard the
gallop OF score of horses; the soldiers,
hurrying on and turning their heads to
look back, loaded their guns, and felt
that they were pursued by the terrible
culraassiers who hal passed their lines
on the night before.


"They are afraid ~ cried young boy,
who was one of a small crowd of citizens
looking on.


A burly captain, with grizzly mus
tache and an athletic form, heard the
remark, looked the boy in the face, and
advanced toward him. My old friend
the young boy, | mean-turned very
pale, but doubled his fists and awaited
his coming. The colossal Prussian
stepped up, seized the boy by the throat,
slapped his face, and threw him to the
ground. This revenge accomplished,
he heightened out his step to regain his
already retreating company.


The young Frenchman jumped quick
ly TO his feet-livid, breathless, mad
with rage-threw himself upon one of
the retreating grenadiers with an effort
to disarm him. He was quickly thrown
to the ground, trampled under feet and
wounded in the breast with saber.
The curious crowd that had gathered
had fled in state of consternation when
the trouble began, and the enemy was
already out of town when the young
Bernard, in his paroxysm of rage, was
still fighting in his own blood an i'm
aginaIy foe.


lie was picked up and carried home
A brain fever placed his days and his
reason in danger, and he took all a
mothers care to bring him back to life
tie never spoke of this adventure, watch
ne seemed to have forgotten, and every
pody was careful not to recall it. His
character was visibly affected; from
1rankness and joyousness he had be-
come taciturn, and when he was par
ticularly happy he contented himself
with simply smiling


Alter the year 1915 Jean Barnard was
placed in bank, while his brother re,
nounced the profession of arms and
bought him farm in the neighborhood
of Melun.


There was a heavy storm in Mayence
on the Dist of November, 1892. raining
from six o'clock in the morning till mid.
night. Toward eight O'Clock on the
evening of that day Major Hasner,o of the