LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 938, 27 June 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

WHO WAS HE? WHO IS HE?

' Do, dear papa, let me go out: Tdo so long to rove through the mountains, and this is such a dull tir< some place. I have not been out for ive days now ; only '.hink, papa, live whole days ! ever t-ince that horrid hateful gout has kept poor dear papa a prisoner.' And the girl's slender little arms were lovingly twined round her father's neck, whilst the small delicate hands were cuaxingly patting his cheeks. 'Yes, I know, you cunning little pus?, you love to rove through the mountains,' replied her father, looking with fond admiration on the animated handsome young face pleadingly bent over him ; ' and I am always glad to indulge you in your roaming and roving propensities, miss, provided I may be there to shield you from harm and danger, darling. You know there are some narrow ledges and "gly precipices about here, and you are so fearless in your exertions—' ' Fearless ! why, of course, papa; I should think so. Am I not your daughter ? And the little gipsy carressingly pressed her rosy lips to her father's. Ay, my daughter indeed,' replied he, with a touch of sad emotion in his voice; 'thi; living remembrance of my never to-be-for-gotten Estelle, your sainted mother, my own darling, who entreated me with her dying breath to watch over you with never-tiring affectionate care. So you see, dearest, I cannot let you go into the mountains when I cannot go with you. It is impossible. 5 ' Impossible ? Why, darling papa, did not Bonaparte maintain that the word " impossible " had no claim to a place in the French Dictionary ?' ' Bonaparte I Surely, darling, you might indulge your fond father with an occasional Napoleon —don't you think so ? even if these sweet rebellious lips of youra rind it too difficult to let the word ' Emperor' slip through them now and then. It was the only cloud that ever had power to arise between me and your beloved mother, this unreasoning disbke of the great man of *be age. She remained pure Legitimist to her last breath, only she called him Buonaparte, with the full Italian pr inundation ; whilst you would cut him down to Bonaparte, which is not kind to your father, who was his faithful follower through all the stages of his marvellous rise, glory, and fail, and would gladly have shared his exile on the murderous Anglo-African rock, had he but had his urgent prayer granted him. Impossible 1 Nay, there you are right, dear. Nothing is impossible ; ouly, you see, the granting of your wish is impracticable, my darling.' ' Why, how you play upon words, papa ! How can a thing be impracticable when it is admittedly not impossible? Answer me that, you dear papa.' • I will not answer that,' as Shylock says in the play which you used to like so much, you clever little casuist, when we were living in England ; I will only say I dread the danger—' 'Danger! ' with a proud curl of her haughty lips. ' Danger on these mole hills ! You surely remember, papa, that I have ascended the Righi and crossed the great St. Bernard with you. Danger ! Why a mere Russian br ught a whole army safely over the St Gothard, and led them from the Orisons to Glarus, over paths that had up to his time been deemed impassable even by the natives !'

' A mere Russian 1 Why, my dear little Estelle, how you talk ! A mere Russian indeed ! This mere Russian, Souwaroff, was one of the greatest captains of an ace abounding in the article, and he led a host of the very toughest men one would not like to encounter over often in the field Ay, we had a narrow squeak for it at the time. Had it not been for our lucky blow at his lieutenant Korsakoff, the probabilities &r-. the«e never would have been a First Consul and an Emperor.' ' Yes, dear papa, that was at Zurich, where you saved France. 1 know it well ; poor dear mamma used to tell me all about it.'

'I, my darling? I did not swe France, dear. Why, it was General Lorg s who directed the attack, and he was commanded by Massena. Why, I was only a colonel at the time.'

' Oh, yes, I know all about that, papa. Massena commanded Lorges, and Lorges commanded you, but you struck the decisive blow, though only a colonel at the time. But whilst we are talking, papa, t : me flies, and the best part of the day will be gone before I can get away. Do, darliug papa, let me go this once !' ' Ah, you coaxing little flatterer ! I would indeed, dearest Estelle, but the danger—' ' Danger ! there is that ugly word again. Know you not, papa dear, that the great Emperor Napoleon —there you have him in full now—used to say that obstacles were only made to be overcome, and danger to be unflinchingly met? ' Cunning little gipsy !' ' Then, darling papa, you know I need noi go alono. Dear old Jean will gla<lly come along with me if you only give your permission. He knows every glacier and every mountain-path from here to right over the St. Bernard and to the Simplon ; so there can be no danger with him ' ' Well, I suppose T must. It is ever the old tune : cc quefemmc vent —what a woman has set her heart on she will always somehow manage to get. Go, darling, and call Jean here to me.'

The little fairy tripped off fairy like in eager search of Jean Balguier, whilom sergeant in the old Guard, and General Count Duplessis-Tersac's orderly and confidential man for many years.

The general, Estelle's father, was one of the :ew survivors of that phenominal phalanx of paladins who had borne the name and fame and rule of republican and imperial France over well nigh all Europe and part of Asia and Africa. He had remained faithful to the last to the great Corsican chieftain, whom he had attended to Elba, and would have followed to St Helena, had his prayer not been peremptorily rejected by the British Government. After the disbanding of the Loire army he had retired fr-m the service ; for, though belonging to an ancient Legitimist family, the old Imperialist soldier could not cotton to the Bourbons.

The general was now between fifty and sixty. He was a fine-looking man, with a noble countenance and expressive dark eyes. His figure was tall and commanding, his gait and bearing martial. H is dark-chestnut hair was beginning to be somewhat liberally

prinlded with gray, whilst his long pendent moustache still retained the original dark colour unmixed. He was just n>w laid up with a severe tit of the gout ■ a memento, as he declared it to he of the Russian campaign, but by bis physician attributed solely to over-indulg nee in the good things of the kitchen and cellar and he wa- reclining in his easy chair, with his ri»ht leg swathed in multitudinous flannel folds, and supported on a pile of pillows. Two years before our story begins he had lost his dearly-beloved wife, who had left him a daughter, the ouly survivor out of six children she had borne him.

<Ti< &f continued.)