The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

144 THE CHILD OF IWATERLOO., not disguise from himself that he felt an amount of curiosity as new as it was irresistible, to know something more of the stranger, whose appearance so greatly interested him in his avor. Notwithstanding the stirring events which had taken place in the pursuit of the mendicant, the time hung heavily on the hands of Henry, until, with propriety, he could seek the elderly stranger, and put him in mind of his promise. Henry now started on jis visit; and by walking rapidly he soon reached the temporary abode of the French gentleman, whom he had the pleasure to find had by no means forgotten the appointment, but was duly expecting him, with an impa- tience that looked almost like a reflex of his own. 1 It would answer no good purpose whatever for us to trouble the reader with the errors of pronunciation incidental to a foreigner, with but an imperfect knowledge of our language: therefore, in the conversation that ensued between Henry and the stranger, we shall assume that the one was as well able to express himself as the other; because, where the French gentle- man was at fault, Henry was well able to assist him by his knowledge of both languages. ‘* Sir,” said the old gentleman, ‘‘ so strongly do I feel impelled to tell you the whole of a somewhat painful family history, that I should feel the most grievous disappointment if you did not listen to me.” Henry made a suitable reply; and after a short pause the old French gentleman said, in a voice of emotion, which showed that some of the recollections that came now thronging across his mind were of a painful nature,— ‘‘My name is Rouselli, and I belong to, or rather am now, the head of an ancient French family, nearly allied to the no- blesse. You are well aware of the strife, both externa] and internal, and the changes and mutations which my unhappy country has undergone for many years past, and therefore you will not cousider it possible that a family of any importance in the social fabric of the country should escape some of the evils of so disorganized a state of things. I had a son, and by my use of that expression, you know that now I have him not. He has passed from me, and I am childless in my old age. He died the death of a soldier at Waterloo. He was a colonel of cavalry in the army of theemperor. He had followed his imperial master’s fortunes on many a well-fought field, and, perhaps happily for him, he laid down his life at last for him before those misfort- unes from which Napoleon never again emerged. Some years before Waterloo was fought and won, the imperial army overran the greatest part of Germany and Prussia. My son’s regiment, for a considerable time, found quarters at Berlin, and as a severe winter had set in, the operations of the war were, te a certain extent, in that quarter, at least, suspended. It was at one of the entertainments got up by some of the French party in Berlin that my son first beleld Marie Mendelson. a beautiful and accomplished girl, then but eighteen years of age, and the daughter of respectable parents in Berlin, To see her, as he comicbooks. com