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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 99
As we entered a lieutenant rose and saluted, standing,
and I, too, felt myself the superior of these lieutenants,
the sworn foes of the sons of the people, and the authors’
rivals in the favour of the ladies.
A soldier brought us a bowl of punch, and we lighted
our cigars. The Baron, anxious to amuse me, showed
me the Golden Book of the regiment, an artistic col-
lection of sketches, water paintings and drawings, all of
them representing distinguished officers, who had during
the last twenty years belonged to the Royal Guards ;
portraits of the men who had been the envy and admira-
tion of my school friends, whom they had aped in their
boyish games. It tickled my middle-class instincts to see
all those favourites of fortune caricatured in this book,
and counting on the applause of the democratic Baron,
I indulged in little sallies at the expense of those disarmed
rivals. But the boundary-line of the Baron’s democratic
sympathies diifered from mine, and he resented my sallies ;
the spirit of caste prevailed : he turned the leaves more
quickly, and did not stop until he came to a large drawing
representing the insurrection of 1868.
•’Look at this! " he said, with a sarcastic smile, **how
we charged into that mob! "
" Did you take part in it ?
"
’’Didn’t I! I was on duty that day, and my orders
were to protect the stand opposite the monument which
the mob was attacking. A stone hit my helmet. I was
serving out the cartridges, when a royal messenger on
horseback arrived and stopped my little band from firing.
But I remained proof-butt and target for the stones
thrown by the crowd. That’s all I ever got for my
democratic sympathies."
And after a pause he continued, still laughing and
trying to catch my eye
—
’’
You remember the occasion? "
H 2
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