If it hadn't been for his
manner, I should have asked him how he knew.
But somehow I
felt the subject was a delicate one.
How incessantly they worked, Auguste and Rose, and how
cheerfully they worked! One could hear her singing, and him
whistling, at it all day. Yet they seemed to have abundant
leisure to exchange a deal of pleasantry and harmless banter.
Auguste was a Swiss, and a bigoted Protestant, and never lost
an opportunity of holding forth on the superiority of the
reformed religion. If he thought the family were out of
hearing, he would grow very animated and declamatory. But
Rose, who also had hopes, though perhaps faint, for my
salvation, would suddenly rush into the room with the carpet
broom, and drive him out, with threats of Miss Aglae, and the
broomstick.
The gardener, Monsieur Benoit, was also a great favourite of
mine, and I of his, for I was never tired of listening to his
wonderful adventures. He had, so he informed me, been a
soldier in the GRANDE ARMEE. He enthralled me with hair-
raising accounts of his exploits: how, when leading a
storming party - he was always the leader - one dark and
terrible night, the vivid and incessant lightning betrayed
them by the flashing of their bayonets; and how in a few
minutes they were mowed down by MITRAILLE. He had led
forlorn hopes, and performed deeds of astounding prowess.
How many Life-guardsmen he had annihilated:
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