He was recovered and, with a book in his hand, was talking a quiet walk in the Luxembourg gardens.  He had that feeling of harmless selfishness, that self-pity that comes with convalescence.  Of his previous life, all he cared to remember was a charming face bending over him and a voice sweeter than the loveliest music murmuring:  “So you love me still?” Oh! never fear, he would not answer now as he did on that dreadful staircase:  “I don’t love you any longer.”  No, he would answer with eyes and lips and open arms:  “I shall love you always!” Still the odious spectre of his rival would cross his memory at times and cause him agonies.  Suddenly his eyes were caught by an extraordinary sight.

Two yards away from him in the garden, in front of the orange-house, was Monsieur Tudesco, burly and full-blown as usual, but how metamorphosed in costume!  He wore a National Guard’s tunic, covered with glittering aiguillettes; from his red sash peeped the butts of a brace of pistols.  On his head was perched a kepi with five gold bands.  The central figure of a group of women and children, he was gazing at the heavens with as much tender emotion as his little green eyes were capable of expressing.  His whole person breathed a sense of power and kindly patronage.  His right hand rested at arm’s length on a little boy’s head, and he was addressing him in a set speech: 

“Young citizen, pride of your mother’s heart, ornament of the public parks, hope of the Commune, hear the words of the proscribed exile.  I say it:  Young citizen, the 18th of March is a great day; it witnessed the foundation of the Commune, it rescued you from slavery.  Grave on your heart’s core that never-to-be-forgotten date.  I say it:  We have suffered and fought for you.  Son of the disinherited and despairing, you shall be a free man!”

He ended, and restoring the child to its mother, smiled upon his listeners of the fair sex, who were lost in admiration of his eloquence, his red sash, his gold lace and his green old age.

Albeit it was three o’clock in the afternoon, he had not drunk more than he could carry, and he trod the sandy walks with a mien of masterful assurance amid the plaudits of the people.

Jean advanced to meet him; he had a soft place in his heart for the old man.  Monsieur Tudesco grasped his hand with a fatherly affection and declaimed: 

“I am overjoyed to see my dear disciple, the child of my intellect.  Monsieur Servien, look yonder and never forget the sight; it is the spectacle of a free people.”

The fact is, a throng of citizens of both sexes was tramping over the lawns, picking the flowers in the beds and breaking branches from the trees.

The two friends tried to find seats on a bench; but these were all occupied by federes of all ranks huddled up on them and snoring in chorus.  For this reason Monsieur Tudesco opined it was better to adjourn to a cafe.