number of youths in a house in the Rue Git-le-Coeur, and thither I went, to gain the habit of speaking the language of algebra in public.  In contrast to my memories of school lessons, I have the pleasantest recollections of those I received in that den—­for den it was!  This, perhaps, is on account of the good fellows I met there, and who have been my friends ever since, and also owing to the charm our kindly instructor wielded over us all.  I do not believe there is a single one of his pupils, from the illustrious Marshal Canrobert down through my contemporaries, Excelmans, Bonie, Morny, Daumesnil, the Greffulhe brothers, Friant, Baudin, Valbezen, and many more, to the younger generation that came after me, who does not cherish the most grateful and affectionate feelings for the worthy Guerard.  When we were close on the time for my examination, he had me questioned several times over by the official examiners of the Ecole Polytechnique and others, so as to accustom me to the surprises of public examinations.  I thus passed through the hands of Baron Reynaud, and of Messieurs Bourdon, Delille, and Lefebure de Fourcy.  This last inspired me with downright terror, on account of his reputation for methodical brutality.  One of my class-mates had reported to me that well-known colloquy between him and a candidate who got confused, at he stood chalk in hand before the black board, and who heard M. Lefebure de Fourcy’s voice saying calmly, “Waiter, just bring a bundle of hay for this pupil’s breakfast.”  To which the indignant pupil promptly added, “Waiter, bring two:  the examiner will breakfast with me.”  At length, crammed to the muzzle with nautical and astronomical calculations, and all the other sciences the official programme demanded, I started for Brest, kept up even as I drove along, in the highest state of preparation.  There were a few interludes during the journey.  Certain spots in Brittany were still, early in that year 1834, disturbed by the consequences of the rising in 1831, and my passage was the signal in several places for what we call, in parliamentary language, “mouvements en sens divers,” conflicting emotions.  Sometimes I saw white handkerchiefs waving or twisted round hats, doing duty for cockades.  At other points the tricolour demonstrations took a quaint form.  I remember at one place where we changed horses my carriage drew up between two rows of National Guards, who were keeping back a considerable crowd of people.  At the carriage door appeared the Mayor with his scarf round his waist, saluting me with this remark:  “Sir, this place is but a hole, but it is a hole in which hearts devoted to your august family are throbbing;” while at the other the village priest and his clergy, all in surplice and alb, struck up

 Soldats du drapeau tricolore
 D’Orieans toi qui la’s Porte,

and so right through the Parisian to a brass accompaniment.