up, inevitably, a store of evil thoughts, Max became utterly

demoralized. He listened to the opinions of those who longed for
fortune at any price, and did not shrink from the results of criminal

actions, provided they were done without discovery. When peace was
proclaimed, in April, 1814, he left the island, depraved though still

innocent. On his return to Issoudun he found his father and mother
dead. Like others who give way to their passions and make life, as

they call it, short and sweet, the Gilets had died in the almshouse in
the utmostpoverty. Immediately after his return, the news of

Napoleon's landing at Cannes spread through France; Max could do no
better than go to Paris and ask for his rank as major and for his

cross. The marshal who was at that time minister of war remembered the
brave conduct of Captain Gilet in Portugal. He put him in the Guard as

captain, which gave him the grade of major in the infantry; but he
could not get him the cross. "The Emperor says that you will know how

to win it at the first chance," said the marshal. In fact, the Emperor
did put the brave captain on his list for decoration the evening after

the fight at Fleurus, where Gilet distinguished himself.
After the battle of Waterloo Max retreated to the Loire. At the time

of the disbandment, Marshal Feltre refused to recognize Max's grade as
major, or his claim to the cross. The soldier of Napoleon returned to

Issoudun in a state of exasperation that may well be conceived; he
declared that he would not serve without either rank or cross. The

war-office considered these conditions presumptuous in a young man of
twenty-five without a name, who might, if they were granted, become a

colonel at thirty. Max accordingly" target="_blank" title="ad.因此；从而；依照">accordingly sent in his resignation. The major
--for among themselves Bonapartists recognized the grades obtained in

1815--thus lost the pittance called half-pay which was allowed to the
officers of the army of the Loire. But all Issoudun was roused at the

sight of the brave young fellow left with only twenty napoleons in his
possession; and the mayor gave him a place in his office with a salary

of six hundred francs. Max kept it a few months, then gave it up of
his own accord, and was replaced by a captain named Carpentier, who,

like himself, had remained faithful to Napoleon.
By this time Gilet had become grand master of the Knights of Idleness,

and was leading a life which lost him the good-will of the chief
people of the town; who, however, did not openly make the fact known

to him, for he was violent and much feared by all, even by the
officers of the old army who, like himself, had refused to serve under

the Bourbons, and had come home to plant their cabbages in Berry. The
little affection felt for the Bourbons among the natives of Issoudun

is not surprising when we recall the history which we have just given.
In fact, considering its size and lack of importance, the little place

contained more Bonapartists than any other town in France. These men
became, as is well known, nearly all Liberals.

In Issoudun and its neighborhood there were a dozen officers in Max's
position. These men admired him and made him their leader,--with the

exception, however, of Carpentier, his successor, and a certain
Monsieur Mignonnet, ex-captain in the artillery of the Guard.

Carpentier, a cavalry officer risen from the ranks, had married into
one of the best families in the town,--the Borniche-Herau. Mignonnet,

brought up at the Ecole Polytechnique, had served in a corps which
held itself superior to all others. In the Imperial armies there were

two shades of distinction among the soldiers themselves. A majority of
them felt a contempt for the bourgeois, the "civilian," fully equal to

the contempt of nobles for their serfs, or conquerors for the
conquered. Such men did not always observe the laws of honor in their

dealings with civilians; nor did they much blame those who rode rough-
shod over the bourgeoisie. The others, and particularly the artillery,

perhaps because of its republicanism, never adopted the doctrine of a
military France and a civil France, the tendency of which was nothing

less than to make two nations. So, although Major Potel and Captain
Renard, two officers living in the Rome suburb, were friends to

Maxence Gilet "through thick and thin," Major Mignonnet and Captain
Carpentier took sides with the bourgeoisie, and thought his conduct

unworthy of a man of honor.
Major Mignonnet, a lean little man, full of dignity, busied himself

with the problems which the steam-engine requires us to solve, and
lived in a modest way, taking his social intercourse with Monsieur and

Madame Carpentier. His gentle manners and ways, and his scientific
occupations won him the respect of the whole town; and it was

frequently said of him and of Captain Carpentier that they were "quite
another thing" from Major Potel and Captain Renard, Maxence, and other

frequenters of the cafe Militaire, who retained the soldierly manners
and the defective morals of the Empire.

At the time when Madame Bridau returned to Issoudun, Max was excluded
from the society of the place. He showed, moreover, proper

self-respect in never presenting himself at the club, and in never
complaining of the severe reprobation that was shown him; although he

was the handsomest, the most elegant, and the best dressed man in the
place, spent a great deal of money, and kept a horse,--a thing as

amazing at Issoudun as the horse of Lord Byron at Venice. We are now
to see how it was that Maxence, poor and without apparent means, was

able to become the dandy of the town. The shameful conduct which
earned him the contempt of all scrupulous or religious persons was

connected with the interests which brought Agathe and Joseph to
Issoudun.

Judging by the audacity of his bearing, and the expression of his
face, Max cared little for public opinion; he expected, no doubt, to

take his revenge some day, and to lord it over those who now condemned
him. Moreover, if the bourgeoisie of Issoudun thought ill of him, the

admiration he excited among the common people counterbalanced their
opinion; his courage, his dashing appearance, his decision of

character, could not fail to please the masses, to whom his
degradations were, for the most part, unknown, and indeed the

bourgeoisie themselves scarcely suspected its extent. Max played a
role at Issoudun which was something like that of the blacksmith in

the "Fair Maid of Perth"; he was the champion of Bonapartism and the
Opposition; they counted upon him as the burghers of Perth counted

upon Smith on great occasions. A single incident will put this hero
and victim of the Hundred-Days into clear relief.

In 1819, a battalion commanded by royalist officers, young men just
out of the Maison Rouge, passed through Issoudun on its way to go into

garrison at Bourges. Not knowing what to do with themselves in so
constitutional a place as Issoudun, these young gentlemen went to

while away the time at the cafe Militaire. In every provincial town
there is a military cafe. That of Issoudun, built on the place d'Armes

at an angle of the rampart, and kept by the widow of an officer, was
naturally the rendezvous of the Bonapartists, chiefly officers on

half-pay, and others who shared Max's opinions, to whom the politics
of the town allowed free expression of their idolatry for the Emperor.

Every year, dating from 1816, a banquet was given in Issoudun to
commemorate the anniversary of his coronation. The three royalists who

first entered asked for the newspapers, among others, for the
"Quotidienne" and the "Drapeau Blanc." The politics of Issoudun,

especially those of the cafe Militaire, did not allow of such royalist
journals. The establishment had none but the "Commerce,"--a name which

the "Constitutionel" was compelled to adopt for several years after it
was suppressed by the government. But as, in its first issue under the

new name, the leading article began with these words, "Commerce is
essentially constitutional," people continued to call it the

"Constitutionel," the subscribers all understanding the sly play of
words which begged them to pay no attention to the label, as the wine

would be the same.
The fat landlady replied from her seat at the desk that she did not

take those papers. "What papers do you take then?" asked one of the
officers, a captain. The waiter, a little fellow in a blue cloth

jacket, with an apron of coarse linen tied over it, brought the
"Commerce."

"Is that your paper? Have you no other?"
"No," said the waiter, "that's the only one."

The captain tore it up, flung the pieces on the floor, and spat upon
them, calling out,--

"Bring dominos!"