Yet even as she set the king among his mimic forces, the very carvings themselves served to retain their artist in her memory.
There was about them an indescribable elegance, an exceeding grace and beauty, which spoke of a knowledge of art and of refinement of taste far beyond those of a mere military amateur in the one who had produced them.
"What could bring a man of that talent, with that address, into the ranks ?" she mused.

"Persons of good family, of once fine position, come here, they say, and live and die unrecognized under the Imperial flag.
It is usually some dishonor that drives them out of their own worlds; it may be so with him.

Yet he does not look like one whom shame has touched; he is proud still--prouder than he knows.

More likely it is the old, old story--a high name and a narrow fortune--the ruin of thousands! He is French, I suppose; a French aristocrat who has played au roi depouille, most probably, and buried himself and his history forever beneath those two names that tell one nothing--Louis Victor.

Well, it is no matter of mine.