I am getting old; I have worn harness now thirty-five years; my poor shoulders are tired; I feel that I must give place to the young.

I don't belong to this age; I have still one foot in the old one; it results that everything is strange in my eyes, everything astonishes and bewilders me.

In short, I have the honor to ask your majesty for my discharge." "Monsieur," said the king, looking at the officer, who wore his uniform with an ease that would have caused envy in a young man, "you are stronger and more vigorous than I am." "Oh!" replied the officer, with an air of false modesty, "your majesty says so because I still have a good eye and a tolerably firm foot--because I can still ride a horse, and my mustache is black; but, sire, vanity of vanities all that--illusions all that--appearance, smoke, sire! I have still a youthful air, it is true, but I feel old, and within six months I am certain I shall be broken down, gouty, impotent.

Therefore, then sire----" "Monsieur," interrupted the king, "remember your words of yesterday.

You said to me in this very place where you now are, that you were endowed with the best health of any man in France; that fatigue was unknown to you! that you did not mind spending whole days and nights at your post.
Did you tell me that, monsieur, or not?
Try and recall, monsieur." The officer sighed.