Philippe's cheeks, which
were sunken and wrinkled, showed signs of the illness from which he
had scarcely recovered. His head was bald, except for a fringe of hair
at the back which ended at the ears. The pure blue of his brilliant
eyes had acquired the cold tones of polished steel.
"Good-morning, uncle," he said, in a hoarse voice. "I am your nephew,
Philippe Bridau,--a specimen of how the Bourbons treat a
lieutenant-colonel, an old soldier of the old army, one who carried the
Emperor's orders at the battle of Montereau. If my coat were to open, I
should be put to shame in presence of Mademoiselle. Well, it is the
rule of the game! We hoped to begin it again; we tried it, and we have
failed! I am to reside in your city by the order of the police, with a
full pay of sixty francs a month. So the inhabitants needn't fear that
I shall raise the price of provisions! I see you are in good and lovely
company."
"Ah! you are my nephew," said Jean-Jacques.
"Invite monsieur le colonel to breakfast with us," said Flore.
"No, I thank you, madame," answered Philippe, "I have breakfasted.
Besides, I would cut off my hand sooner than ask a bit of bread or a
farthing from my uncle, after the treatment my mother and brother
received in this town. It did not seem proper, however, that I should
settle here, in Issoudun, without paying my respects to him from time
to time. You can do what you like," he added, offering the old man his
hand, into which Rouget put his own, which Philippe shook, "--whatever
you like.
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