We all three uncovered our heads; the carriage advanced slowly through
the crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elder
Coretti. He seemed to me another man; he seemed to have become taller,
graver, rather pale, and fastened bolt upright against the pillar.
The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace distant from the pillar.
"Hurrah!" shouted many voices.
"Hurrah!" shouted Coretti, after the others.
The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt for a moment on his
three medals.
Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, "The fourth battalion of the
forty-ninth!"
The King, who had turned away, turned towards us again, and looking
Coretti straight in the eye, reached his hand out of the carriage.
Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. The carriage passed on;
the crowd broke in and separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti.
But it was only for a moment. We found him again directly, panting, with
wet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. His
son flew towards him, and he said, "Here, little one, while my hand is
still warm!" and he passed his hand over the boy's face, saying, "This
is a caress from the King."
And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his eyes fixed on the
distant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of a
group of curious people, who were staring at him. "He's one of the
fourth battalion of the forty-ninth!" they said. "He is a soldier that
knows the King." "And the King recognized him." "And he offered him his
hand." "He gave the King a petition," said one, more loudly.
"No," replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; "I did not give him any
petition. There is something else that I would give him, if he were to
ask it of me."
They all stared at him.