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Rh to be given to him before his regiment drawn up in line, so that it may serve as a stimulus to the brave and generous soldier referred to—'"

The old man's voice, up to this time so animated, here failed him, and he was unable to proceed.

"Well," said his wife, deeply moved by the story she had been listening to, "why do you stop, John Joseph? Go on."

"I can't get the words out, there's a lump in my throat; for the soldier whose name was called and who stepped from the ranks to receive the gold medal was—"

"Was who? Why do you stop?"

"He was—my son. He was Gaspar!"

"Child of my heart! And the Virgin has kept him safe for me!" cried Maria.

"My darling brother! And he saved Michael's life!" murmured Catherine.

"And he killed three Moors! Ah, good son, honor of my gray hairs!" added John Joseph, with enthusiastic tenderness.

There was a moment's silence during which tears choked the utterance of these simple people, and they could only clasp their hands and raise their eyes to heaven.

When he had somewhat recovered from his emotion, John Joseph continued his recital in these words:

"When the ceremony was over I went in