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The Little Soldier
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The little soldier cursed his sleep, but tried to console himself by looking at his bouquet,
which was of immortelles.
'It is the flower of remembrance,' thought he, forgetting that it is also the flower of the dead.
When the night came, he slept with one eye open, and jumped up twenty times an hour.
When the birds began to sing he could lie still no longer, and climbed out of his window
into the branches of one of the great lime-trees that stood before the door.
There he sat, dreamily gazing at his bouquet till he ended by going fast asleep.
Once asleep, nothing was able to wake him;
neither the brightness of the sun, nor the songs of the birds,
nor the noise of Ludovine's golden coach,
nor the cries of the landlady who sought him in every place she could think of.
As the clock struck twelve he woke, and his heart sank as he came down out of his tree and saw them laying the table for dinner.
'Did the Princess come?' he asked.
'Yes, indeed, she did. She left this flower-coloured scarf for you;
said she would pass by to-morrow at seven o'clock, but it would be the last time.'
'I must have been bewitched,' thought the little soldier.
Then he took the scarf, which had a strange kind of scent, and tied it round his left arm,
thinking all the while that the best way to keep awake was not to go to bed at all.
So he paid his bill, and bought a horse with the money that remained,
and when the evening came he mounted his horse and stood in front of the inn door,
determined to stay there all night.
Every now and then he stooped to smell the sweet perfume of the scarf round his arm;
and gradually he smelt it so often that at last his head sank on to the horse's neck,
and he and his horse snored in company.