me!
Was
I
sleeping
?
"
"
You
were
,
and
rest
again
.
You
look
ill
?
"
she
said
,
gently
;
and
there
was
,
for
a
moment
,
less
of
that
accent
in
her
voice
which
,
the
night
before
,
had
marked
so
distinctly
,
so
pointedly
,
the
line
of
demarcation
between
a
Princess
of
Spain
and
a
soldier
of
Africa
.
"
I
thank
you
,
I
ail
nothing
.
"
He
had
no
sense
that
he
did
,
in
the
presence
of
that
face
which
had
the
beauty
of
his
old
life
;
under
the
charm
of
that
voice
which
had
the
music
of
his
buried
years
.
"
I
fear
that
is
scarcely
true
?
"
she
answered
him
.
"
You
look
in
pain
;
though
as
a
soldier
,
perhaps
,
you
will
not
own
it
?
"
"
A
headache
from
the
sun
—
no
more
,
Madame
.
"
He
was
careful
not
again
to
forget
the
social
gulf
which
yawned
between
them
.
"
That
is
quite
bad
enough
!
Your
service
must
be
severe
?
"
'
In
Africa
,
Miladi
,
one
cannot
expect
indulgence
.
"
"
I
suppose
not
.
You
have
served
long
?
"
"
Twelve
years
,
Madame
.
"
"
And
your
name
?
"
"
Louis
Victor
.
"
She
fancied
there
was
a
slight
abruptness
in
the
reply
,
as
though
he
were
about
to
add
some
other
name
,
and
checked
himself
.
She
entered
it
in
the
little
book
from
which
she
had
taken
her
bank-notes
.
"
I
may
be
able
to
serve
you
,
"
she
said
,
as
she
wrote
.
"
I
will
speak
of
you
to
the
Marshal
;
and
when
I
return
to
Paris
,
I
may
have
an
opportunity
to
bring
your
name
before
the
Emperor
.
He
is
as
rapid
as
his
uucle
to
reward
military
merit
;
but
he
has
not
his
uncle
's
opportunities
for
personal
observation
of
his
soldiers
.
"
The
colour
flushed
his
forehead
.
"
You
do
me
much
honour
,
"
he
said
,
repidly
,
"
but
if
you
would
gratify
me
,
Madame
,
do
not
seek
to
do
anything
of
the
kind
.
"
"
And
why
?
Do
you
not
even
desire
the
cross
?
"
"
I
desire
nothing
,
except
to
be
forgotten
.
"
"
You
seek
what
others
dread
,
then
!
"
"
It
may
be
so
.
At
any
rate
,
if
you
would
serve
me
,
Madame
,
never
say
what
can
bring
me
into
notice
.
"
She
regarded
him
with
much
surprise
,
with
some
slight
sense
of
annoyance
;
she
had
bent
far
in
tendering
her
influence
at
the
French
Court
to
a
private
soldier
,
and
his
rejection
of
it
seemed
as
ungracious
as
it
was
inexplicable
.
At
that
moment
the
Moor
joined
them
.
"
Miladi
has
told
me
,
Monsieur
Victor
,
that
you
are
a
first-rate
carver
of
ivories
.
How
is
it
you
have
never
let
me
benefit
by
your
art
?
"
"
My
things
are
not
worth
a
sou
,
"
muttered
Cecil
,
hurridly
.
"
You
do
them
great
injustice
,
and
yourself
also
,
"
said
the
grande
dame
,
more
coldly
than
had
before
spoken
.
"
Your
carvings
are
singularly
perfect
,
and
should
bring
you
considerable
returns
.
"
"
Why
have
you
never
shown
them
to
me
at
least
?
"
pursued
Ben
Arsli
—
"
why
not
have
given
me
my
option
?
"
The
blood
flushed
Cecil
's
face
again
;
he
turned
the
Princess
.
"
I
withheld
them
,
Madame
,
not
because
he
would
have
underpriced
,
but
overpriced
them
.
He
rates
a
trifling
act
of
mine
of
long
ago
so
unduly
.
"
She
bent
her
head
in
silence
;
yet
a
more
grateful
comprehension
of
his
motive
she
could
not
have
given
than
her
glance
alone
gave
.
Ben
Arsli
stroked
his
great
beard
;
more
moved
than
his
Moslem
dignity
would
show
.
"
Always
so
!
"
he
muttered
,
"
always
so
!
My
son
,
in
some
life
before
this
,
was
not
generosity
your
ruin
?
"
"
Miladi
was
about
to
purchase
that
lamp
?
"
asked
Cecil
,
avoiding
the
question
.
"
Her
Highness
will
not
find
anything
like
it
in
all
Algiers
.
"
The
lamp
was
taken
down
,
and
the
conversation
turned
from
himself
.
"
May
I
bear
it
to
your
carriage
,
Madame
?
"
he
asked
,
as
she
moved
to
leave
,
having
made
it
her
own
,
while
her
footman
carried
out
the
smaller
articles
she
had
bought
to
the
equipage
.
She
bowed
in
silence
;
she
was
very
proud
,
she
was
not
wholly
satisfied
with
herself
for
having
conversed
thus
with
a
Chasseur
d'Afrique
in
a
Moor
's
bazaar
.
Still
,
she
vaguely
felt
pity
for
this
man
;
she
equally
vaguely
desired
to
serve
him
.
"
Wait
,
Monsieur
Victor
!
"
she
said
,
as
he
closed
the
door
of
her
carriage
.
"
I
accepted
your
chessmen
last
night
,
but
you
are
very
certain
that
it
is
impossible
I
can
retain
then
on
such
terms
.
"
A
shadow
darkened
his
face
.
"
Let
your
dogs
break
them
,
then
,
Madame
.
They
shall
not
come
back
to
me
.
"
"
You
mistake
,
I
did
not
mean
that
I
would
send
them
back
.
I
simply
desire
to
offer
you
some
equivalent
for
them
.
There
must
be
something
that
you
wish
for
?
—
something
which
would
be
acceptable
to
you
in
the
life
you
lead
?
"
"
I
have
already
named
the
only
thing
I
desire
.
"
He
had
been
solicitous
to
remember
and
sustain
the
enormous
difference
in
their
social
degrees
;
but
at
the
offer
of
her
gifts
,
of
her
patronage
,
of
her
recompense
,
the
pride
of
his
old
life
rose
up
to
meet
her
own
.
"
To
be
forgotten
?
A
sad
wish
!
Nay
,
surely
life
in
a
regiment
of
Africa
cannot
be
so
cloudless
that
it
can
create
in
you
no
other
?
"
"
It
is
not
.
I
have
another
.
"
"
Then
tell
it
to
me
;
it
shall
be
gratified
.
"
"
It
is
to
enjoy
a
luxury
long
ago
lost
for
ever
.
It
is
—
to
be
allowed
to
give
the
slight
courtesy
of
a
gentleman
without
being
tendered
the
wage
of
a
servant
.
"
She
understood
him
;
she
was
moved
,
too
,
by
the
inflection
of
his
voice
.
She
was
not
so
cold
,
not
so
negligent
,
as
the
world
called
her
.
"
I
had
passed
my
word
to
grant
it
;
I
cannot
retract
,
"
she
answered
him
,
after
a
pause
.
"
I
will
press
nothing
more
on
you
.
But
—
as
an
obligation
to
me
—
can
you
find
no
way
in
which
a
rouleau
of
gold
would
benefit
your
men
?
"
"
No
way
that
I
can
take
it
for
them
.
But
,
if
you
care
indeed
to
do
them
a
charity
,
a
little
wine
,
a
little
fruit
,
a
few
flowers
(
for
there
are
those
among
them
who
love
flowers
)
,
sent
to
the
hospital
,
will
bring
many
benedictions
on
your
name
,
Madame
.
They
lie
in
infinite
misery
there
!
"
"
I
will
remember
,
"
she
said
,
simply
,
while
a
thoughtful
sadness
passed
over
her
brilliant
face
.
"
Adieu
!
M
.
le
Caporal
;
and
,
if
you
should
think
better
of
your
choice
,
and
will
allow
your
name
to
be
mentioned
by
me
to
His
Majesty
,
send
me
word
through
my
people
.
There
is
my
card
.
"
The
carriage
whirled
away
down
the
crooked
street
;
he
stood
under
the
tawny
awning
of
the
Moorish
house
,
with
the
thin
glazed
card
in
his
hand
.
On
it
was
printed
:
"
Mme
.
la
Princesse
Corona
d
'
Amägué
.
"
Hôtel
Corona
,
Paris
.
"
In
the
corner
was
written
,
"
Villa
Aïoussa
,
Algiers
.
"
He
thrust
it
in
the
folds
of
his
sash
,
and
turned
within
.
"
Do
you
know
her
?
"
he
asked
Ben
Arsli
.
The
old
man
shook
his
head
.
"
She
is
the
most
beautiful
of
thy
many
fair
Frankish
women
.
I
never
saw
her
till
to-day
.
She
seemed
to
have
an
interest
in
thee
,
my
son
.
But
listen
here
.
Touching
these
ivory
toys
—
if
thou
dost
not
bring
henceforth
to
me
all
the
work
in
them
that
thou
doest
,
thou
shalt
never
come
here
more
to
meet
the
light
of
her
eyes
.
"
Cecil
smiled
and
pressed
the
Moslem
's
hand
.
"
I
kept
them
away
because
you
would
have
given
me
a
hundred
piastres
for
what
had
not
been
worth
one
.
As
for
eyes
,
they
are
stars
that
shine
on
another
world
than
an
African
trooper
's
.
So
best
!
"
Yet
they
were
stars
of
which
he
thought
more
,
as
he
wended
his
way
back
to
the
barracks
,
than
of
the
splendid
constellations
of
the
Algerian
evening
that
shone
with
all
the
lustre
of
the
day
,
but
with
a
soft
enchanted
light
which
transfigured
sea
and
earth
and
sky
as
never
did
the
day
's
full
glow
,
as
he
returned
to
the
mechanical
duties
,
to
the
thankless
services
,
to
the
distasteful
meal
,
to
the
riotous
mirth
,
to
the
coarse
comradeship
,
which
seemed
to
him
to-night
more
bitter
than
they
had
ever
done
since
his
very
identity
,
his
very
existence
,
had
been
killed
and
buried
past
recall
,
past
rescurrection
,
under
the
képi
d
'
ordonnance
of
a
Chasseur
d
'
Afrique
.
Meantime
the
Princesse
Corona
drove
homeward
—
homeward
to
where
a
temporary
home
had
been
made
by
her
in
the
most
elegant
of
the
many
snow-white
villas
that
stud
the
sides
of
the
Sahel
and
face
the
bright
bow
of
the
sunlit
bay
;
a
villa
with
balconies
,
and
awnings
,
and
cool
silent
chambers
,
and
rich
glowing
gardens
,
and
a
broad
low
roof
half
hidden
in
bay
and
orange
and
myrtle
and
basilica
,
and
the
liquid
sound
of
waters
bubbling
beneath
a
riotous
luxuriance
of
blossom
.
Madame
la
Princesse
passed
from
her
carriage
to
her
own
morning-room
,
and
sank
down
on
a
couch
a
little
listless
and
weary
with
her
search
among
the
treasures
of
the
Algerine
bazaars
.
It
was
purposeless
work
,
after
all
.
Had
she
not
bronzes
,
and
porcelains
,
and
bric-à-brac
,
and
objets
d
'
art
in
profusion
in
her
Roman
villa
,
her
Parisian
hôtel
,
her
great
grim
palace
in
the
far
Asturias
?
"
Not
one
of
those
things
do
I
want
—
not
one
shall
I
look
at
twice
.
The
money
would
have
been
better
at
the
soldiers
'
hospital
,
"
she
thought
,
while
her
eyes
dwelt
on
a
chess-table
near
her
—
a
table
on
which
the
mimic
hosts
of
Chasseurs
and
Arabs
were
ranged
in
opposed
squadrons
.
She
took
the
White
King
in
her
hand
and
gazed
at
it
with
a
certain
interest
.
"
That
man
has
been
noble
once
,
"
she
thought
.
"
What
a
fate
!
—
what
a
cruel
fate
!
"
It
touched
her
to
great
pity
;
although
proud
with
too
intense
a
pride
,
her
nature
was
exceedingly
generous
,
and
,
when
once
moved
,
deeply
compassionate
.
The
unerring
glance
of
a
woman
habituated
to
the
first
society
of
Europe
had
told
her
that
the
accent
,
the
bearing
,
the
tone
,
the
features
of
this
soldier
,
who
only
asked
of
life
"
oblivion
,
"
were
those
of
one
originally
of
gentle
blood
;
and
the
dignity
and
patience
of
his
acceptance
of
the
indignities
which
his
present
rank
entailed
on
him
had
not
escaped
her
,
any
more
than
the
delicate
beauty
of
his
face
as
she
had
seen
it
,
weary
,
pale
,
and
shadowed
with
pain
,
in
the
unconscious
revelation
of
sleep
.
"
How
bitter
his
life
must
be
!
"
she
mused
.
"
When
Philip
comes
,
perhaps
he
will
know
of
some
way
to
aid
him
.
And
yet
—
who
can
serve
a
man
who
only
desires
to
be
forgotten
?
"
Then
,
with
a
certain
impatient
sense
of
some
absurd
discrepancy
,
of
some
unseemly
occupation
,
in
her
thus
dwelling
on
the
wishes
and
the
burdens
of
a
sous-officier
of
Light
Cavalry
,
she
laughed
a
little
and
put
the
White
Chief
back
once
more
in
his
place
.
Yet
even
as
she
set
king
amongst
his
mimic
forces
,
the
very
carvings
themselves
seemed
to
retain
their
artist
in
her
memory
.
There
was
about
them
an
indescribable
elegance
,
an
exceeding
grace
and
beauty
,
which
spoke
of
a
knowledge
of
art
and
of
a
refinement
of
taste
far
beyond
those
of
a
mere
military
amateur
in
the
one
who
had
produced
them
.
"
What
could
bring
a
man
of
that
talent
,
with
that
address
,
into
the
ranks
?
"
she
mused
.
"
Persons
of
good
family
,
of
once
fine
position
,
come
here
,
they
say
,
and
live
and
die
unrecognised
under
the
Imperial
flag
.
It
is
usually
some
dishonour
that
drives
them
out
of
their
own
worlds
;
it
may
be
so
with
him
.
Yet
he
does
not
look
like
one
whom
shame
has
touched
;
he
is
proud
still
—
prouder
than
he
knows
.
More
likely
it
is
the
old
old
story
—
a
high
name
and
a
narrow
fortune
—
the
ruin
of
thousands
!
He
is
French
,
I
suppose
;
a
French
aristocrat
who
has
played
au
roi
dépouillé
,
most
probably
,
and
buried
himself
and
his
history
for
ever
beneath
those
two
names
that
tell
one
nothing
—
Louis
Victor
.
Well
,
it
is
no
matter
of
mine
.
Very
possibly
he
is
a
mere
adventurer
with
a
good
manner
.
This
army
here
is
a
pot-pourri
,
they
say
,
of
all
the
varied
scoundrelisms
of
Europe
!
"
She
left
the
chess-table
and
went
onward
to
the
dressing
and
bath
and
bed-chambers
,
which
opened
in
one
suite
from
her
boudoir
,
and
resigned
herself
to
the
hands
of
her
attendants
for
the
dinner-toilette
.
The
Moslem
had
said
aright
of
her
beauty
;
and
now
,
as
her
splendid
hair
was
unloosened
and
gathered
up
afresh
with
a
crescent-shaped
comb
of
gold
that
was
not
brighter
than
the
tresses
themselves
,
the
brilliant
,
haughty
,
thoughtful
face
was
of
a
truth
,
as
he
had
said
,
the
fairest
that
had
ever
come
from
the
Frankish
shores
to
the
hot
African
seaboard
.
Many
beside
the
old
Moslem
had
thought
it
"
the
fairest
that
e'er
the
sun
shone
on
,
"
and
held
one
grave
lustrous
glance
of
the
blue
imperial
eyes
above
aught
else
on
earth
.
Many
had
loved
her
—
all
without
return
.
Yet
,
although
only
twenty
years
had
passed
over
her
proud
head
,
the
Princess
Corona
d
'
Amägué
had
been
wedded
and
been
widowed
.
Wedded
,
with
no
other
sentiment
than
that
of
a
certain
pity
and
a
certain
honour
for
the
man
whose
noble
Spanish
name
she
took
.
Widowed
,
by
a
death
that
was
the
seal
of
her
marriage-sacrament
,
and
left
her
his
wife
only
in
name
and
law
.
The
marriage
had
left
no
chain
upon
her
;
it
had
only
made
her
mistress
of
wide
wealth
,
of
that
villa
on
the
Sicilian
Sea
,
of
that
light
spacious
palace-dwelling
in
Paris
that
bore
her
name
,
of
that
vast
majestic
old
castle
throned
on
brown
Estremaduran
crage
,
and
looking
down
on
mighty
woods
of
cork
and
chesnut
,
and
flashing
streams
of
falling
water
hurling
through
the
gorges
.
The
death
had
left
no
regret
upon
her
;
it
had
only
given
her
for
a
while
a
graver
shadow
over
the
brilliancy
of
her
youth
and
of
her
beauty
,
and
given
her
for
always
—
or
for
so
long
,
at
least
,
as
she
so
chose
to
use
it
—
a
plea
for
that
indifference
d
to
men
's
worship
of
her
which
their
sex
called
heartlessness
,
which
her
own
sex
thought
an
ultra-refined
coquetry
,
and
which
was
in
real
truth
neither
the
one
nor
the
other
,
but
simply
the
negligence
of
a
woman
very
difficult
to
touch
,
and
,
as
it
had
seemed
,
impossible
to
charm
.
None
knew
quite
aright
the
history
of
that
marriage
.
Some
were
wont
to
whisper
it
"
ambition
;
"
and
,
when
that
whisper
came
round
to
her
,
her
splendid
lips
would
curl
with
as
splendid
a
scorn
.
"
Do
they
not
know
that
scarce
any
marriage
can
mate
us
equally
?
"
she
would
ask
;
for
she
came
of
a
great
Line
that
thought
few
royal
branches
on
equality
with
it
;
and
she
cherished
as
things
of
strictest
creed
and
fact
the
legends
that
gave
to
her
race
,
with
its
amber
hair
and
its
eyes
of
sapphire
blue
,
the
blood
of
King
Arthur
in
their
veins
.
Of
a
surety
it
was
not
ambition
that
had
allied
her
,
on
his
death-bed
,
with
Beltran
Corona
d
'
Amägué
;
but
what
it
was
the
world
could
never
tell
precisely
.
The
world
would
not
have
believed
if
it
had
heard
the
truth
—
the
truth
that
it
had
been
,
in
a
different
fashion
,
a
gleam
of
something
of
that
same
compassion
which
now
made
her
merciful
to
a
private
trooper
of
Africa
which
had
wedded
her
to
the
dead
Spanish
Prince
:
compassion
which
,
with
many
another
rich
and
generous
thing
,
lay
beneath
her
coldness
and
her
pride
as
the
golden
stamen
lies
folded
within
the
white
virginal
chill
cup
of
the
lily
.
She
had
never
felt
a
touch
of
even
passing
preference
to
any
one
out
of
the
many
who
had
sought
her
high-born
beauty
;
she
was
too
proud
to
be
easily
moved
to
such
selection
,
and
she
was
far
too
habituated
to
homage
to
be
wrought
upon
by
it
ever
so
slightly
.
She
was
of
a
noble
,
sun-lit
,
gracious
nature
;
she
had
been
always
happy
,
always
obeyed
,
always
caressed
,
always
adored
;
it
had
rendered
her
immeasurably
contemptuous
of
flattery
;
it
had
rendered
her
a
little
contemptuous
of
pain
.
She
had
never
had
aught
to
regret
;
it
was
not
possible
that
she
could
realise
what
regret
was
.
Hence
men
called
and
found
her
very
cold
;
yet
those
of
her
own
kin
whom
she
loved
knew
that
the
heart
of
a
summer
rose
was
not
warmer
,
nor
sweeter
,
nor
richer
than
hers
.
And
first
amongst
these
was
her
half-brother
,
twenty
years
her
senior
—
at
once
her
guardian
and
her
slave
—
who
thought
her
perfect
,
and
would
no
more
have
crossed
her
will
than
he
would
have
set
his
foot
on
her
beautiful
imperial
head
.
Corona
d
'
Amägué
had
been
his
friend
;
the
only
one
for
whom
he
had
ever
sought
to
break
her
unvarying
indifference
to
her
lovers
,
but
for
whom
even
he
had
pleaded
vainly
until
one
autumn
season
,
when
they
had
stayed
together
at
a
great
archducal
castle
in
South
Austria
.
In
one
of
the
forest-glades
,
awaiting
the
fanfare
of
the
hunt
,
she
rejected
,
for
the
third
time
,
the
passionate
supplication
of
the
superb
noble
who
ranked
with
the
D'Ossuna
and
the
Medina-Sidonia
.
He
rode
from
her
in
great
bitterness
,
in
grief
that
no
way
moved
her
—
she
was
importuned
with
these
entreaties
to
weariness
.
An
hour
after
,
he
was
brought
past
her
,
wounded
and
senseless
;
he
had
saved
her
brother
from
imminent
death
at
his
own
cost
,
and
the
tusks
of
the
mighty
Styrian
boar
had
plunged
through
and
through
his
frame
as
they
had
met
in
the
narrow
woodland
glade
.
"
He
will
be
a
cripple
—
a
paralysed
cripple
—
for
life
!
"
said
the
one
whose
life
had
been
rescued
by
this
devotion
to
her
;
and
his
lips
shook
a
little
under
his
golden
beard
as
he
spoke
.
She
looked
at
him
;
she
loved
him
well
,
and
no
homage
to
herself
could
have
moved
her
as
this
sacrifice
for
her
brother
had
done
.
"
You
think
he
will
live
?
"
she
asked
.
"
They
say
it
is
sure
.
He
may
live
on
to
old
age
.
But
how
?
My
God
!
what
a
death
in
life
!
And
all
for
my
sake
,
in
my
stead
!
"
She
was
silent
several
moments
;
then
she
raised
her
face
,
a
little
paler
than
it
had
been
,
but
with
a
passionless
resolve
set
on
it
.
"
Philip
,
we
do
not
leave
our
debts
unpaid
.
Go
;
tell
him
I
will
be
his
wife
.
"
"
His
wife
—
now
!
Venetia
!
—
"
"
Go
!
"
she
said
,
briefly
.
"
Tell
him
what
I
say
.
"
"
But
what
a
sacrifice
!
In
your
beauty
,
in
your
youth
—
"
"
He
did
not
count
cost
.
Are
we
less
generous
?
Go
—
tell
him
.
"
He
was
told
;
and
was
repaid
.
Such
a
light
of
unutterable
joy
burnt
through
the
misty
agony
of
his
eyes
as
never
,
it
seemed
to
those
who
saw
,
had
beamed
before
in
mortal
eyes
.
He
did
not
once
hesitate
at
the
acceptance
of
her
self-surrender
;
he
only
pleaded
that
the
marriage
ceremony
should
pass
between
them
that
night
.
There
were
notaries
and
many
priests
in
the
great
ducal
household
;
all
was
done
as
he
desired
.
She
consented
without
wavering
;
she
had
passed
her
word
,
she
would
not
have
withdrawn
it
if
its
redemption
had
been
a
thousand
times
more
bitter
.
The
honour
of
her
house
was
dearer
to
her
than
any
individual
happiness
.
This
man
,
for
them
,
had
lost
peace
,
health
,
joy
,
strength
,
every
hope
of
life
;
to
dedicate
her
own
life
to
him
,
as
he
had
vainly
prayed
her
when
in
the
full
glow
and
vigour
of
his
manhood
,
was
the
only
means
by
which
their
vast
debt
to
him
could
be
paid
.
To
thus
pay
it
was
the
instant
choice
of
her
high
code
of
honour
,
and
of
a
generosity
that
would
not
be
outrun
.
Moreover
,
she
pitied
him
unspeakably
,
though
her
heart
had
no
tenderness
for
him
;
she
had
dismissed
him
with
cold
disdain
,
and
he
had
gone
from
her
to
save
the
only
creature
that
she
loved
,
and
was
stretched
a
stricken
,
broken
,
helpless
wreck
,
with
endless
years
of
pain
and
weariness
before
him
!
So
—
at
midnight
,
in
the
great
dim
magnificence
of
the
state
chamber
where
he
lay
,
and
with
the
low
,
soft
chanting
of
the
chapel
choir
from
afar
echoing
through
the
incensed
air
,
she
bent
her
haughty
head
down
over
his
couch
,
and
the
marriage
benediction
was
spoken
over
them
.
His
voice
was
faint
and
broken
,
but
it
had
the
thrill
of
a
passionate
triumph
in
it
.
When
the
last
words
were
uttered
,
he
lay
awhile
,
exhausted
,
silent
,
only
looking
ever
upward
at
her
with
his
dark
,
dreamy
eyes
,
in
which
the
old
love
glanced
so
strangely
through
the
blindness
of
pain
.
Then
he
smiled
as
the
last
echo
of
the
choral
melodies
died
softly
on
the
silence
.
"
That
is
joy
enough
!
Ah
!
have
no
fear
.
With
the
dawn
you
will
be
free
once
more
.
Did
you
think
that
I
could
have
taken
your
sacrifice
?
I
knew
well
,
let
them
say
as
they
would
,
that
I
should
not
live
the
night
through
.
But
,
lest
existence
should
linger
to
curse
me
,
to
chain
you
,
I
rent
the
linen
bands
off
my
wounds
an
hour
ago
.
All
their
science
will
not
put
back
the
life
now
!
My
limbs
are
dead
,
and
the
cold
steals
up
!
Ah
,
love
!
ah
,
love
!
You
never
thought
how
men
can
suffer
!
But
have
no
grief
for
me
.
I
am
happy
.
Bend
your
head
down
,
and
lay
your
lips
on
mine
once
.
You
are
my
own
!
—
death
is
sweeter
than
life
!
"
And
before
sunrise
he
died
.
Some
shadow
from
that
fatal
and
tragic
midnight
marriage
rested
on
her
still
.
Though
she
was
blameless
,
some
vague
remorse
ever
haunted
her
;
though
she
had
been
so
wholly
guiltless
of
it
,
this
death
for
her
sake
ever
seemed
in
some
sort
of
her
bringing
.
Men
thought
her
only
colder
,
only
prouder
;
but
they
erred
.
She
was
one
of
those
women
who
,
beneath
the
courtly
negligence
of
a
chill
manner
,
are
capable
of
infinite
tenderness
,
infinite
nobility
,
and
infinite
self-reproach
.
A
great
French
painter
once
,
in
Rome
,
looking
on
her
from
a
distance
,
shaded
his
eyes
with
his
hand
as
if
her
beauty
,
like
the
sun
,
dazzled
him
.
"
Exquisite
—
superb
!
"
he
muttered
;
and
he
was
a
man
whose
own
ideals
were
so
matchless
that
living
women
rarely
could
ring
out
his
praise
.
"
She
is
nearly
perfect
,
your
Princess
Corona
!
"
"
Nearly
!
"
cried
a
Roman
sculptor
.
"
What
,
in
Heaven
's
name
,
can
she
want
?
"
"
Only
one
thing
!
"
"
And
that
is
—
?
"
"
To
have
loved
.
"
Wherewith
he
turned
into
the
Greco
.
He
had
found
the
one
flaw
—
and
it
was
still
there
.
What
he
had
missed
in
her
,
still
was
wanting
.
CHAPTER
IX
.
THE
LITTLE
LEOPARD
OF
FRANCE
.
V'la
ce
que
c'est
la
gloire
—
au
grabat
!
The
contemptuous
sentence
was
crushed
through
Cigarette
's
tight-pressed
bright-red
lips
with
an
irony
sadder
than
tears
.
She
was
sitting
on
the
edge
of
a
grabat
,
hard
as
wood
,
comfortless
as
a
truss
of
straw
,
and
looking
down
the
long
hospital-room
with
its
endless
rows
of
beds
and
its
hot
sun
shining
blindingly
on
its
glaring
whitewashed
walls
.
She
was
well
known
and
well
loved
there
.
When
her
little
brilliant-hued
figure
fluttered
,
like
some
scarlet
bird
of
Africa
,
down
the
dreary
length
of
those
chambers
of
misery
,
bloodless
lips
close-clenched
in
torture
would
stir
with
a
smile
,
would
move
with
a
word
of
welcome
.
No
tender-voiced
dove-eyed
Sister
of
Orders
of
Mercy
,
gliding
grey
and
soft
,
and
like
a
living
psalm
of
consolation
,
beside
those
couches
of
misery
,
bore
with
them
the
infinite
inexpressible
charm
that
the
Friend
of
the
Flag
brought
to
the
sufferers
.
The
Sisters
were
good
,
were
gentle
,
were
valued
as
they
merited
by
the
greatest
blackguard
prostrate
there
;
but
they
never
smiled
,
they
never
took
the
dying
heart
of
a
man
back
with
one
glance
to
the
days
of
his
childhood
,
they
never
gave
a
wild
snatch
of
song
,
like
a
bird
's
on
a
spring-blossoming
bough
,
that
thrilled
through
half-dead
senses
with
a
thousand
voices
from
a
thousand
buried
hours
.
"
But
the
Little
One
,
"
as
said
a
gaunt
grey-bearded
Zéphyr
once
,
where
he
lay
with
the
death-chill
stealing
slowly
up
his
jagged
,
torn
frame
—
"
the
Little
One
—
do
you
see
—
she
is
youth
,
she
is
life
;
she
is
all
we
have
lost
.
That
is
her
charm
!
The
Sisters
are
good
women
,
they
are
very
good
;
but
they
only
pity
us
.
The
little
one
,
she
loves
us
.
That
is
the
difference
,
do
you
see
?
"
It
was
all
the
differnce
—
a
wide
difference
;
she
loved
them
all
,
with
the
warmth
and
fire
of
her
young
heart
,
for
sake
of
France
and
of
their
common
Flag
.
And
though
she
was
but
a
wild
wayward
mischievous
gamin
,
a
gamin
all
over
though
in
a
girl
's
form
,
men
would
tell
in
camp
and
hospital
,
with
great
tears
coursing
down
their
brown
scarred
cheeks
,
how
her
touch
would
fall
as
softly
as
a
snow-flake
on
their
heated
foreheads
,
how
her
watch
would
be
kept
by
them
through
long
nights
of
torment
,
how
her
gifts
of
golden
trinkets
would
be
sold
or
pawned
as
soon
as
received
to
buy
them
ice
or
wine
,
and
how
in
their
delirium
the
sweet
fresh
voice
of
the
Child
of
the
Regiment
would
soothe
them
,
singing
above
their
wretched
beds
some
carol
or
chant
of
their
own
native
province
,
which
it
always
seemed
that
she
must
know
by
magic
.
For
,
were
it
Basque
or
Breton
,
were
it
a
sea-lay
of
Vendée
or
a
mountain-song
of
the
Orientales
,
were
it
a
mere
ringing
rhyme
for
the
mules
of
Alsace
,
or
a
wild
bold
romanesque
from
the
country
of
Berri
,
Cigarette
knew
each
and
all
,
and
never
erred
by
any
chance
,
but
ever
sung
to
every
soldier
the
rhythm
familiar
from
his
infancy
,
the
melody
of
his
mother
's
cradle-song
and
of
his
first
love
's
lips
.
And
there
had
been
times
when
those
songs
suddenly
breaking
through
the
darkness
of
night
,
suddenly
lulling
the
fiery
anguish
of
wounds
,
had
made
the
men
who
one
hour
before
had
been
like
mad
dogs
,
like
goaded
tigers
,
men
full
of
the
lusts
of
slaughter
and
the
lusts
of
the
senses
,
and
chained
powerless
and
blaspheming
to
a
bed
of
agony
,
tremble
and
shudder
at
themselves
,
and
turn
their
faces
to
the
wall
and
weep
like
children
,
and
fall
asleep
,
at
lenght
,
with
wondering
dreams
of
God
.
"
V'la
ce
que
c'est
la
gloire
—
au
grabat
!
"
said
Cigarette
,
now
grinding
her
pretty
teeth
.
She
was
in
her
most
revolutionary
and
reckless
mood
,
drumming
the
rataplan
with
her
spurred
heels
,
and
sitting
smoking
on
the
corner
of
old
Miou-Matou
's
mattress
.
Miou-Matou
,
who
had
acquired
that
title
among
the
joyeux
for
his
scientific
powers
of
making
a
tom-cat
into
a
stew
so
divine
that
you
could
not
tell
it
from
rabbit
,
being
laid
up
with
a
ball
in
his
hip
,
a
spear-head
between
his
shoulders
,
a
rib
or
so
broken
,
and
one
or
two
other
little
trifling
casualties
.
Miou-Matou
,
who
looked
very
like
an
old
grizzly
bear
,
laughed
in
the
depths
of
his
great
hairy
chest
.
"
Dream
of
glory
,
and
end
on
a
grabat
!
Just
so
,
just
so
.
And
yet
one
has
pleasures
—
to
sweep
off
an
Arbico
's
neck
nice
and
clean
—
swish
!
"
And
he
described
a
circle
with
his
lean
brawny
arm
with
as
infinite
a
relish
as
a
dilettante
grown
blind
would
listen
thirstily
to
the
description
of
an
exquisite
bit
of
Faïence
or
Della
Quercia
work
.
"
Pleasures
!
My
God
!
Infinite
,
endless
misery
!
"
murmured
a
man
on
her
right
hand
.
He
was
not
thirty
years
of
age
,
with
a
delicate
,
dark
,
beautiful
head
that
might
have
passed
as
model
to
a
painter
for
a
St.
John
.
He
was
dying
fast
of
the
most
terrible
form
of
pulmonary
maladies
.
Cigarette
flashed
her
bright
falcon
glance
over
him
.
"
Well
!
is
it
not
misery
that
is
glory
?
"
"
We
think
that
it
is
when
we
are
children
.
God
help
us
!
"
murmured
the
man
who
lay
dying
of
lung-disease
.
"
Ouf
!
Then
we
think
rightly
!
Glory
!
Is
it
the
cross
,
the
star
,
the
bâton
?
No
!
He
who
wins
those
32
only
reins
his
horse
up
on
a
hill
,
out
of
shot
range
,
and
watches
through
his
glass
how
his
troops
surge
up
,
wave
on
wave
,
in
the
great
sea
of
blood
.
It
is
misery
that
is
glory
—
the
misery
that
toils
with
bleeding
feet
under
burning
suns
without
complaint
;
that
lies
half
dead
through
the
long
night
with
but
one
care
,
to
keep
the
torn
flag
free
from
the
conqueror
's
touch
;
that
bears
the
rain
of
blows
in
punishment
rather
than
break
silence
and
buy
release
by
betrayal
of
a
comrade
's
trust
;
that
is
beaten
like
the
mule
,
and
galled
like
the
horse
,
and
starved
like
the
camel
,
and
housed
like
the
dog
,
and
yet
does
the
thing
which
is
right
and
the
thing
which
is
brave
despite
all
;
that
suffers
,
and
endures
,
and
pours
out
his
blood
like
water
to
the
thirsty
sands
whose
thirst
in
never
stilled
,
and
goes
up
in
the
morning
sun
to
the
combat
as
though
death
were
the
paradise
that
the
Arbicos
dream
,
knowing
the
while
that
no
paradise
waits
save
the
crash
of
the
hoof
through
the
throbbing
brain
,
or
the
roll
of
the
gun-carriage
over
the
writhing
limb
.
That
is
glory
.
The
misery
that
is
heroism
because
France
needs
it
,
because
a
soldier
's
honour
wills
it
.
That
is
glory
.
It
is
here
to-day
in
the
Hospital
,
as
it
never
is
in
the
Cour
des
Princes
where
the
glittering
host
of
the
Marshals
gather
!
"
Her
voice
rang
clear
as
a
clarion
;
the
warm
blood
burnt
in
her
bright
cheeks
;
the
swift
,
fiery
,
pathetic
eloquence
of
her
nation
moved
her
,
and
moved
strangely
the
hearts
of
her
hearers
;
for
though
she
could
neither
read
nor
write
,
there
was
in
Cigarette
the
germ
of
that
power
which
the
world
mistily
calls
Genius
.
There
were
men
lying
in
that
sick-chamber
brutalised
,
crime-stained
,
ignorant
as
the
bullocks
of
the
plains
,
and
,
like
them
,
reared
and
driven
for
the
slaughter
;
yet
there
was
not
one
among
them
to
whom
some
ray
of
light
failed
to
come
from
those
words
,
through
whom
some
thrill
failed
to
pass
as
they
heard
them
.
Out
yonder
in
the
free
air
,
in
the
barrack-court
,
or
on
the
plains
,
the
Little
One
would
rate
them
furiously
,
mock
them
mercilessly
,
rally
them
with
the
flat
of
a
sabre
if
they
were
mutinous
,
and
lash
them
with
the
most
pitiless
ironies
if
they
were
grumbling
;
but
here
,
in
the
hospital
,
the
Little
One
loved
them
,
and
they
knew
it
,
and
that
love
gave
a
flute-like
music
to
the
passion
of
her
voice
.
Then
she
laughed
,
and
drummed
the
rataplan
again
with
her
brass
heel
.
"
All
the
same
;
one
is
not
in
paradise
au
grabat
,
eh
,
Père
Matou
?
"
she
said
,
curtly
.
She
was
half
impatient
of
her
own
momentary
lapse
into
enthusiasm
,
and
she
knew
the
temper
of
her
"
children
"
as
accurately
as
a
bugler
knows
the
notes
of
the
réveillé
—
knew
that
they
loved
to
laugh
even
with
the
death-rattle
in
their
throats
,
and
,
with
their
hearts
half
breaking
over
a
comrade
's
corpse
,
would
cry
in
burlesque
mirth
,
"
Ah
,
le
bon-zig
!
Il
a
avalé
sa
cartouche
!
"
"
Paradise
!
"
growled
Pèe
Matou
.
"
Ouf
!
Who
wants
that
?
If
one
had
a
few
bidons
of
brandy
,
now
—
"
"
Brandy
?
Oh-hé
.
You
are
to
be
much
more
of
aristocrats
now
than
that
!
"
cried
Cigarette
,
with
an
immeasurable
satire
curling
on
her
rosy
,
piquante
lips
.
"
The
Silver
Pheasants
have
taken
to
patronise
you
.
Ma
cantche
!
if
I
were
you
,
I
would
not
touch
a
glass
nor
eat
a
fig
;
you
will
not
if
you
have
the
spirit
of
a
rabbit
.
You
!
Fed
like
dogs
with
the
leavings
of
her
table
—
pardieu
!
that
is
not
for
soldiers
of
France
!
"
"
Eh
?
What
dost
thou
say
?
"
growled
Miou-Matou
,
peering
up
under
his
grey
shaggy
brows
.
"
Only
that
a
grande
dame
has
sent
you
champagne
.
That
is
all
.
Sapristi
!
how
easy
it
is
to
play
the
saint
and
Samaritan
with
two
words
to
one
's
maître
d'hôtel
,
and
a
rouleau
of
gold
that
one
never
misses
!
The
rich
—
they
can
buy
all
things
,
you
see
,
even
heaven
,
so
cheap
!
"
With
which
withering
satire
Cigarette
left
Père
Matou
in
the
conviction
that
he
must
be
already
dead
and
amongst
the
angels
if
people
began
to
talk
of
champagne
to
him
,
and
flitting
down
between
the
long
rows
of
beds
with
the
old
disabled
veterans
who
tended
them
,
skimmed
her
way
,
like
a
bird
as
she
was
,
into
another
great
chamber
,
filled
,
like
the
first
,
with
suffering
in
all
stages
and
at
all
years
,
from
the
boy-conscript
,
tossing
in
African
fever
,
to
the
white-haired
campaigner
of
a
hundred
wounds
.
Cigarette
was
as
caustic
as
a
Voltaire
this
morning
.
Coming
through
the
entrance
of
the
hospital
,
she
had
casually
heard
that
Madame
la
Princesse
Corona
d
'
Amägué
had
made
a
gift
of
singular
munificence
and
mercy
to
the
invalid
soldiers
—
a
gift
of
wine
,
of
fruit
,
of
flowers
,
that
would
brighten
their
long
dreary
hours
for
many
weeks
.
Who
Madame
la
Princesse
might
be
she
knew
nothing
;
but
the
title
was
enough
,
she
was
a
silver
pheasant
—
bah
!
And
Cigarette
hated
the
aristocrats
—
when
they
were
of
the
sex
feminine
.
"
An
aristocrat
in
adversity
is
an
eagle
,
"
she
would
say
;
"
but
an
aristocrat
in
prosperity
is
a
peacock
.
"
Which
was
the
reason
why
she
flouted
glittering
young
nobles
with
all
the
insolence
imaginable
,
but
took
the
part
of
"
Marquise
,
"
of
"
Bel-à-faire-peur
,
"
and
of
such
wanderers
like
them
,
who
had
buried
their
sixteen
quarterings
under
the
black
shield
of
the
Enfans
Perdus
of
Africa
.
33
With
a
word
here
and
a
touch
there
—
tender
,
soft
,
and
bright
,
since
,
however
ironic
her
mood
,
she
never
brought
anything
except
sunshine
to
those
who
lay
in
such
sore
need
of
it
,
beholding
the
sun
in
the
heavens
only
through
the
narrow
chink
of
a
hospital
window
;
—
at
last
she
reached
the
bed
she
came
most
specially
to
visit
:
a
bed
on
which
ws
strectched
the
emaciated
form
of
a
man
once
beautiful
as
a
Greek
dream
of
a
God
.
The
dews
of
a
great
agony
stood
on
his
forehead
;
his
teeth
were
tight
clenched
on
lips
white
and
parched
;
and
his
immense
eyes
,
with
the
heavy
circles
round
them
,
were
fastened
on
vacancy
with
the
yearning
misery
that
gleams
in
the
eyes
of
a
Spanish
bull
when
it
is
struck
again
and
again
by
the
matador
,
and
yet
cannot
die
.
She
bent
over
him
softly
.
"
Tiens
,
Monsieur
Léon
!
I
have
brought
you
some
ice
.
"
His
weary
eyes
turned
on
her
gratefully
;
he
sought
to
speak
,
but
the
effort
brought
the
spasm
on
his
lungs
afresh
;
it
shook
him
with
horrible
violence
from
head
to
foot
,
and
the
foam
on
his
auburn
beard
was
red
with
blood
.
There
was
no
one
by
to
watch
him
;
he
was
sure
to
die
;
a
week
sooner
or
later
—
what
mattered
it
?
He
was
useless
as
a
soldier
;
good
only
to
be
thrown
into
a
pit
,
with
some
quick-lime
to
hasten
destruction
and
do
the
work
of
the
slower
earthworms
.
Cigarette
said
not
a
word
,
but
she
took
out
of
some
vine-leaves
a
cold
hard
lump
of
ice
,
and
held
it
to
him
;
the
delicious
coolness
and
freshness
in
that
parching
noontide
heat
stilled
the
convulsion
;
his
eyes
thanked
her
,
though
his
lips
could
not
;
he
lay
panting
,
exhausted
,
but
relieved
;
and
she
—
thoughtfully
for
her
—
slid
herself
down
on
the
floor
and
began
singing
,
low
and
sweetly
,
as
a
fairy
might
sing
on
the
raft
of
a
water-lily
leaf
.
She
sang
gaudrioles
,
to
be
sure
,
Béranger
's
songs
and
odes
of
the
camp
;
for
she
knew
of
no
hymn
but
the
Marseillaise
,
and
her
chants
were
all
chants
like
the
Laus
Veneris
.
But
the
voice
that
gave
them
was
pure
as
the
voice
of
a
thrush
in
the
spring
,
and
the
cadence
of
its
music
was
so
silvery-sweet
that
it
soothed
like
a
spell
all
the
fever-racked
brains
,
all
the
pain-tortured
spirits
.
"
Ah
!
that
is
good
,
"
murmured
the
dying
man
.
"
It
is
like
the
brooks
—
like
the
birds
—
like
the
winds
in
the
leaves
.
"
He
was
but
half
conscious
;
but
the
lulling
of
that
gliding
voice
brought
him
peace
.
And
Cigarette
sang
on
,
only
moving
to
reach
him
some
fresh
touch
of
ice
,
while
time
travelled
fast
,
and
the
first
afternoon
shadows
crept
across
the
bare
floor
.
Every
now
and
then
,
dimly
through
the
openings
of
the
windows
,
came
a
distant
roll
of
drums
,
a
burst
of
military
music
,
and
echo
of
the
laughter
of
a
crowd
:
and
then
her
head
went
up
eagerly
,
an
impatient
shade
swept
across
her
expressive
face
.
It
was
a
fête-day
in
Algiers
;
there
were
flags
and
banners
fluttering
from
the
houses
,
there
were
Arab
races
and
Arab
manoeuvres
,
there
was
a
review
of
troops
for
some
foreign
general
,
there
were
all
the
mirth
and
the
mischief
that
she
loved
,
and
that
never
went
on
without
her
,
and
she
knew
well
enough
that
from
mouth
to
mouth
there
was
sure
to
be
asking
,
"
Mais
où
donc
est
Cigarette
?
"
—
Cigarette
,
who
was
the
Generalissima
of
Africa
!
But
still
she
never
moved
;
though
all
her
vivacious
life
was
longing
to
be
out
and
in
their
midst
,
on
the
back
of
a
desert
horse
,
on
the
head
of
a
huge
drum
,
perched
on
the
iron
support
of
a
high-hung
lantern
,
standing
on
a
cannon
while
the
Horse
Artillery
swept
full
gallop
,
firing
down
a
volley
of
argot
on
the
hot
homage
of
a
hundred
lovers
,
drinking
creamy
liqueurs
and
filling
her
pockets
with
bonbons
from
handsome
subalterns
and
aides-de-camp
,
doing
as
she
had
done
ever
since
she
could
remember
her
first
rataplan
.
But
she
never
moved
.
She
knew
that
in
the
general
gala
these
sick-beds
would
be
left
more
deserted
and
less
soothed
than
ever
.
She
knew
,
too
,
that
it
was
for
the
sake
of
this
man
,
lying
dying
here
from
the
lunge
of
a
Bedouin
lance
through
his
lungs
,
that
the
ivory
wreaths
and
crosses
and
statuettes
had
been
sold
.
And
Cigarette
had
done
more
than
this
ere
now
many
a
time
for
her
"
children
.
"
The
day
stole
on
;
Léon
Ramon
lay
very
quiet
;
the
ice
for
his
chest
and
the
song
for
his
ear
gave
him
that
semi-oblivion
,
dreamy
and
comparatively
painless
,
which
was
the
only
mercy
which
could
come
to
him
.
All
the
chamber
was
unusually
still
;
on
three
of
the
beds
the
sheet
had
been
drawn
over
the
face
of
the
sleepers
,
who
had
sunk
to
a
last
sleep
since
the
morning
rose
.
The
shadows
lengthened
,
the
hours
followed
one
another
;
Cigarette
sang
on
to
herself
with
few
pauses
:
whenever
she
did
so
pause
to
lay
soaked
linen
on
the
soldier
's
hot
forehead
,
or
to
tend
him
gently
in
those
paroxysms
that
wrenched
the
clotted
blood
from
off
his
lungs
,
there
was
a
light
on
her
face
that
did
not
come
from
the
golden
heat
of
the
African
sun
.
Such
a
light
those
who
know
well
the
Children
of
France
may
have
seen
,
in
battle
or
in
insurrection
,
grow
beautiful
upon
the
young
face
of
conscript
or
of
boy-insurgent
as
he
lifted
a
dying
comrade
,
or
pushed
to
the
front
to
be
slain
in
another
's
stead
;
the
face
that
a
moment
before
had
been
keen
for
the
slaughter
as
the
eyes
of
a
kite
,
and
recklessly
gay
as
the
saucy
refrain
the
lips
carolled
.
A
step
sounded
on
the
bare
boards
;
she
looked
up
,
and
the
wounded
man
raised
his
weary
lids
with
a
gleam
of
gladness
under
them
;
Cecil
bent
above
his
couch
.
"
Dear
Léon
!
how
is
it
with
you
?
"
His
voice
was
softened
to
infinite
tenderness
;
Léon
Ramon
had
been
for
many
a
year
his
comrade
and
his
friend
;
an
artist
of
Paris
,
a
man
of
marvellous
genius
,
of
high
idealic
creeds
,
who
,
in
a
fatal
moment
of
rash
despair
,
had
flung
his
talents
,
his
broken
fortunes
,
his
pure
and
noble
spirit
,
into
the
fiery
furnace
of
the
hell
of
military
Africa
;
and
now
lay
dying
here
,
a
common
soldier
,
forgotten
as
though
he
were
already
in
his
grave
.
"
The
review
is
just
over
.
I
got
ten
minutes
to
spare
,
and
came
to
you
the
instant
I
could
,
"
pursued
Cecil
.
"
See
here
what
I
bring
you
!
You
,
with
your
artist
's
soul
,
will
feel
yourself
all
but
well
when
you
look
on
these
!
"
He
spoke
with
a
hopefulness
he
could
never
feel
,
for
he
knew
that
the
life
of
Léon
Ramon
was
doomed
;
and
as
the
other
strove
to
gain
breath
enough
to
answer
him
,
he
gently
motioned
him
to
silence
,
and
placed
on
his
bed
some
peaches
bedded
deep
in
moss
and
circled
round
with
stephanotis
,
with
magnolia
,
with
roses
,
with
other
rarer
flowers
still
.
The
face
of
the
artist-soldier
lightened
with
a
longing
joy
;
his
lips
quivered
.
"
Ah
,
God
!
they
have
the
fragrance
of
my
France
!
"
Cecil
said
nothing
,
but
moved
them
nearer
in
to
the
clasp
of
his
eager
hands
.
Cigarette
he
did
not
see
.
There
were
some
moments
of
silence
,
while
the
dark
eyes
of
the
dying
man
thirstily
dwelt
on
the
beauty
of
the
flowers
,
and
his
dry
ashen
lips
seemed
to
drink
in
their
perfumes
as
those
athirst
drink
in
water
.
"
They
are
beautiful
,
"
he
said
,
faintly
,
at
length
.
"
They
have
our
youth
in
them
!
How
came
you
by
them
,
dear
friend
?
"
"
They
are
not
due
to
me
,
"
answered
Cecil
,
hurriedly
.
"
Madame
la
Princesse
Corona
sends
them
to
you
.
She
has
sent
great
gifts
to
the
hospital
—
wines
,
fruits
,
a
profusion
of
flowers
,
such
as
those
.
Through
her
,
these
miserable
chambers
will
bloom
for
a
while
like
a
garden
;
and
the
best
wines
of
Europe
will
slake
your
thirst
in
lieu
of
that
miserable
tisane
.
"
"
It
is
very
kind
,
"
murmured
Léon
Ramon
,
languidly
;
life
was
too
feeble
in
him
to
leave
him
vivid
pleasure
in
aught
.
"
But
I
am
ungrateful
.
La
Cigarette
here
,
—
she
has
been
so
good
,
so
tender
,
so
pitiful
.
For
once
I
have
almost
not
missed
you
!
"
Cigarette
,
thus
alluded
to
,
sprang
to
her
feet
with
her
head
tossed
back
,
and
all
her
cynicism
back
again
;
a
hot
petulant
colour
was
on
her
cheeks
,
the
light
had
passed
from
her
face
,
she
struck
her
white
teeth
together
.
She
had
thought
"
Bel-à-faire-peur
"
chained
to
his
regiment
in
the
field
of
manoeuvre
,
or
she
would
never
have
come
thither
to
tend
his
friend
.
She
had
felt
happy
in
her
self-sacrifice
;
she
had
grown
into
a
gentle
,
pensive
,
merciful
mood
,
singing
here
by
the
side
of
the
dying
soldier
,
—
and
now
the
first
thing
she
heard
was
of
the
charities
of
Madame
la
Princesse
!
That
was
all
her
reward
!
Cigarette
received
the
recompense
that
usually
comes
to
generous
natures
which
have
strung
themselves
to
some
self-surrender
that
costs
them
dear
!
Cecil
looked
at
her
surprised
,
and
smiled
.
"
Ma
belle
,
is
it
you
?
That
is
,
indeed
,
good
.
You
were
the
good
angel
of
my
life
the
other
night
,
and
to-day
come
to
bring
consolation
to
my
friend
—
"
"
'
Good
angel
!
'
Chut
,
M
.
Victor
!
One
does
not
know
those
mots
sucrés
in
Algiers
.
There
is
nothing
of
the
angel
about
me
,
I
hope
.
Your
friend
,
too
!
Ouf
!
Do
you
think
I
have
never
been
used
to
taking
care
of
my
comrades
in
hospital
before
you
played
the
sick-nurse
here
?
"
She
spoke
with
all
her
brusque
petulance
in
arms
again
;
she
hated
that
he
should
imagine
she
had
sacrificed
her
fête-day
to
Léon
Ramon
,
because
the
artist-trooper
was
dear
to
him
;
she
hated
him
to
suppose
that
she
had
waited
there
all
the
hours
through
on
the
chance
that
he
would
find
her
at
her
post
,
and
admire
her
for
her
charity
.
Cigarette
was
far
too
proud
and
disdainful
a
young
soldier
to
seek
either
his
presence
or
his
praise
.
He
smiled
again
;
he
did
not
understand
the
caprices
of
her
changeful
moods
,
and
he
did
not
feel
that
interest
in
her
which
would
have
made
him
divine
the
threads
of
their
vagaries
.
"
I
did
not
think
to
offend
you
,
my
Little
One
,
"
he
said
,
gently
.
"
I
meant
only
to
thank
you
for
your
goodness
to
Ramon
in
my
absence
.
"
Cigarette
shrugged
her
shoulders
.
"
There
was
no
goodness
,
and
there
need
be
no
thanks
.
Ask
Père
Matou
how
often
I
have
sat
with
him
hours
through
.
"
"
But
on
a
fête-day
!
And
you
who
love
pleasure
,
and
grace
it
so
well
—
"
"
Ouf
!
I
have
had
so
much
of
it
,
"
said
the
Little
One
,
contemptuously
.
"
It
is
so
tame
to
me
.
Clouds
of
dust
,
scurry
of
horses
,
fanfare
of
trumpets
,
thunder
of
drums
,
and
all
for
nothing
!
Bah
!
I
have
been
in
a
dozen
battles
—
I
—
and
I
am
not
likely
to
care
much
for
a
sham
fight
.
"
"
Nay
,
she
is
unjust
to
herself
,
"
murmured
Léon
Ramon
.
"
She
gave
up
the
fête
to
do
this
mercy
—
it
has
been
a
great
one
.
She
is
more
generous
than
she
will
ever
allow
.
Here
,
Cigarette
,
look
at
these
scarlet
rosebuds
;
they
are
like
your
bright
cheeks
.
Will
you
have
them
?
I
have
nothing
else
to
give
.
"
"
Rosebuds
?
"
echoed
Cigarette
,
with
supreme
scorn
.
"
Rosebuds
for
me
?
I
know
no
rose
but
the
red
of
the
tricolour
;
and
I
could
not
tell
a
weed
from
a
flower
.
Besides
,
I
told
Miou-Matou
just
now
,
if
my
children
do
as
I
tell
them
,
they
will
not
take
a
leaf
or
a
peach-stone
from
this
grande
dame
—
how
does
she
call
herself
?
—
Madame
Corona
d
'
Amägué
!
"
Cecil
looked
up
quickly
:
"
Why
not
?
"
Cigarette
flashed
on
him
her
brilliant
brown
eyes
with
a
fire
that
amazed
him
.
"
Because
we
are
soldiers
,
not
paupers
!
"
"
Surely
;
but
—
"
"
And
it
is
not
for
the
silver
pheasants
,
who
have
done
nothing
to
deserve
their
life
but
lain
in
nests
of
cotton
wool
,
and
eaten
grain
that
others
sow
and
shell
for
them
,
and
spread
their
shining
plumage
in
a
sun
that
never
clouds
above
their
heads
,
to
insult
,
with
the
insolence
of
their
'
pity
'
and
their
'
charity
,
'
the
Heroes
of
France
,
who
perish
,
as
they
have
lived
,
for
their
Country
and
their
Flag
!
"
It
was
a
superb
peroration
!
If
the
hapless
flowers
lying
there
had
been
a
cartel
of
outrage
to
the
concrete
majesty
of
the
French
Army
,
the
Army
's
champion
could
not
have
spoken
with
more
impassioned
force
and
scorn
.
Cecil
laughed
slightly
;
but
he
answered
,
with
a
certain
annoyance
:
"
There
is
no
'
insolence
'
here
;
no
question
of
it
.
Madame
la
Princesse
desired
to
offer
some
gift
to
the
soldiers
of
Algiers
;
I
suggested
to
her
that
to
increase
the
scant
comforts
of
the
hospital
,
and
gladden
the
weary
eyes
of
sick
men
with
beauties
that
the
Executive
never
dreams
of
bestowing
,
would
be
the
most
merciful
and
acceptable
mode
of
exercising
her
kindness
.
If
blame
there
be
in
the
matter
,
it
is
mine
.
"
In
defending
the
generosity
of
what
he
knew
to
be
a
genuine
and
sincere
wish
to
gratify
his
comrades
,
he
betrayed
what
he
did
not
intend
to
have
revealed
,
namely
,
the
conversation
that
had
passed
between
himself
and
the
Spanish
Princess
.
Cigarette
caught
at
the
inference
with
the
quickness
of
her
lightning-like
thought
.
"
Oh-hé
!
So
it
is
she
!
"
There
was
a
whole
world
of
emphasis
,
scorn
,
meaning
,
wrath
,
comprehension
,
and
irony
in
the
four
monosyllables
;
the
dying
man
looked
at
her
with
languid
wonder
.
"
She
?
Who
?
What
story
goes
with
these
roses
?
"
"
None
,
"
said
Cecil
,
with
the
same
inflection
of
annoyance
in
his
voice
;
to
have
his
passing
encounter
with
this
beautiful
patrician
pass
into
a
barrack
canard
,
through
the
unsparing
jests
of
the
soldiery
around
him
,
was
a
prospect
very
unwelcome
to
him
.
"
None
whatever
.
A
generous
thoughtfulness
for
our
common
necessities
as
soldiers
—
"
"
Ouf
!
"
interrupted
Cigarette
,
before
his
phrase
was
one-third
finished
.
"
The
stalled
mare
will
not
go
with
the
wild
coursers
;
an
aristocrat
may
live
with
us
,
but
he
will
always
cling
to
his
old
Order
.
This
is
the
story
that
runs
with
the
roses
.
Miladi
was
languidly
insolent
over
some
ivory
chessmen
,
and
Corporal
Victor
thought
it
divine
,
because
languor
and
insolence
are
the
twin
gods
of
the
noblesse
,
parbleu
!
Miladi
,
knowing
no
gods
but
those
two
,
worships
them
,
and
sends
to
the
soldiers
of
France
,
as
the
sort
of
sacrifice
her
gods
love
,
fruits
and
wines
that
,
day
after
day
,
are
set
on
her
table
,
to
be
touched
,
if
tasted
at
all
,
with
a
butterfly
's
sip
;
and
Corporal
Victor
finds
this
a
charity
sublime
—
to
give
what
costs
nothing
,
and
scatter
a
few
crumbs
out
from
the
profusion
of
a
life
of
waste
and
indulgence
!
And
I
say
,
that
if
my
children
are
of
my
fashion
of
thinking
,
they
will
choke
like
dogs
dying
of
thirst
rather
than
slake
their
throats
with
alms
cast
to
them
as
if
they
were
beggars
!
"
With
which
fiery
and
bitter
enunciation
of
her
views
on
the
gifts
of
the
Princess
Corona
d
'
Amägué
Cigarette
struck
light
to
her
brâle-gueule
,
and
thrusting
it
between
her
lips
,
with
her
hands
in
the
folds
of
her
scarlet
waist-sash
,
went
off
with
the
light
swift
step
natural
to
her
,
exaggerated
into
the
carriage
she
had
learned
of
the
Zouaves
,
laughing
her
good-morrows
noisily
to
this
and
that
trooper
as
she
passed
their
couches
,
and
not
dropping
her
voice
even
as
she
passed
the
place
where
the
dead
lay
,
but
singing
,
as
loud
as
she
could
,
the
most
impudent
drinking-song
out
of
the
taverns
of
the
Spahis
that
ever
celebrated
wine
,
women
,
and
war
in
the
lawlessness
of
the
lingua
Sabir
.
Her
wrath
was
hot
,
and
her
heart
heavy
within
her
.
She
had
given
up
her
whole
fête-day
to
wait
on
the
anguish
and
to
soothe
the
solitude
of
his
friend
lying
dying
there
;
and
her
reward
had
been
to
hear
him
speak
of
this
aristocrat
's
donations
,
that
cost
her
nothing
but
the
trouble
of
a
few
words
of
command
to
her
household
,
as
though
they
were
the
saintly
charities
of
some
angel
from
heaven
!
"
Diantre
!
"
she
muttered
,
as
her
hand
wandered
to
the
ever-beloved
forms
of
the
pistols
within
her
sash
.
"
Echaffaurées
or
Achmet
,
or
any
one
of
them
,
would
throw
a
draught
of
wine
in
his
face
,
and
lay
him
dead
for
me
,
with
a
pass
or
two
,
ten
minutes
after
.
Why
do
n't
I
bid
them
?
I
have
a
mind
—
"
In
that
moment
she
could
have
shot
him
dead
herself
without
a
second
's
thought
.
Storm
and
sunlight
swept
,
one
after
another
,
with
