CHAPTER XXI.
I EXCHANGE MY GUN FOR THE PLANE.
I will not exaggerate my grief; I will simply say that I loved my uncle as a father, and my sorrow for his loss was full and sincere.
In my absence, the two keepers—the one named Flobert, and the other, Lafeuille—had taken it in turns to minister to his little wants.
When he died, Flobert was in the house. I called, and he came to me.
The name of Drouet filled my heart, and rested on my lips.
At that moment a post-chaise passed, going in the direction of St. Menehould. I ran after the postilion, my eyes filled with tears.
“Tell M. Jean Baptiste,” cried I to him, “that my uncle died at the moment of my arrival.”
“Is it possible? Poor Descharmes! I spoke to him yesterday! He was seated in his easy-chair, in the doorway, and he told me that he expected you this evening.”
He then drove on.