I could not but mark, that within the last twelve or fourteen days she seemed more sad and depressed than before; the lively gayety of her character had given place to a meek and suffering melancholy, which I could not help attributing to the circumstances in which she was placed, away from all her ordinary pursuits and the companions of her daily life. I hinted as much one day, and was about to insist on her leaving me, when she suddenly interrupted me, saying,—
“It is all true. I am sad, and know not why, for I never felt happier; yet, if you wished me to be gay as I used to be, I could not for the world. It is not because I am far from those I have learned to look on as my brothers; not so, my changeful fortune has often placed me thus. Perhaps it's your fault, mon lieutenant,” said she, suddenly, turning her eyes full upon me.
“Mine, Minette,—mine!” said I, in amazement.
She blushed deeply, and held down her head, while her bosom heaved several times convulsively; and then, while a deathly paleness spread over her cheek, she said, in a low, broken voice,—
“Perhaps it is because I am an orphan, and never knew what it was to have those whose dispositions I should imitate, and whose tastes I should study; but somehow I feel even as though I could not help becoming like those I am near to,—following them, ay, and outstripping them, in all their likings and dislikings.”
“And so, as you seem sad and sorrowful, it is more than probable that you took the color of my thoughts. I should feel sorry, Minette, to think it were thus; I should ill repay all your kindness to me. I must try and wear a happier countenance.”
“Do so, and mine will soon reflect it,” said she, laughing. “But, perhaps, you have cause for sorrow,” added she, as she stole a glance at me beneath her eyelashes.
“You know, Minette, that I am an orphan like yourself,” said I, half evading the question.
“Ah!” cried she, passionately, “if I had been a man, I should like to be such a one as Murat there. See how his black eyes sparkle, and his proud lip curls, when the roll of artillery or the clattering of a platoon is heard! how his whole soul is in the fight! I remember once—it was at the Iser—his brigade was stationed beneath the hill, and had no orders to move forward for several hours. He used to get off his horse and walk about, and endeavor, by pushing the smoke away, thus, with his hand, and almost kneeling to the ground, to catch a view of the battle; and then he would spring into the saddle, and for sheer passion dash the spurs into his horse's flank, till he reared and plunged again. I watched him thus for hours. I loved to look on him, chafing and fretting like his own mettled charger, he was so handsome! 'A drink, Minette! Something to cool my lips, for Heaven's sake,' said he, at last, as he saw me standing near him. I filled the little cup you see here with wine, and handed it to him. Scarcely had he raised it to his lips, when an aide-decamp galloped up, and whispered some words in haste.
“'Ha, ha!' cried he, with a shout of joy; 'they want us, then! The squadrons will advance by sections, and charge!—charge!' And with that he flung the goblet from him to the ground; and when I took it up I found that with the grasp of his strong fingers he had crushed it nearly together: see here! I never would let it be changed; it is just as at the time he clasped it, and I kept it as a souvenir of the prince.”