“It would ill become me to have borne such a suspicion,” interrupted he, quickly. “When one so young and full of life as you are leaves the path where lie honor and rank and fame, he must have cause to make the sacrifice; for I can scarce think, that at your age, these things seem nought to your eyes.”
“You are right, Father, they are not so. They have been my guiding stars for many a day; alas, that they can be such no longer!”
“There are higher hopes to cherish than these,” said he, solemnly,—“higher than the loftiest longings of ambition; but we all of us cling to the things of life, till in their perishable nature they wean us off with disappointment and sorrow. From such a trial am I now suffering,” added he, in a low voice, while the tears rose to his eyes and slowly coursed along his pale cheeks.
There was a pause neither of us felt inclined to break, when at length the priest said,—
“What was your corps in the service?”
“The Eighth Hussars of the Guard,” said I, trembling at every word.
“Ah, he was in the Guides,” repeated he, mournfully, to himself; “you knew the regiment?”
“Yes, they belonged to the Guard also; they wore no epaulettes, but a small gold arrow on the collar.”
“Like this,” said he, unfastening the breast of his cassock, and taking out a small package, which, among other things, contained the designation of the Corps des Guides in an arrow of gold embroidery. “Had he not beautiful hair, long and silky as a girl's?” said he, as he produced a lock of light and sunny brown. “Poor Alphonse! thou wouldst have been twenty hadst thou lived till yesterday. If I shed tears, young man, it is because I have lost the great earthly solace of my solitary life. Others have kindred and friends, have happy homes, which, even when bereavements come, with time will heal up the wound; I had but him!”
“He was your nephew, perhaps?” said I, half fearing to interfere with his sorrow.