“Yes; we met in the Creutz Mountains, and since that» have wended our way together. A soldier—”
“A soldier! Is he wounded, then?”
“No, my child; he is leaving the army.”
“Leaving the army, and not wounded! He is old and disabled, perhaps.”
“Neither; he is both young and vigorous.”
“Shame on him, then, that he turn his back on fame and fortune, and leave the path that brave men tread! He never was a soldier! No, Father; he in whose heart the noble passion once has lived can never forget it.”
“Hush, child, hush!” said the priest, motioning with his hand to her to be silent.
“Let me look on him!” said the vivandière, as she stooped down and took from the hearth a piece of lighted wood; “let me see this man, and learn the features of one who can be so craven of spirit, so poor of heart, as to fly the field, while thousands are flocking towards it.”
Burning with shame and indignation, I arose, just as she approached me. The pine-branch threw its red gleam over her bright uniform, and then upon her face.
“Minette! Minette!” I exclaimed. But with a wild shriek she let fall the burning wood, and fell senseless to the ground.