“A French soldier is a man who carries France in his heart”—
“But if the cruel foreign soldiers kill him? Oh!”
“Why, in that case, he does not care a straw. Every man must die; horses likewise, and dogs, and donkeys, when they come to the end of their troubles; but dogs and donkeys and chaps in blouses can’t die gloriously; as Dard may, if he has any luck at all: so, from this hour, if there was twice as little of him, be proud of him, for from this time he is a part of France and her renown. Come, recruit ninety-nine, shoulder your traps at duty’s call, and let us go forth in form. Attention! Quick—march! Halt! is that the way I showed you to march? Didn’t I tell you to start from the left? Now try again. QUICK—march! left—right—left—right—left—right—NOW you’ve—GOT it—DRAT ye,—KEEP it—left—right—left—right—left—right.” And with no more ado the sergeant marched the little odd-job man to the wars.
VIVE LA FRANCE! [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
CHAPTER XVIII.
Edouard, the moment his temper cooled, became very sad. He longed to be friends again with Rose, but did not know how. His own pride held him back, and so did his fear that he had gone too far, and that his offended mistress would not listen to an offer of reconciliation from him. He sat down alone now to all his little meals. No sweet, mellow voices in his ear after the fatigues of the day. It was a dismal change in his life.
At last, one day, he received three lines from Josephine, requesting him to come and speak to her. He went over directly, full of vague hopes. He found her seated pale and languid in a small room on the ground floor.
“What has she been doing to you, dear?” began she kindly.
“Has she not told you, Madame Raynal?”
“No; she is refractory. She will tell me nothing, and that makes me fear she is the one in fault.”