“Out of my bosom!” he cried—“out of it, in this world and the next!”
He forgot, in his lofty rage, who stood beside him.
“What?—what?” cried Raynal.
“No matter,” said Camille; “only I esteem YOU, Raynal. You are truth; you are a man, and deserve a better lot.”
“Don’t say that,” replied Raynal, quite misunderstanding him. “It is a soldier’s end: I never desired nor hoped a better: only, of course, I feel sad. You are a happy fellow, to have a child and to live to see it, and her you love.”
“Oh, yes, I am very happy,” replied the poor fellow, his lip quivering.
“Watch over all those poor women, comrade, and sometimes speak to them of me. It is foolish, but we like to be remembered.”
“Yes! but do not let us speak of that. Raynal, you and I were lieutenants together; do you remember saving my life in the Arno?”
“Yes.”
“Then promise me, if you should live, to remember not our quarrel of to-day, nor anything; but only those early days, AND THIS AFTERNOON.”