"Our poor sergeant has killed himself," said I; "may God forgive him!"
And, sitting down, I could not help bursting into tears!
XXI
It is said with truth that misfortunes never come singly; one brings another in its train. The death of our good sergeant was, however, the last.
That same day the enemy withdrew his outposts to six hundred yards from the city, the white flag was raised on the church, and the gates were opened.
Now, Fritz, you know about our blockade. Should I tell you, in addition, about Baruch's coming, of Zeffen's cries, and the groanings of us all, when we had to say to the good man: "Our little David is dead—thou wilt never see him again!"
No, it is enough! If we were to speak of all the miseries of war, and all their consequences in after years, there would be no end!
I would rather tell you of my sons Itzig and Frômel, and of my Sâfel, who has gone to join them in America.
If I should tell you of all the wealth they have acquired in that great country of freemen, of the lands they have bought, the money they have laid up, the number of grandchildren they have given me, and of all the blessings they have heaped upon Sorlé and myself, you would be full of astonishment and admiration.