I opened the door all in a tremble, and stood with my cap in my hand. Mr. Montravel was a tall, brown, thin man, with a little stoop in his shoulders. He was walking hastily up and down his room, in the midst of his books and maps, and arms hung on the wall.
"Ah! Bertha, it is you, is it? I have disagreeable news to tell you, the third battalion to which you belong leaves for Metz."
On hearing this my heart sank, and I could not say a word. He looked at me, and after a moment he added:
"Do not be troubled, you have been married for several months, and you are a good workman, and that deserves consideration. You will give this letter to Colonel Desmichels at the arsenal at Metz; he is one of my friends, and will find employment in some of his workshops for you, you may be certain."
I took the letter which he handed me, thanked him, and went home filled with alarm. Zébédé, Mr. Goulden, and Catherine were talking together in the shop, distress was written on every face. They knew everything. "The third battalion is going," I said as I entered, "but Mr. Montravel has just given me a letter to the director of the arsenal at Metz. Do not be anxious, I shall not make the campaign."
I was almost choking. Mr. Goulden took the letter and said, "It is open; we can read it."
Then he read the letter, in which Mr. Montravel recommended me to his friend, saying that I was married, a good workman, industrious, and that I could render real service at the arsenal. He could have said nothing better.
"Now the matter is certain," said Zébédé.
"Yes, you will be retained in the arsenal at Metz," said Father Goulden.
Catherine was very pale, she kissed me and said, "What happiness, Joseph!"