"It is true; instead of resting there and thinking, without saying anything, I would rather talk—I would rather——"
"Shake off your thoughts, coward!"
"Even if it should be so, mother, every one has not your courage. I have done all I could to imitate you. I have not listened to the priest, because you did not wish it. And yet I may have been wrong—for, in fine," added the condemned girl, shuddering, "hereafter—who knows? and hereafter will be very soon."
"In three hours."
"How coldly you say that, mother! And yet it is true; we are here, both of us, not sick, not wishing to die, and yet in three hours——"
"In three hours you will have died like a true Martial. You will have seen black, that's all; be bold, daughter."
"It is not right for you to talk to your daughter in that way," said the old soldier, in a slow and grave tone; "you would have done much better to have allowed her to speak with the ordinary."
The widow shrugged her shoulders with savage contempt, and, without turning her head, she continued: "Courage, daughter; we will show them that women have more firmness than these men, with their priests—the cowards!"
"Commandant Leblon was the bravest of the third regiment of Chasseurs; I saw him covered with wounds in the breach of Saragossa, and he died making the sign of the cross," said the veteran.
"You were his chaplain, then?" demanded the widow, with a savage burst of laughter.