A little reflection convinced Bertrand that it was his duty to accept the merchant's offer. But cruel as was the task of reconciling himself to parting with his son, that of inducing Victor to acquiesce in the arrangement was yet more difficult. It required the exercise of authority to sever the ties that bound the son to the father. But it was done—Victor resigned his task to a little dog that was procured by the merchant, and after an agonizing farewell was whirled away in Marmont's carriage.
Years passed on. Victor outstripped all his companions at school, and stood at the head of the military academy; for he was striving to win a name and fortune for his father. The good Marmont, from time to time, endeavored to obtain tidings of the soldier; but the latter had purposely changed his usual route, and, satisfied that his son was in good hands, felt a sort of pride in not intruding his poverty and misfortunes on the notice of Victor's new companions. The boy, himself, was much distressed at not seeing or hearing from his father; but he kept struggling on, saying to himself, "Courage, Victor—le bon temps viendra—the good time will come."
On the death of Marmont, he entered the army as a sub-lieutenant, and fought his way up to a captaincy under the eye of the emperor. At the close of a brilliant campaign he was invited to pass a few weeks at the chateau of a general officer named Duvivier, a few leagues from Paris. The company there was brilliant, composed of all that was most beautiful, talented, and distinguished in the circle in which the general moved. But the "star of that goodly company" was Julie Duvivier, the youthful and accomplished daughter of the general. Many distinguished suitors contended for the honor of her hand; but the moment Victor appeared, they felt they had a formidable rival. The belle of the chateau could not help showing her decided preference for him, though, with a modesty and delicacy natural to his position, he refrained from making any decided advances.
One night, however, transported beyond himself by passion, he betrayed the secret of his heart to Julie, as he led her to her seat after an intoxicating waltz. The reception of his almost involuntary avowal was such as to convince him that his affection was returned. But he felt that he had done wrong—and a high sense of honor induced the young soldier immediately to seek the general, and make him a party to his wishes.
He found him alone in the embrasure of a window that opened on the garden of the chateau.
"General," said he, with military frankness, "I love your daughter."
The general started, and cast a glance of displeasure on the young man.
"I know you but slightly, Captain Bertrand," he answered, "but you are aware that the man who marries my daughter must be able to give her her true position in society. Show me the proofs of your nobility and wealth, and I will entertain your proposition."
"Alas!" answered the young soldier in a faltering voice, "I feel that I have erred—pity me—forgive me—I was led astray by a passion too strong to be controlled. I have no name—and my fortune is my sword."
The general bowed coldly, and the young soldier passed out into the garden. It was a brilliant moonlight evening. Every object was defined as clearly as if illuminated by the sun's rays. Removing his chapeau, that the night air might cool his fevered brow, he was about to take his favorite seat beside the fountain where he had passed many hours in weaving bright visions of the future, when he perceived that it was already occupied. An old man in a faded military uniform sat there, with a little dog lying at his feet. One glance was sufficient—the next instant Victor folded his father in his arms.