"But," continued O'Brien, "suppose I did intend to desert, would you then assist me?"
"At my peril," replied the woman: "have you not assisted my family when in difficulty?"
"Well, then, I will not at present detain you from your business; I have heard you called several times. Let us have dinner when convenient, and we will remain here."
"If I have any knowledge of phiz—what d'ye call it," observed O'Brien, after she left us, "there is honesty in that woman, and I must trust her, but not yet; we must wait till the conscripts have gone." I agreed with O'Brien, and we remained talking until an hour afterwards, when the woman brought us our dinner.
"What is your name?" inquired O'Brien.
"Louise Eustache; you might have read it on the letter."
"Are you married?"
"Oh yes, these six years. My husband is seldom at home; he is a Flushing pilot. A hard life, harder even than that of a soldier. Who is this lad?"
"He is my brother, who, if I go as a soldier, intends to volunteer as a drummer."
"Pauvre enfant! c'est dommage."