She read the letter, and putting it into her neckerchief, desired him to follow her. O’Brien beckoned me to come, and we went into a small room. “What can I do for you?” said the woman; “I will do all in my power; but, alas! you will march from here in two or three days.”
“Never mind,” replied O’Brien, “we will talk the matter over by-and-by, but at present only oblige us by letting us remain in this little room; we do not wish to be seen.”
“Comment donc!—you a conscript, and not wish to be seen! Are you, then, intending to desert?”
“Answer me one question; you have read that letter, do you intend to act up to its purport, as your sister requests?”
“As I hope for mercy I will, if I suffer everything. She is a dear sister, and would not write so earnestly if she had not strong reasons. My house and everything you command are yours—can I say more?”
“What is your name?” inquired O’Brien.
“Louise Eustache; you might have read it on the letter.”
“Are you married?”
“O yes, these six years. My husband is seldom at home; he is a Flushing pilot. A hard life, harder even that 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.”