And left me for dead on the cold hard earth;
But the child was safe—and my tale is o’er.”
“But your payment?” a dozen voices ask,
And le Capitaine smiles in his deep disdain;
“Pardon, mesdames! for a deed of love
No soldier his palm with gold would stain;
Only this boon did I ever crave—
One look at her angel face again!
“Qu’importe? she is rich and happy, and I——”
He pauses—la Comtesse has left her throne;