“Yes, Captain Bluteau, you were with me at the time. Do you remember how, while we were putting little Jacques to bed, you pointed to the mattress on which Mother Colas sleeps? Well, you can imagine how painful it all was; I can never see any child without thinking of the dear child I have lost, and this little one was doomed to die! I can never see a child with indifferent eyes——”
Genestas turned pale.
“Yes, the sight of the little golden heads, the innocent beauty of children’s faces always awakens memories of my sorrows, and the old anguish returns afresh. Now and then, too, there comes the intolerable thought that so many people here should thank me for what little I can do for them, when all that I have done has been prompted by remorse. You alone, captain, know the secret of my life. If I had drawn my will to serve them from some purer source than the memory of my errors, I should be happy indeed! But then, too, there would have been nothing to tell you, and no story about myself.”
CHAPTER V. ELEGIES
As Benassis finished his story, he was struck by the troubled expression of the officer’s face. It touched him to have been so well understood. He was almost ready to reproach himself for having distressed his visitor. He spoke:
“But these troubles of mine, Captain Bluteau——”
“Do not call me Captain Bluteau,” cried Genestas, breaking in upon the doctor, and springing to his feet with sudden energy, a change of position that seemed to be prompted by inward dissatisfaction of some kind. “There is no such person as Captain Bluteau.... I am a scoundrel!”
With no little astonishment, Benassis beheld Genestas pacing to and fro in the salon, like a bumble-bee in quest of an exit from the room which he has incautiously entered.
“Then who are you, sir?” inquired Benassis.