"No letters?" I repeated, in a hollow tone.
"No; but, monsieur mon frère, must take courage. Many, many ships have perished in a recent storm in the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmora, and your letters may have gone to the bottom with the mail steamer. Monsieur Estoodome—monsieur l'adjudant he is, I think, of your regiment—and monsieur le colonel, too, will ride over here to-morrow to see you. And now there must be no more talking, but to sleep, mon ami—to sleep. I must take care of you now, for la soeur Archange will not be with you always."
"What are you doing?"
"Making the sign of the cross on your forehead, mon frère. To-morrow I shall tell you what it means, if you will remind me; but, for to-night, adieu."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
O fondest memories! come and go,
Shine on sad times which are no more,
As sunbeams gladden waters of snow,
As wavelets kiss a barren shore:
And light with love and tenderness
The happy days which still are ours;
Whose influence, rich in April showers,
Casts round us love and tenderness.
The clatter of spurs and scabbards, and the firmer tread of feet than one usually hears among the slipshod or slippered Moslems, next forenoon, announced the arrival of my friends, and most welcome to me was the appearance of Colonel Beverley, Studhome, Wilford, and Jocelyn of ours, all fearless of cholera, as they came through the verandah of the kiosk where I lay; and there, too, lingering without, I saw my faithful follower, Pitblado.
They were all in full uniform and accoutred, for it was the day of a great review; and all bowed with politeness to the sister of charity, who immediately withdrew to the shadow of the verandah.
"I rejoice to see you, my dear boy," said the colonel; "we had all given you up as lost to us and to the regiment."
"Lost, colonel?" I repeated.