"Ah, you are kind; it is balm to my sore heart to hear words like these. I thank you, and tell you what you will. It is but little that I do, yet I give my life, and die a long death, instead of a quick, brave one with my comrades."
"You are young to have borne a part in a revolution, sir," said the major, who pricked up his ears like an old war-horse at the sound of battle.
"My friends and myself left the University at Varsovie, as volunteers; we did our part, and now all lie in their graves but three."
"You were wounded, it seems?"
"Many times. Exposure, privation, and sorrow will finish what the Russian bullets began. But it is well. I have no wish to see my country enslaved, and I can no longer help her."
"Let us hope that a happier future waits for you both. Poland loves liberty too well, and has suffered too much for it, to be kept long in captivity."
Helen spoke warmly, and the young man listened with a brightening face.
"It is a kind prophecy; I accept it, and take courage. God knows I need it," he added, low to himself.
"Are you bound for Italy?" said the major, in a most un-English fit of curiosity.
"For Geneva first, Italy later, unless Montreaux is mild enough for me to winter in. I go to satisfy my friends, but doubt if it avails."