“Glad that I have the courage to go,� he said coldly.
“I never doubted that,� she replied gravely; “but oh, monsieur, if I could be a man, I would fight—I can understand how you feel—the bon Dieu defend you!�
He looked at her a moment sadly, and seemed to hesitate; then he turned and went quietly away, leaving her standing there tongue-tied, her eyes suddenly filled with hot tears. What had she done? she thought, as he went down and out into the night. What had she done?
Her grandmother’s voice roused her.
“Has he gone to them?� she asked anxiously.
“Yes,� Rosaline replied, “and they are forming in columns again,—they are going to march on.�
There was a pause; the women could hear that there were some orders given and then it was strangely quiet, the men standing like statues in the road. The clouds drifted over the moon and darkness enveloped the scene again, and out of that still night arose the murmur of many voices, a volume of sound, throbbing and gaining strength and sweetness and solemnity.
“Hush!� said Rosaline, raising her hand, “the Sixty-eighth Psalm—the battle hymn.�
Full and strong it rose, every word poured out from the hearts of those stern men, and in that lonely spot, in the darkness, the sound was profoundly solemn. Softly at first, and then sweetly and fearlessly, Rosaline joined them, her rich young voice floating out to mingle with the song of the soldiers.
“Que Dieu se montre seulement