The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

The regiment marched out with colors flying to do a practice march of two days’ duration. Paul was riding at the head of his troop. He was a fine horseman and had a good military air and everything about him was spick and span as becomes an officer.

Toni, who was at the end of the file, got a good look at Paul as he cantered along by the side of the troopers and a look of affectionate intelligence flashed between the two young men. Toni saw that Paul was truly happy—he was in fact always happy when performing his military duties, because he was born a soldier, apt at obedience and ready at command. In the same file with Toni rode Nicolas and Pierre.

They passed out of the town on the dusty highroad, their helmets gleaming in the sun and the steady tramp of their horses’ hoofs sounding like thunder on the highroad and raising a great white dust like a pillar of cloud by day. Crowds of people ran out to see them, and cheered them as they passed. The day was bright and warm, but not hot enough to distress either the men or the horses. They kept on steadily until noon, when there was an hour of rest and refreshment. Again they took up the line of march. A cool breeze was blowing and it was as pleasant a June day as one could wish for marching. Towards three o’clock, as they were passing the outskirts of a wood, Toni put his hand to his head and reeled in his saddle. His horse kept on steadily in the ranks. It was very well simulated and Paul rode up and caught Toni by the arm.

“You had better drop out,” he said, “and rest a while by the roadside and rejoin when you feel better.” Toni touched his cap and said, “Thank you, sir,” and slipping out of his saddle, led his horse to a grassy place under a tree, where he sat down and mopped his face. He looked quite pale and weak, but the surgeon, when he rode up, gave him a sharp look, made him drink some wine and water out of his canteen, and said: “You will be all right in ten minutes,” and rode on.

Ten minutes passed and twenty and thirty. The regiment was out of sight. Toni’s troop was a part of the rear guard. The dull echo of thousands of hoofs still resounded afar off, but all else was quiet in that shaded woody spot, with farm-houses basking in the sun, the highroad gleaming whitely, and the railway beyond making two streaks of steel-blue light in the distance. Toni, with his helmet off, and his horse browsing quietly near him, sat on the ground under the shade with the glaring midday light around him and waited for Paul Verney, who he knew would return. No lieutenant in the regiment looked so closely after his men as he. Presently Toni heard the galloping of a horse and the rattling of a saber in its scabbard, and there was Paul riding up. He swung himself off his horse and came up to Toni and said:

“I came back to see what was the matter with you. I thought you would have rejoined by this time.”

Toni made no reply, but raised his black eyes to Paul’s blue ones and they were so full of misery that Paul involuntarily put his hand on Toni’s shoulder and asked, “What is it?”

Toni tried to speak, but the words would not come. Paul, putting his hand in his breast, drew out a small flask of brandy and poured the best part of it down Toni’s throat.

“Now,” he said, “tell me what it is.”