The Colonel himself wrote to his friends, and a decoration was forwarded; but did those words of praise, did that cold cross, repay Adèle for her lost lover? Often, when no eye but that of God was on her, she sat with these treasures in her lap, but from her eyes the tears would flow, and the cross and words were dimly seen through the descending drops,—no, Adèle was not consoled, though he had died for France; hollow were to her the words, “Mourir pour la Patrie.”
Part III.
Peace was with the earth again; the dear-bought peace, that found parents and children, wives and sisters, mourning for those the war had snatched from their embrace.
Around the walls of Toul the harvest had been gathered; the last few sheaves were loaded on the carts as the declining sun sank down; the horses or oxen, gaily decked, moved slowly towards the city; round the waggons the children danced, and thus the maidens sang as in the olden time:—
THE HARVEST SONG.
Our labour all is done;
We’ve finished with the sun,
Who now, in the far west
Low sinking, goes to rest.
The golden grain is stored;