And fill the flowing horn:
For now the grain is stored,
The Great God be adored,
Who sent the sun and rain
To swell the golden grain.
Adèle entered not into their joy, her heart was like her lover—dead. As they go with the last waggon towards home suddenly a shout is heard—a crowd comes on—she hears her name called—many voices seem to say “Gustave!”—the crowd gives way.
Well-known eyes are looking into hers as she awakes to consciousness—his arm is round her, and his heart is beating against hers.
Alive, though grievously wounded, he had been taken care of by a noble foe; and at the termination of the war, released, he had come back; one empty sleeve was pinned against his breast, but there she placed the cross,—he smiled fondly on her, but looking at it sighed, thinking perchance glory may be bought too dear.
And now by the Moselle’s banks Adèle nurses her invalid husband, and peace for the moment reigns in France. But, alas and alas! many another Adèle will mourn many another Gustave, before mankind have learnt to fulfil the wish contained in Jeanette’s song, and be content to
“Let those that make the quarrel be