“Marie going to leave us. No, no, she won’t leave us.”
“Leave us—no, no, Marie. Leave us—leave me, Tony?”
“I must, I must.” She was a very different being now from the brisk vivandiere. Before, she was all smiles, now she was all tears. “I must go. For shame, do not make me worse than I am.”
Tony took off his hat, which was decorated with the gay French cockade, and looked upon the innocent little fluttering ribbons with horror, for they told him he was bound to the regiment, and could not follow her.
“Pray is our carriage ready.”
“Good-bye, oh! good-bye all—all of you; and dear, dear Tony.”
The soldiers were rude enough to push the marquise aside, that they might shake the hands of Marie, and some actually kissed her.
“Men!” was the only remark the marquise could make. “Men!”
“Good-bye, oh! good-bye all—all of you; and dear, dear Tony.”
“When will that carriage be ready?”