“But strength alone, not will, failed me. Three times I returned, without being able to approach him closely—and yet, it was necessary to do so! I invoked the memory of Aunt Marie, of my mother, who would forgive me if I could repair my fault, of my father who was said to be so brave, and I made an effort to start again, repeating to myself when I was about to weaken, that the pardon of others, of myself as well, and above all, that of the dead man whom I had offended, could be obtained only at this price.
“I am astonished even now when I think of the amount of energy, the superhuman efforts to surmount an insurmountable fear, paralyzing him at each step, that was shown by the unhappy little boy that I then was. I have been in many a trying situation in my career as a soldier, but they have all been as nothing when compared to that one, which preceded them by so many years. What was I saying? Feeling myself ready to fail, with a supreme effort, I desperately finished my course. I stood before the dead man and demanded his pardon, with a voice which probably the dead alone could hear, because it resembled a dying breath, and my hand at last succeeded in covering the awful visage with the sheet which I thought necessary to his repose.
“That done, I arrived with a single bound in the middle of the court; but I was at the end of my strength, and giving vent to a sharp cry, I fell, deprived of all feeling, like a mortally wounded bird, at the feet of poor Sister Rose.”
“My fainting fit lasted, they say, about two hours. I recovered consciousness in the arms of Aunt Marie, who had heard my cry of distress. My mother had returned. On her knees before her sister and me, she bathed my forehead and temples and made me inhale something which burnt my nostrils a little but which smelt very good. I burst into tears and my first word, when I was able to speak, was to ask and re-ask pardon; and when I had to stop for want of breath, it was only to cry again, ‘Pardon! Pardon!’ for that which was to me an irredeemable fault.
“‘Pardon for what, my poor child?’ said my mother, when I had completely recovered consciousness. ‘Is it because you went into the big room?’ But Aunt Marie has already forgiven you. Do you not see how she kisses you?’
“The kiss, yes, that was the pardon of Aunt Marie, but it was not only of that which she knew that I needed forgiveness. All was not yet known. I felt that I must make a complete confession, and, in an account, broken by tears and sobs, I told ‘this all’ to Aunt Marie and my mother. I told them all that it had cost me for having lacked proper respect for the dead.
“My confession was not only complete, it was public; the surgeon of the hospital and five or six soldiers were around us.
“‘Ah!’ said one of the latter, addressing the doctor, ‘the child must have seen the old Marshal who was not able to recover from yesterday’s amputation.’
“When I had finished my tale, when by kind words they had established a relative calm in my conscience, when they had told me many times that the dead man could never again be angry, especially as I had asked his pardon, when Aunt Marie had made me understand besides that although one should respect and honor the dead one should not be afraid of them, a young sergeant who was there, and whom I had teased oftener than the others because he most frequently wore the piece of wood on his nose from losing at ‘drogue,’ asked permission of my mother to kiss ‘that little one.’