"Rather au revoir, Monsieur de Tiernay," said the marquise, "friendship, such as ours, should at least be hopeful; say then 'au revoir.'"
"Perhaps Monsieur de Tiernay's hopes run not in the same channel as our own, aunt," said Laura, "and perhaps the days of happiness that we look forward to, would bring far different feelings to his heart."
This was too pointed—this was insupportably offensive! and I was only able to mutter, "You are right, mademoiselle;" and then, addressing myself to the marquise, I made some blundering apologies about haste and so forth; while I promised to fulfill her commission faithfully and promptly.
"Shall we not hear from you?" said the old lady, as she gave me her hand. I was about to say, "under the circumstances, better not," but I hesitated, and Laura, seeing my confusion, said, "It might be unfair, aunt, to expect it; remember how he is placed."
"Mademoiselle is a miracle of forethought and candor too," said I. "Adieu! adieu forever!" The last word I uttered in a low whisper.
"Adieu, Maurice," said she, equally low, and then turned away toward the window.
From that moment until the instant when, out of breath and exhausted, I halted for a few seconds on the crag below the fortress, I knew nothing; my brain was in a whirl of mad, conflicting thought. Every passion was working within me, and rage, jealousy, love, and revenge were alternately swaying and controlling me. Then, however, as I looked down for the last time on the village and the cottage beside the river, my heart softened, and I burst into a torrent of tears. There, said I, as I arose to resume my way, there is one illusion dissipated; let me take care that life never shall renew the affliction! Henceforth I will be a soldier, and only a soldier.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)