I stood up, pale as ashes. He fastened the knapsack to my shoulders. Catharine sat sobbing, her face covered with her apron. Mother Grédel looked on with lips compressed.
The roll continued for a time, then suddenly ceased.
"The call is about commencing," said Monsieur Goulden, embracing me. Then the fountains of his heart burst forth; tears sprang to his eyes; and, calling me his child, his son, he whispered, "Courage!"
Mother Grédel seated herself again, and as I bent toward her, taking my head between her hands, she sobbed:
"I always loved you, Joseph; ever since you were a baby. You never gave me cause of grief—and now you must go. O God! O God!"
I wept no longer.
When Aunt Grédel released me, I looked a moment at Catharine, who stood motionless. Then I turned quickly to go, when she cried, in heart-breaking tones:
"O Joseph! Joseph!"
I looked back. Her strength seemed to leave her, and I placed her in the arm-chair, and fled.
I was already on the Place, in the midst of the Italians and of a crowd of people crying for their sons or brothers. I saw nothing; I heard nothing.