The second letter was from André, and would have been unintelligible to any one who did not possess the key to a school-boy's language. But at the end there was a passage which Camille kissed again and again: "Dear mamma, I love you, and I always pray with you, just like you." A stick of wood which just now rolled down with a great noise awoke M. Reville, who, after rubbing his eyes, asked his daughter, "Where is Maurice?"
"He is skating. Do you wish me to take his place, and do anything to amuse you?"
"No, thank you. But stop, you may read instead; read this discussion in the Chambers upon the military law."
Camille took the paper and read slowly; and the old man's eyes were still closed when the violent ringing of the door-bell woke him up completely, and made Madame de Laval start.
"What is the matter with you?" asked her father.
"I do not know; only the sudden ringing frightened me."
She jumped up and ran into the hall, and at the same instant her husband entered from the street. She moved toward him, but suddenly stopped, frozen with an inexplicable horror. M. de Laval's face was of an ashy paleness; he tried to speak, he stammered—the words died upon his lips, and his wife, in one of those quick transitions which thought makes, believed he was going to fall dead at her feet.
"What ails you?" she cried, reaching out her arms toward him. "Do not be frightened, Camille," said he; "but Maurice—"
He was unable to finish.
"Maurice!" she echoed. "Where is he? Why does he not come home? O great God! he is dead. He is drowned!"