“Oui, M’sieu. What wonder? For see—it was not a common parting. Hundreds, thousands, go thus, and never return. They vanish from their homes, and no more is heard of them. Here or there, far away, they have died and have been buried—hélas!—and that is the end.”
“A soldier’s end, Jean!” the boy said proudly.
“Oui, M’sieu. Sans doute. But not all men have a taste for soldiering. I myself, for one——”
“You didn’t want to fight?”
“I had no wish to leave my home, M’sieu. Of late, it is true, I have had other thoughts—some thoughts of entering the army, after all. Le petit Caporal is no such bad leader for a man to follow, when he is not held by ties which bind him down.”
“But your mother, what would she say? Would she be pleased? Did she mind your coming away now?”
“M’sieu, I have not left my mother. It is she that has left me. Le bon Dieu has called her away to another place.”
Roy gave one glance of sympathy, which he could not easily have put into words. He was forgetting himself, walking faster, and panting less. Jean saw that it might be well to encourage a little talking now and then.
“But till the last she had her Jean. And she was content. She did not die alone, forsaken and desolate. For that I shall be eternally grateful to ces deux Messieurs, that her last days were in peace.”
“I remember now, Jean, you said you would like some day to do something for my father and for Captain Ivor. Yes—I know—and this is for them. If they could thank you——”