Tremblingly rising, assisted by Muriel, and weeping bitterly, she crossed the floor, supported by her, and sinking down by Harrington, who had covered his breast, she laid her head on his shoulder, while he, in low murmurs, tried to comfort her. Muriel knelt beside them with one arm around Harrington, and his hand held to her bosom. In a minute or two Emily had stilled her grief, and nothing was heard but the low, hoarse sobs of the two men. Watching Harrington’s face, amidst the sobbing, Muriel saw a faint expression of weary pain flit across it. She instantly rose, and turned to the two mourners.
“Mr. Bagasse,” said she, sadly smiling, as she laid her hands on his arm. “I am glad to see you, though I did not think our first meeting would be at such a time as this.”
He dropped his hands from his uncouth and martial features, swarthy-white with grief, and bowed low, with the tears running from his eyes.
“Ah, madame,” he faltered, hoarsely, “ze honor and ze joay I haf to see ze beautifool ladee wife is all covair ovair wis my sorrow. My old vair seek heart is cut all up wis my des-pair.”
“Nay, do not grieve so,” she tenderly replied. “We shall all see the man we love again. Ah, Mr. Bagasse, you could bear to see men die for France. Can you not bear to see one die for humanity?”
“Yes, I haf see vair many men die,” he answered, slowly moving his head up and down. “I was conscrip’ wis Nap-oleon. I see men die in big heap wis cannon an sabre and bayonet at Ligny and Waterloo, an’ I bear it. I see my two brozzer kill dead at Ligny, an’ I bear it. Not Missr Harrin’ton. No. I see him kill—I see ze lof of my heart, so kind, so good, so brave, so tendair wis evairbody, kill by zose murdair devail, and I nevair bear it. Ah, madame, nevair, nevair!”
She smiled sadly with dim eyes, and held out her beautiful white hands to him. He caught them quickly in his, pressed them to his lips, and with a convulsive flush darkly reddening his grotesque and martial features, drew himself up, and looked for an instant at her solemn festal loveliness.
“I bear it, madame,” he cried hoarsely, with passionate vehemence. “You lof him so mush, and you bear it. You learn me zat lesson, and I will bear it wis you. Ah, madame, you are ze brave, beautifool soldier wife. You was fit for his great lof. I res-pect, I ad-mire, I wor-ship you.”
He dropped her hands, bowed low, and falling back a pace, tightly folded his arms, and stood sombre and calm, with his one eye glowing like a coal.
She looked at him for a moment, and then her still eyes wandered slowly to the weeping Captain, and she glided over to him.