that he might die and believe that she had ceased to love him. She
loved him still, had never loved another; and this she repeated again
and again through four closely written pages, in words of unvarying
import, without the slightest word of excuse for herself, without even
attempting to explain what had happened. There was no mention of the
child, nothing but an infinitely mournful and tender farewell.

The letter produced a profound impression upon Maurice, to whom his
cousin had once imparted the whole story. He raised his eyes and saw
that Honore was weeping; he embraced him like a brother.

"My poor Honore."

But the sergeant quickly got the better of his emotion. He carefully
restored the letter to its place over his heart and rebuttoned his
jacket.

"Yes, those are things that a man does not forget. Ah! the scoundrel,
if I could but have laid hands on him! But we shall see."

The bugles were sounding the signal to prepare for breaking camp, and
each had to hurry away to rejoin his command. The preparations for
departure dragged, however, and the troops had to stand waiting in
heavy marching order until nearly nine o'clock. A feeling of hesitancy
seemed to have taken possession of their leaders; there was not the
resolute alacrity of the first two days, when the 7th corps had
accomplished forty miles in two marches. Strange and alarming news,
moreover, had been circulating through the camp since morning, that
the three other corps were marching northward, the 1st at Juniville,
the 5th and 12th at Rethel, and this deviation from their route was