my heart bleeds for you. I write this with the deepest sorrow, but it
may be less painful for you to learn of your loss in this way than to be
tortured by a rumour, the truth of which you cannot prove. Accept my
heartfelt sympathy."

"My father is dead, Felix," I said in a dazed manner.

"He fought a good fight," replied my comrade. "His memory will live in
the hearts of our people."

This might be true, but the knowledge did little to soften my grief. And
I was thinking not of my father alone--after all he had died a hero's
death--but of my mother and sister. How could I tell them this mournful
news? How could I comfort them?

"Felix," I said, "we are going away to-morrow."

"You must stay here," he said firmly, "at least for a few days. I will
inform our patron; he is not likely to leave Saintes for a week. Shall I
come home with you, or do you prefer to be alone?"

"I will go alone, Felix; it will be better for them. I will join you at
Saintes. Good-bye, dear friend."

"Tell your mother and sister how deeply I sympathize with them," he
said. "I would come with you, but, as you say, perhaps it is better
not."

"I think they will prefer to be alone," I answered, grasping his hand in
farewell.