It was the rainy season; the roads were muddy, and the horses moved
with difficulty. The driver made frequent stops, and whenever the
road showed the slightest inclination to go uphill he would intimate
that it might be well for us to dismount and walk beside the coach a
little.

The cold drizzle penetrated to our very skin and made our flesh
creep. The warmth we had brought with us from the house was
evaporating, and with it went the merry humor of the old man. He
began to contemplate his son, who sat opposite to him, looking him
over up and down.

The wise "lord and master," who had tried to instruct his wife at
home and celebrate the fact of her having reared a soldier for the
army, he failed himself to stand the trial: he began to feel the
pangs of longing and lonesomeness. The imminent parting with his
son, to take place on the morrow, seemed to depress him greatly.

Bent and silent he sat, and one could see that he was lost in a maze
of thoughts and emotions, which came crowding in upon him in spite
of himself.

I took a seat opposite to him, so that I might enter into a
conversation with him.

"Do you remember all that happened to you in those days?" I asked by
way of starting the conversation.

He seemed to welcome my question. In that hour of trial the old man
was eager to unload his bosom, to share his thoughts with some one,