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 ' I 
 
 THE 
 
 CONSCIPT 
 
 TALE OF WAR,/ 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER DUMAS. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE COUNT OP MONTE CRISTO," "THE THESE GUARDS- 
 MEN," "TWENTY YEARS AFTER," " BRAGELONNE," 
 "THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN," ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and 
 for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 / 
 
 I. 
 
 THE Two COTTAGES. 
 
 ON the verge of the department of Aisne, to the 
 east of the little city of Villers Cotterets, lost in 
 the edge of that magnificent forest which covers twenty 
 square leagues, shaded by the most magnificent beeches 
 and most robust oaks of all France, is the little village 
 of Haramont, a perfect nest amid the moss and leaves, 
 the principal street of which ascends by gentle declivity 
 to the chateau des Fosses, in which the first years of 
 my childhood were passed. 
 
 As we advance in life, and in reality separate our- 
 selves from the cradle and draw near to the tomb, in- 
 visible threads which attach man to the place of his 
 birth become stronger and more tenacious. The rea- 
 son is, that the heart, mind and intelligence, the whole 
 being in fact, reacts on the spectre we call Time, which 
 ever forces us forward with a stronger hand and more 
 sensible impulse, as if our life were an inclined plane, 
 and as if obedient to the laws of gravity it passed 
 more rapidly towards the end, than at the beginning. 
 Then man returns in sorrow, and cries and clings to all 
 that he weeps with ; and as every thing he sees has the 
 same proclivity, borne by the same torrent, he feels 
 that resistance is vain and desperate. He then reaches
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 after distant objects shining in the morning horizon, aa 
 the expiring twilight sometimes illumes on the oppo- 
 site horizon the walls of some humble cot, or it may be 
 gilds the windows of a splendid chateau. 
 
 Human life is separated into two different phases. 
 The thirty-five first years are those of hope, the last of 
 recollection. 
 
 Another mirage then appears in the desert we have 
 to pass, the oases of which are rare. The reason is, 
 that the objects which attract attention at the beginning 
 of our career, when with brow ereot and arms open, we 
 pursue the fugitive goddess called Hope, objects, to 
 which we scarcely paid attention, which we left unno- 
 ticed by the road-side, despised as too obscure, disdain- 
 ed as too humble, as soon as we have passed the inter- 
 mediate sign, from the moment of the disappearance of 
 hope, except through the medium of memory, while we 
 yet continue on, because FORWARD is the desire of life, 
 but with a drooping brow and hanging arms, objects 
 we say re-appear gradually before the perceptions of 
 the soul, and as it, the daughter of heaven appreciates 
 them differently from the estimate placed on them by 
 pride, their darkness becomes light, their humility 
 greatness, so that we love what we despised and admire 
 what we disdained. 
 
 And why instead of advancing, considering accord- 
 ing to the caprices of my mind or the outbreaks of my 
 imagination, looking for new types, creating new and 
 unknown situations why do I return sometimes in 
 thought at least, to this home of my infancy, in which 
 
 1 find the marks of my shortest steps besides those of 
 my beloved mother, which were measured by my own, 
 from the day when my eyes were opened to that when 
 hers were closed, leaving me sad and isolated by her
 
 THE Two COTTAGES. 7 
 
 Absence, as young Tobias must have been, when the 
 angel re-ascended to heaven after having guided him to 
 the miraculous river, the name of which Moses forgot 
 to tell us ? 
 
 Well ! to-day I will tell you what I saw at the com- 
 mencement of that route, not far from Haramont, on 
 the first descent of the road which led down to the 
 little chateau of Haramont. 
 
 Two cottages, one on each side of the road, are sepa- 
 rated by it alone, with doors and windows exactly op- 
 posite, smiling the one beneath a vine which covers it 
 with a diadem of leaves, and the other beneath a pro- 
 fusion of green moss, which having decked the roof as 
 with a cloak, adorns the walls with a robe of green. 
 
 Two families inhabited those two houses. 
 
 One of the families was composed of an old man of 
 seventy, a woman of thirty -eight, and a lad of sixteen, 
 grand-son of the old man. 
 
 Besides these was a large St. Bernard's dog ; an ass 
 and an ox completed the family. 
 
 These inhabited the cottage on the left of the road. 
 
 The other family had the same number of individuals 
 but had fewer animals. It was Composed of a 
 mother, her daughter, and her son. The daughter was 
 sixteen, and the son five years of age. 
 
 A single cowstandingin the out-house with a rack al- 
 ways full of fresh grass, lowed in reply, with her out- 
 stretched neck and smoking nostrils to the ox, her 
 neighbor, whenever it pleased the latter to bellow forth 
 an interrogatory about news. 
 
 Perhaps the reader, if city bred, fend if he has not 
 led this patriarchal and pleasant kind of country-life, 
 will be amused to hear me enumerate among the mem- 
 bers of a family, a dog, an ass, an ox and a cow.
 
 8 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 I will however say to them "my friends, you are too 
 severe on the humbler portion of creation. I know 
 very well that the benediction of the church does not 
 reach them, that they have no salvation, and beyond 
 the protection of law are pagans and impure ; that the 
 man-God did not die for them, that the church recog- 
 nises no soul to them and does not permit them to pass 
 its threshold to receive the universal benediction. Yet 
 during the holy anniversary of Christmas our Saviour was 
 born in a manger, the type of all humility between an 
 ass and a sheep. Do you however remember that in 
 the east whence we adopted this faith, animals are 
 souls either enchanted or asleep : do you remember 
 that India, the majestic and grave mother of our dis- 
 putations west tell^ us of the revelation of poetry 
 to ^he first poet ? As he sate pensive and alone 
 he saw two doves fly by. He admired the grace of 
 their flight and the ardor of their amorous pursuit. 
 Suddenly an arrow from an unseen hand whistled 
 through the air and killed one of the birds. Then he 
 shed tears of pity, and his sighs measuring themselves 
 with the pulsations of his heart, assumed a rythm. 
 Poetry was born, and since then, verses, melodious 
 doves flit across the earth. 
 
 "Do you remember Virgil the profound and tender poet, 
 ^yhen he deplores civil war, depopulating his paternal 
 fields, when he pities the shepherds compelled to leave 
 their pleasant meadows, thinks of long horned and 
 white oxen, the race of whom has disappeared from It- 
 aly ? Hear him when he pities the sorrows of Gallus; 
 after the gods whom he brings to console him for his 
 fatal love, does he not point out to him his sheep which 
 stand and sadly bleat around him, does he not cry in that 
 melodious language \vhicli caused him to be called the
 
 THETWOCOTTAGES. 9 
 
 Swan of Mantua, " humble sheep; they do not disdain 
 you. Do not disdain them, oh Divine poet." 
 
 "Passing from antiquity to the middle ages, do you re- 
 member the charming and pitiful story of Genevieve of 
 Brabant ? The wife denounced by a traitor, is scorned 
 by the husband. The child guilty of life, is repelled by 
 his parent. A she-wolf shows the mother its cavern and 
 suckles the child. The animal has forgotten that pride 
 of man has excluded them from the family of the undy- 
 ing and receives the wanderers. A beast in the woods 
 saves the innocent mother and child. Succour comes 
 from the humble, safety from the lowly. 
 
 "Do you remember that manuscript of St. Gall which 
 teaches us how we may lead bees when they are 
 swarming, back to the hive ? Tell me if any more 
 touching prayer was ever addressed to an intelligent 
 being than to the Queen of the winged host " I adjure 
 thee, oh mother of the bees, by God, the King of Hea- 
 ven, and by the Redeemer of the world, the Son of God, 
 not to fly so high, but to return as soon as possible to 
 yon tree ; there engroup yourself with your compan- 
 ions and with your children, and you will find a good 
 vase prepared in which you may work for the glory of 
 the Lord." 
 
 The peasant thinks not as you men of towns do. 
 Animals at once take their places in the rustic family 
 after the youngest members as in noble Saxon families ser- 
 vants sate at the foot of the table. In Brittany even 
 now they share in the joy and sadness of the family. 
 In happiness they are crowned with flowers, in sorrow 
 are draped in mourning. Why then should those hor- 
 ses of Achilles who shed tears at their master's death, 
 and the dog of Ulysses who expired when he saw the
 
 10 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 King of Ithica die, be deprived of the privilege of 
 grief? 
 
 Look at the intelligent expression of some, at the 
 dreamy air of others : do you not see there is a pro- 
 found secret between them and the Creator, a mystery 
 understood perhaps to Homer when he wrote the myth 
 of Circe. Does not the crow with melancholy cry, which 
 lives three centuries, that is to say thrice the age of a 
 man, speak in those sad tones of a past sad and sombre 
 as his plumage ? Has the nightingale which comes from 
 the south, nothing to tell us of the grand deserts untrod 
 by the foot of man, it has flown over ? The eagle who 
 gazes at the sun, the owl which sees by night, do not 
 they know better than we, the one what passes by day, 
 and the other, what takes place by night ? In fine, can 
 the great ox, who beneath the tall oaks chews the cud, 
 love those long reveries and utter those painful sighs, if no 
 thought crossed his mind, if he did not perhaps com- 
 plain to God of man's ingratitude, of the elder brother, 
 who contemns him ? 
 
 Oh ! the child, that flower of the human race, is not as 
 unjust as man ; he speaks to animals as to his brothers, 
 and in their gratitude they reply to him. Listen to a 
 young animal and to a child. Listen to the inarticulate" 
 sounds they exchange amid their sports and their ca- 
 resses, and you will be tempted to believe that the ani- 
 mal is learning to speak the language of the child. 
 
 Certain it is, that whatever tongue they speak, they un- 
 derstand and comprehend each other ; they interchange 
 those primitive ideas, which tell us more truth perhaps 
 about God, than ever Plato and Bossuet did. 
 
 Now let us return to those two huts, and seek to 
 make our readers acquainted with the kind peasants by 
 whom they are inhabited.
 
 II. 
 
 CCTTAGE ON THE LEFT. 
 
 cottage on the left, the one overshadowed by 
 
 [ the vine, was inhabited by an old man of seventy, by 
 a woman of thirty-eight, and by a young man of sixteen. 
 It had at the door of the house a large dog which lay 
 at. full length basking in the sun, and in the stable, a 
 neighing ass and a bellowing ox, and had for a master, 
 although not the principal person of our story, an old 
 man of seventy, who was the father-in-law of the woman 
 and the grand-father of the lad. 
 
 The true name of the old man was Antoine Mans- 
 court. He had however been a second son and from 
 the moment of bis birth, about 1740, to the day we write 
 of, that is towards 1810, was called Cadet ; subsequent 
 to his marriage and the birth of his son he had been 
 called Father Cadet. 
 
 Few persons in the village recollected his original 
 name which he had almost forgotten himself. The re- 
 sult was that his daughter-in-law and grand-son were 
 called Femme and young Cadet. 
 
 When we come to speak of the latter we will tell 
 how this surname, in 'consequence of the nick-names 
 usual in villages, had again been changed, not like hia 
 grand-father's from the secondary position he maintain- 
 ed on the genealogical tree of the family, but from his 
 inferior position according to the estimate of the other 
 families he held in the intellectual order of nature.
 
 12 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 Father Cadet was a true peasant, on the outside 
 acute and shrewd as a Picard should be, frank, loyal 
 and honest as it becomes a native of the old territory 
 called the isle of France, Perhaps it might be thought 
 difficult to reconcile this frankness with loyalty, 
 but one may remember that a veil may cover a face 
 and yet permit it to be seen at the least effort made to 
 penetrate its transparency. This comparison will ex- 
 actly express the idea we wish to convey. 
 
 A peasant, the son and grand-son of a peasant, Father 
 Cadet in the person of his progenitors had undergone 
 all the changes of the soil on which he had been born, 
 or rather from which he had sprung. As the soil had 
 been slave, serf or free, he had been slave, serf or free. 
 
 In 1792, the soil became free, and Father Cadet be- 
 came free with it. 
 
 Then he entered as a laborer, the service of the far- 
 mer, who succeeded as proprietor of Longpre, the 
 monks who had owned the abbey of the same name. 
 
 By industry and by economy in the use of the two 
 great necessities of country life, bread and wine, he had 
 set aside the little sum of twelve hundred francs, with 
 which towards 1798 he had purchased two acres of 
 land. 
 
 Then, they said in the village as Father Cadet be- 
 came a proprietor, that he had found a treasure. This 
 was true : This treasure, received from 'God himself, 
 was perseverance, sobriety and moderation. 
 
 One idea is deeply rooted in the mind of the French 
 peasant, that of owning- a portion small, so even as it 
 may be, of the soil of France ; to own a piece of land 
 even if it be no larger than a cradle for his chil.d or 
 the tomb of his father, is to be not a mercenary whom 
 Caprice fixes to-day and anger turns adrift on the next
 
 THE COTTAGE ON THEL.EFT. 13 
 
 day. It is to be not a slave, serf, nor a vassal, but to 
 be free ; a grand and magnificent word which dilates 
 the heart of all who utter it, which exalts man and 
 makes him better. 
 
 About 1798 then, Father Cadet purchased two acres 
 of ground for the sum of twelve hundred francs saved 
 during the thirty previous years of his life. 
 
 It was not the best land of the region. Such pro- 
 duced three or four per cent, and was covered reg- 
 ularly every year with golden barley, with green clover 
 and purple trefoil, while that acquired by Father Cadet 
 long stood unimproved, was covered with stone, and pro- 
 duced almost nothing but thistles. 
 
 Then began the struggle of human labour with a 
 
 o oo 
 
 barren soil. Bent over this soil from four in the morn- 
 ing until six in the evening, Cadet was seen pulling up 
 thistles and heaping up the stones which he dared not 
 throw on his neighbour's land. 
 
 Who knew but that some day his neighbour's 
 land might become his own? 
 
 You remember the charming German ballad called 
 Undine. It is the fable of the attraction of water on 
 the fisherman. Amid the limpid stream he sees the face 
 of a fair-haired nymph smiling on him and reaching 
 forth her arms. Undine gradually approaches the sur- 
 face of the lake, and her blue eye is covered only by a 
 veil v transparent as gause; her fair hair floats on the 
 water and her coral lip breathes in the air a mingled 
 sigh and kiss. The fisherman, plunges in the water ex- 
 pecting to grasp the nymph, but she, on the contrary, 
 drags him below to her grotto of sea-weed and shells, 
 whence he never will emerge to see again his old moth- 
 er who prays for him, nor his weeping children.
 
 14 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 Well, to the peasant, the fascination of land is far 
 greater than that water exerts over the fisherman. 
 
 If the field he owns be round, he purchases land to 
 make it square. More than one, alas ! yields to this 
 ambition. He buys, and to do so borrows at six and 
 eight per cent, on a soil which produces but two per 
 cent. Then a contest between usury and toil begins, 
 and Undine with her claw-like nails often drags the 
 peasant down not to a grotto of sea weed, not to a pal- 
 ace of shells, but to the pallet of misery and to the 
 grave of the pauper. 
 
 Fortunately for Father Cadet he was far too prudent 
 for this, and had learned the maxim " borrow not but 
 amass." 
 
 When the thistles were pulled up, when the stones 
 were cleared away, when the time to till it had begun, 
 he and his daughter each took a spade, put their break- 
 fust and their dinner, poor they were, being composed 
 of bread, cheese and a few fruits, in a basket. Their 
 drink was on the spot, from a spring which gushed from 
 the mountain side ; fresh and transparent as the sun, it 
 wound around the field like one of the silver threads 
 seen in autumn on a green leaf. What else did he need ? 
 At the Sunday dinner the three drank together half a 
 bottle, and the quantity was sufficient to remind them 
 during the rest of the week of the flavour. 
 
 Seed time came and brought rest to poor Madeleine, 
 Cadet's daughter in-law. Then she could return to her 
 child who had while she was at work been left with her 
 neighbour across the way. Labour fatigued her much, 
 but she dared not complain. She, poor woman, had no- 
 thing but her piety and patience, and as her father-in-luw" 
 fed her child and herself, she hud to earn their bread. 
 
 In seed time however she was useless, for Father Ca-
 
 THE COTTAGE ON THE LEFT. 15 
 
 det alone could do all and be it said that what- 
 ever be could do alone the old man did. 
 
 Then came the harrowing. Father Cadet like all 
 industrious peasants, was something of a joiner : and 
 having purchased wood made a harrow. On the even- 
 ing of the day of its completion, he told his step-daugh- 
 ter that on the next day they would harrow. 
 
 It was necessary to cover the seed with earth, for 
 fear the November rains should rot it. 
 
 This was the hardest work yet. They had to har- 
 ness themselves like beasts of burden to the harrow, 
 the weight of which was increased by a heavy stone. 
 To Father Cadet this was nothing, but the labor sur- 
 passed Madeleine's strength. A neighbor who owned 
 about thirty acres of ground, and who harrowed with 
 an ox and an ass, had pity on them, and gave them a day 
 and a half work, and the ground was harrowed. 
 
 " Thank you Matthew," said Father Cadet when all 
 was over, " you have done Madeleine a great favor." 
 
 "Ah ! that is not worth talking of, but if you take 
 my advice by the next year you will buy an ass." 
 
 " There now is Pierrot," pointing to his ass ; " a good 
 animal rising four. As I have just inherited a tri.le 
 from my uncle at Yours, I will buy another ox, so as to 
 have a pair. I will let you have Pierrot for less th m 
 his value." 
 
 Father Cadet shook his head and said : 
 
 " That is more than I can afford." 
 
 He however looked around and saw Madeleine panting 
 and listening to him. 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "Exceeds your means?" said Matthew laughing, " then 
 it is tiot true that you have a secret treasure."
 
 16 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 "Alas no ! Had I a treasure, would I harness my 
 daughter-in-law, poor William's widow, to a harrow ?" 
 
 "True," said Matthew, who understood that neither the 
 look of Madeleine, nor the tone of Cadet could be feigned, 
 and that what he said was a sad melancholy truth. "It is 
 true Father Cadet/' said the good natured farmer, "and 
 on that account I will sell Pierrot to you very cheap." 
 
 Cadet looked at Pierrot, who was a handsome ass with 
 a shining coat, long ears, and a magnificent black line on 
 his back. When he looked at him he dared not ask 
 him the price. 
 
 Matthew saw what was passing in the old man's mind 
 and hastened to encourage him. 
 
 "Ah !" said he, "he will not be dear and you will never 
 have such another opportunity. You can have Pierrot 
 for sixty francs payable in three years, twenty francs at 
 each Martinmas I may you see almost say that I give 
 you Pierrot ? " 
 
 This was true. 
 
 Anxious as he was to do so, Father Cadet did not 
 beat down his price. 
 
 He looked at Madeleine who dare not meet his glance. 
 She did not wish to impel her father-in-law to such an 
 expense on her account. 
 
 " I must see," said Cadet. 
 
 " Look you, Father Cadet ; to au^fher the price would 
 be eighty francs, to you it shaljflbe sixty. I will not 
 besides sell Pierrot without letting you know." 
 
 " Thank you," said Cadet. "You are very kind to us.' 
 
 " The reason is that you are good people and deserve 
 the blessing of God. Therefore Pierrot shall be ypurs 
 when you please. Forward Tardif." f 
 
 Mounting Pierrot he rode home preceded by the ox, 
 who aware that a sack full of fresh hay awaited him,
 
 THE COTTAGE ON THE LEFT. 17 
 
 did not need the goad, thus contradicting his name 
 Tardif. 
 
 Father Cadet had said "I must see" not because he 
 had not seen all the benefit he would derive from" the 
 bargain, but because he would not need Pierrot until 
 it became necessary to work his land again, and till then 
 there was no use in feeding him. 
 
 There was no danger that Pierrot would escape him, 
 for Matthew had promised not to sell the ass without 
 telling him. 
 
 Besides another thing was to precede the purchase 
 of Pierrot. It was the erection of a stable for him. 
 
 The peasant had become a joiner to make a barrow ; 
 to build a stable he became a mason. 
 
 Fortunately he had now room enough back of the 
 house, and there were countless stones in the fields. 
 He had only to purchase a few sacks of plaster. 
 
 Without speaking to any one Father Cadet set to 
 work, though the building of this stable in advance 
 could only have the effect of making Pierrot dearer. 
 
 Matthew was a good man, but no one is so good that 
 the devil does not get into his head at least seven 
 times a day, and we make a low estimate, for if it be 
 only seven times one is almost a saint. 
 
 With a calculation however which doubtless resulted 
 from a secret ambition, he made the stable large enough 
 for two animals. 
 
 In about three months the stable was built, plastered 
 within and without, and a shed fixed on the outside and 
 a rack within it. 
 
 On the day after the stable was finished Cadet heard 
 an ass bray within it. 
 
 He arose in surprise and went to look. He saw Mat-
 
 18 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 thevv who entered at one door as he came in the 
 other. 
 
 Matthew waited for him and bowed to him in a mock- 
 ing manner. 
 
 "Tell me," said Cadet, "did you bring Pierrot hither ?' 
 
 " Certainly I did." 
 
 " But I did not ask you, neighbour." 
 
 " No, that is true, but I saw you build the stable and 
 I said 'Father Cadet has determined I see to buy Pier- 
 rot.' As I bought another ox yesterday and had not 
 room in my stable for three animals, I said now is the 
 time to fix Pierrot, and I put him in the stable. 
 
 " Still at the same price ?" asked Cadet anxiously. 
 
 "Ah ! an honest man sticks to his word. Sixty francs 
 you will owe me, twenty of which are to be paid each 
 Martinmas for three years." 
 
 Father Cadet reflected for an instant. It was easy 
 to see that a great idea revolved in his mind. 
 
 After a few seconds, he decided and said, 
 
 "Well for cash, would you not make some deduction ?" 
 
 "Ah ha! father Cadet, I knew you had a secret 
 treasure." 
 
 "That is not the matter at stake. A question has been 
 put to which you must answer like an honest man. 
 Would you not make some deduction ?" 
 
 "Yes I would make a deduction of six livres and 
 pay for the bottle." 
 
 "I had rather you said ten livres and left out the bot- 
 tle," said Cadet. 
 
 " Ah ! true," said Matthew, "I forgot that you were a 
 water-drinker." 
 
 " Wine does not suit me," said Cadet. 
 
 " Well give me fifty Hvres," said Matthew, "and I will 
 pay for the bottle too. 1 '
 
 THE COTTAGE ON THE LEFT. 19 
 
 " ^ ery well," said Cadet, " wait for me at your Louse, 
 vrhitbtr I will bring the fifty livres." 
 
 " Yes," said Matthew, " that I may not see the hiding 
 place whence you take them. Ah Cadet, you are fine as 
 amber." 
 
 Matthew was as shrewd as Cadet, for he had guessed 
 correctly. 
 
 Father Cadet denied that to be the reason of his 
 postponing the payment ; all his protestations however 
 did not change Matthew's opinion. He left, shaking his 
 head aud muttering, " Father Cadet is fine as amber, 
 fine as amber." 
 
 When Matthew had gone, Father Cadet shut the door 
 behind him and went to the foot of the stairway to lis- 
 ten if Madeleine was in her room or not. Then ap- 
 prcashing his bed and looking anxiously around him he 
 look from a hiding place in the wall an iron box which 
 be opened with a little key, tied around his neck 
 by a leathern string, removed it carefully, as if 
 he thought the fifteen louis d'or it contained would 
 take wings and fly away, closed it, and replaced it, af- 
 ter having taken two louis, completing the sum of fifty 
 francs with a thirty sous piece, he took from a bag and 
 ten sous he dug from his pockets. He then sighed to 
 Bee the two louis which were about to change their 
 master, and set out for Matthew's house, passing 
 through the yard that the sight of Pierrot might console 
 him for the sacrifice he was about to make. 
 
 2
 
 Ill 
 
 FATHER CAD ET A ND HIS FARM. 
 
 HHHE bargain was made, and as Mathew had promised 
 _[_ was concluded at the cabaret of Mother Boulanger, 
 the first hostess of Haramont. 
 
 The next year Madeleine had only to spade. This 
 was hard for the poor woman who was not strong, and 
 as Matthew worked his own land, he saw her, and 
 again had compassion on her. 
 
 " Father Cadet," said he, " I have a proposition to 
 make you." 
 
 Cadet looked anxiously at his neighbor. 
 
 " I know from M. Niguet, who is both your notary 
 and mine, that you have purchased three-quarters of 
 an acre of ground next to me, and paid in cash seven 
 hundred francs in louis d'or. Well, for these three-quar- 
 ters of an acre which are separated from you, 1 will 
 give you an acre and a half which adjoin you. The 
 land is not so good, but an acre and a half is double 
 three quarters of an acre." 
 
 Father Cadet scratchedhis ear. The offer was accept- 
 able. 
 
 " Dame, I must see," said he. 
 
 This we know was his word. 
 
 " Accept quickly," said Matthew, " for this will suit 
 my arrangements, and as an evidence that I desire the 
 thing to be, I wish to make a proposition which I 
 know will suit Madeleine."
 
 FATHER CADET AND HIS FARM. 21 
 
 ' Father Cadet," said she, " is master." 
 
 " Explain yourself," said Cadet. 
 
 " Well. Do you pull up your thistles and carry the 
 Btones away, and in the meantime, I will work not only 
 your three-quarters of an acre but the acre and a half; as 
 the latter is not very fertile, I will give you a load of 
 manure in addition. What say you to that ?" 
 
 " You must give something more," said Cadet. 
 
 " Hark you, Cadet, you are an old .beggar, but that 
 matters not, for I love Madeleine who was a friend of my 
 dead wife. It breaks my heart to see her toil thus. I 
 make her, mark you, her, a present of Tardif, who is too 
 small for his yoke-fellow and not strong enough for the 
 work he has to do." 
 
 " Tardif is old," said Cadet, who spoke at random, 
 not having the slightest idea of the animal's age. 
 
 " Bah" said Matthew, " old ! he is five years old and if 
 I wished to kill him, the butcher would give me eighty 
 francs. I have, however, had the poor animal three 
 years and would not like anything to happen to him. 
 For that reason I give him to Madeleine, who I am sure 
 will never send him to the shambles." 
 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
 " You talk, Madeleine,- as if the bargain was made," 
 said Cadet.. 
 
 " I was wrong, Father," said the meek-minded woman, 
 " and I ask your pardon." 
 
 " You ask my pardon. You ask my pardon. I do 
 not see why. Matthew is right. The bargain may be 
 made. Yes, it may be made." 
 
 " Yes ! it will be made. It is too much to your inter- 
 est not to be." 
 
 "Well !" said Cadet, " if it be not also to your inter- 
 est, why do you propose it ?"
 
 22 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 Matthew looked at him in a mocking tone and paid, 
 " "Why do I propose it ? Because I wish to be useful to 
 you, because I love Madeleine with all my heart, and be- 
 cause, if she had chosen, she never told you of it, she 
 might three years ago have been Madame Matthew. 
 She did not choose, though, but resolved to be faithful 
 to poor William. One should not pout however for that, 
 you understand, for she is an excellent woman, and 
 therefore I propose to you a bargain so advantageous 
 that you have accepted it, and would hang yourself if I 
 were to retract my word." 
 
 " Yes, but," said Cadet, without making a direct an- 
 swer to the question, " who will pay the expenses of the 
 contract ?" 
 
 " Well, is that what wounds you ?" 
 
 " It will cost from thirty- five to forty livres, you se,e." 
 
 " There is a way to arrange all that. Niguet made a 
 contract for you yesterday which has not yet been reg- 
 istered. My name will be substituted for yours, and to 
 the same contract will be made an act of transmission 
 of the land I convey to you. We will then each pay 
 our half of the expenses." 
 
 " Hum !" said Cadet, glancing at the piece of ground 
 offered, as if to see how it would look if it were added to 
 his own. 
 
 " Well 1" 
 
 " But if between now and the time you are to deliver 
 me, Tardif the ox die ?" 
 
 " If Tardif die ! Is he likely to do so ?" 
 
 " It is possible. The almanac says there will be a great 
 mortality of horned cattle." 
 
 " Father Cadet, you are a man of precaution." 
 
 " Certainly : it is my character." 
 
 " Well ; if Tardif die as I told you, he was worth
 
 FATHER CADET AND HIS FARM. 23 
 
 one hundred and eighty livres, I will not contradict 
 my word and will pay you the money. Have you any 
 other observation to make ?" 
 
 " Have you any old ploughshare that you do not usei 
 by chance ?" 
 
 " We will find one." 
 
 " And if we happen not to harrow at the same time 
 will you not lend me Tardif ?" 
 
 " He will be lent to you." 
 
 " "Well ; then I ask nothing better. I come to terms 
 at once." 
 
 Offering his hand to Matthew he said, 
 
 " Tape." 
 
 " Tope" replied the other, tapping his palm. 
 
 " Thus it is. I have given my word and I never back 
 out from it." 
 
 " I think not," said Matthew, looking at him rather 
 discontentedly. 
 
 " Never, never !" said Cadet. 
 
 Madeleine thanked her kind neighbor with a look, for 
 she saw that for her sake he had made these sacrifices. 
 
 From that time Madeleine was excused from plough- 
 ing and harrowing and would devote herself to house- 
 hold cares entirely. 
 
 Father Cadet from this time really became a proprie- 
 tor, for to the house he already owned he had added a 
 field, an ox, and an ass : also a harrow and a plough. 
 
 The field fructified. From two acres it had become 
 eight, and Father Cadet often said, like the Seigneur of 
 Boursonne and the rich farmer of Lurgny, " My land." 
 
 If he had owned one half as much as they, he would 
 have said, " My lands." 
 
 He had often thought of purchasing this pleasure for 
 himself. But often as this idea returned to him, his self-
 
 24 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ishness, a per feet revelation of his ambition, was heard 
 saying "No; it is better to make it compact" 
 
 We repeat that by virtue of this axiom, Father Cadet 
 had rounded and gradually and slowly by annual pur- 
 chase had passed from two to eight acres. 
 
 He loved his land more passionately than he ever had 
 his wife, than he had Madeleine whom we see be had 
 nearly sacrificed to his land yet he loved Madeleine. 
 
 He was on his land every day; and the soil is grate- 
 ful. The more care one takes of it, the more fruitful it 
 is. He thought of it every day from morning until even- 
 ing ; he dreamed of it at night. When his eyes were 
 shut he saw the spots where the clover was thickest and 
 the grain most abundant. This was in summer. In win 
 ter he saw any forgotten stone, any tuft of parasitic 
 grass and said to himself, to-morrow I will throw that 
 stone, frpm the field or I will pluck up that tuft. Thus 
 it was every day and every night. 
 
 Sunday, the 'day so longed for by the workmen of cit- 
 ies came ; the day when God himself the source of all 
 goodness as well as of all power, assumed fatigue in 
 order that men might have a day of rest. Father Cadet 
 would then say after supper, 
 
 " On my word, Madeleine, I will rest well to-morrow. 
 
 Madeleine with a smile would say, 
 
 " You will be right to do so." 
 
 The next day came, and the bells rang and said : 
 
 " This is the day of rest, the Lord's day. Rejoice poor 
 disinherited children of society. Forget the fatigue of 
 yesterday, forget what awaits you to-morrow, deck 
 yourselves in your best and breathe freely between two 
 days of toil." 
 
 At the sound of the bell, while Madeleine with her 
 prayer-book in her hand, went to the church where her
 
 FATHER CADET AND HIS FARM. 25 
 
 son served the mass. Father Cadet put on his best Coat, 
 it was brown, and his wedding coat, put on his dress 
 breeches, his cotton stockings in summer, and grey 
 woolen ones in winter. He then sate awhile on the 
 threshold of his door uncertain what he would do. The 
 passers by would say : 
 
 " Father Cadet, come play with us a match at this 
 and that game Father Cadet, drink a cup with us." 
 
 To each of these propositions, the one more attrac- 
 tive than the other, Cadet shook his head and replied, 
 
 <% I have' not the time." 
 
 And why ? 
 
 Because on Sunday, the day of rest, Father Cadet 
 had a walk to make a visit . , . . 
 
 To his mistress, his land. 
 
 On this day he did not, it is true, go directly to it as 
 on other days, but took a street which lengthened the 
 way by two hundred paces. He sometimes went out 
 of the other extremity of the village, and passed around 
 it. Then he was a quarter of an hour longer. 
 
 The real object of the walk, however, was always 
 the same. It was then in vain that Cadet said, 
 
 " I will not go to the farm to-day. God knows I go 
 often enough in the week." 
 
 Yes, Father Cadet, and because you go thither 
 every day in the week, is the reason why you will go 
 to-day. 
 
 In fact, without knowing how, when, or why he had 
 come, Father Cadet always found himself opposite his 
 farm. 
 
 Be at ease, however it is Sunday, and he will not 
 work. He will not even touch it with his feet, as he 
 may not touch it with his hands. 
 
 Ah ! here though is the stone of which he has
 
 26 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 dreamed. It is a troublesome stone, and he will be 
 rid of it. 
 
 And he saw that very tuft of grass in his dreams. 
 He will pluck the troublesome thing up by the roots. 
 
 Thus for one, two and three hours he looks on, 
 growing momentarily more impatient. He hears the 
 bell ring for twelve. It is dinner time on week days, 
 but on Holydays it is an hour later. 
 
 He must go, or he will keep Madeleine waiting. For 
 if he consumed half an hour in coming, he will need an 
 hour to tear himself away. 
 
 It is not an easy thing, however, for Father Cadet 
 to tear himself away. Before he has gone ten paces, 
 he faces about, crosses his arms and looks. 
 
 At first he smiles. Then he becomes serious, and 
 looks sadly for a long time at this insignificant piece of 
 ground, so small in comparison to larger properties, 
 which yet absorbs his whole existence. 
 
 The clock strikes the half hour and he must return. 
 Having gone thirty paces, however, he faces about 
 again, looks at his ground, with a more sad and sombre 
 air, at the same time more passionate than lover ever 
 cast on his bride. 
 
 He then sets off with a sigh, as if he were not sure 
 that be would find on the next day, his beloved land 
 where he had left it. 
 
 Thus it was always one, or a quarter after one 
 o'clock, when Father Cadet was in sight of the two 
 cottages. 
 
 Not however to the cottage on the left, as one might 
 think, but to that on the right did he look. 
 
 In fact, at the threshold of the cottage on the left, 
 almost always awaiting, his return, stood grouped two 
 women, a young girl, a lad, a child, and a dog.
 
 FATHER CADET AND HIS FARM. 27 
 
 All this group awaited Father Cadet, for as soon as 
 he appeared, all said, " There he is." 
 
 The two women stood on the threshold, the three 
 young people stood on a bench, and the dog sate on his 
 haunches, sweeping the ground with his lion-like tail. 
 
 Without going to the cottage on the right side of the 
 road, Father Cadet paused, and taking his hat in his 
 hand, said, 
 
 " Your servant, Dame Marie. Good day, Mariette. 
 Good day, Pierre. "Well Madeleine, come." 
 
 Then bowing, he replaced his three-cornered hat on 
 his bald head, and went to the cottage which was on 
 the opposite side of the road. 
 
 Then Madeleine said to the elder of the boys, " Come, 
 Conscience." 
 
 " Come, Bernard," said the boy thus addressed, to 
 the dog. 
 
 Madeleine then followed Father Cadet Conscience 
 Madeleine and Bernard Conscience. 
 
 When at the door of the cottage on the left, all 
 turned to smile once more on the woman, the girl, and 
 the boy, and from every mouth came the words, 
 
 " This evening we will meet again." 
 
 We now know Father Cadet perfectly, and almost 
 know Madeleine. Let us now describe Dame Marie, 
 Mariette, Conscience, little Pierre and Bernard.
 
 IV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HEADER is TOLD ABOUT DAME MARIE, MARI- 
 ETTEJ PIERRE, CONSCIENCE, BERNARD, AND SOME- 
 THING or THE BLACK Cow. 
 
 DAME Marie was the wife of the schoolmaster, and 
 lived opposite Father Cadet. 
 
 One day with her daughter just three weeks old in 
 her arms, she entered the cottage of Madeleine, whom 
 she found dressed in mourning and weeping over the 
 cradle of her son, a babe five mouths old. 
 
 " My poor neighbour," said she, " they tell me your 
 milk is all dried up. Is it true ?" 
 
 l< Yes, Dame Marie, it is too true. Do you not hear 
 my poor Jean weeping for hunger ?" . 
 
 " Well, Madeline, do not suffer that to make you 'in- 
 easy, for luckily the Lord has given me enough for two, 
 and my Mariette will be glad to share with Jean." 
 
 Without regard to what Madeleine said she took Jean 
 from his cradle, and with a child on each knee, with the 
 sublime disregard of appearances of mothers, aware that 
 public veneration protects them, uncovered the two 
 globes of her bosom and placed a child at each. 
 
 Then Madeleine fell on her knees and clasping her 
 hands wept. 
 
 " What are you doing, Madeleine ?" asked Marie. 
 
 I adore one of the great Christian virtues, charity. 
 
 Jean drank until be was satisfied of this great cup of
 
 DAME MARIE, MARIETTE, &c. 29 
 
 t 
 life, the only one with a rim of honey and with no dregs 
 
 of bitterness. 
 
 When he was done, Dame Marie said : 
 
 " I will return thrice a day to give your child as much, 
 and if in the meantime he cries, call me. I will not be 
 far, and will have the bottle." 
 
 She then gave the child to his mother, who after 
 clasping him to her bosom, replaced him in the cradle. 
 
 Alas ! poor Madeleine thought she was become less 
 the mother of the child since another nursed him. 
 
 Why did the poor woman dressed in mourning weep ? 
 Why had her milk so suddenly dried up ? 
 
 William, her husband, a soldier of 1792, after having 
 passed a fortnight with her, while on his way from La 
 Vendee to Italy had been killed at Monte-Notte. 
 
 She had learned the news three days before by a let- 
 ter which William, when in the agony of death, had 
 caused a comrade to write to his wife, and the shock 
 was so violent that her milk had dried up. 
 
 She had noticed it on the previous evening, and at 
 first could not realize this new misfortune. She could 
 not believe that a mother's bosom would be exhausted 
 of milk as long as her veins contained blood. Her 
 child's cries, however, had most unwillingly convinced 
 her. 
 
 She wept with grief, as Jean did from hunger 
 but Dame Marie, with Mariette in her arms, at once 
 relieved the child's hunger and thirst. 
 
 Now why did they call her simply Madeleine and 
 Marie, Dame Marie ? 
 
 Not because the latter, poor woman, was either 
 proud or wealthy. She was in fact almost as poor as 
 the humblest in the village. She was the wife of the 
 village schoolmaster and as in the eyes of children he
 
 30 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 is a great character, they called him Monsieur Pierre, 
 and his wife Dame Marie. 
 
 Both husband and wife for a time had been thought 
 rich ; this was true when France, France regenerated, 
 popular France, declared by the voice of the Conven- 
 tion, that the teacher was sacerdotal in character, and 
 that the schoolmaster who instructs the mind was the 
 equal of the priest who purifies the soul; it was when, 
 during the terrible famine of 1795, it voted 11 Bru- 
 maire, Year 9, at the instance of Lackanas, fifty-four 
 millions for primary instruction. The austere and 
 bloody matron lost her honor. The Directory 
 succeeded her, and what mattered it to the Directory, 
 that schoolmasters died of hunger, and those the peo- 
 ple paid the least were exactly its teachers that is 
 to say, those who contributed most to its intelligence 
 and liberty ? 
 
 Thus Dame Marie became Jean's second mother. 
 
 He grew up half on her knee and half on his moth- 
 er's. On the other hand, Madeleine loved Mariette as 
 if she were her daughter, and often carried her in her 
 arms, while Dame Marie held Jean. One sometimes 
 carried both. There was an exchange of love between 
 the two women, though neither had ever calculated 
 which was in advance, and which in arrears, on the 
 mutual account of charity. 
 
 Mariette grew like a field flower, like a violet amid 
 the grass, like a daisy in the grain. She called Jean 
 her brother, and Jean called her sister. 
 
 Jeau did not grow in the same manner. He did not 
 speak as Mariette did, and did not seem to live in the 
 eame manner. Jeau lived a strange, interior, almost 
 vegetative life. Jean was not a child of this world, for
 
 DAME MARIE, MARIETTE,&C. 31 
 
 what delighted and amused him, did not delight and 
 amuse other beings. 
 
 His poor mother, who sometimes looked at him and 
 shook her head, often in tears, attributed this phenom- 
 enon to the following circumstance. 
 
 When William, on his march through France, had 
 left^her, after his fortnight's visit to join his regiment, 
 a deep feeling of sadness seized the poor woman, as if 
 she was aware that she would see her husband no 
 more, and that William had left her for ever. Sadness 
 in pure hearts is the sister of religion, and always 
 pious, Madeleine gave up to prayer, and passed in 
 church every moment she could spare from her labor. 
 
 ISow in the church was a large painting which hud 
 been presented to it by a rich Abbe named Conseil, 
 who lived in the neighborhood. The picture repre- 
 sented Christ among .the children, one of the most 
 touching parables of the Testament. 
 
 The children seemed to bend their knees, and to kiss 
 the hands of Christ. One only stood in the back ground 
 with a large dog. 
 
 This one represented a parable not less full of piety 
 than the others. 
 
 Christ reached forth his hand more kindly to him 
 than to the others, and seemed to make a sign for him 
 too to come. A jealous woman, however, said, 
 
 " Let him be, Lord, for he is a simple, and poor of 
 spirit. 
 
 Jesus ^answered : 
 
 " Blessed are the poor of spirit, for of such is the 
 kingdom of heaven.'' 
 
 This child playing alone with his dog, the simple, 
 innocent and poor of spirit, whom a jealous woman 
 sought to remove from the holy communion of love
 
 32 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 preached by Jesus, had always engrossed poor Made 
 Irine. She pitied the poor deserted one, and when she 
 knelt in prayer before the picture, she always looked 
 at the child called by Christ, to see if it would not 
 leave its place with the dog for whom it prayed, to 
 come with the other children to receive the blessing of 
 the Man-God. 
 
 Every day she said, as she left him thus isolated and 
 far from the Lord, 
 
 " To-morrow I will find him close to his side." 
 
 Her first glance, however, the next day, told her that 
 the position of the child was unchanged, and she mur- 
 mured, 
 
 " Poor child ! happy are you that the Lord has said, 
 ' Blessed are the poor in spirit, for of such is the king- 
 dom of heaven.' " 
 
 Let science, as it will, explain the phenomenon so 
 well explained by faith, but when Madeleine gave birth 
 to Jean, she said, looking at the child, 
 
 " Lord God, have you blessed or chastised me for 
 my child has all the features of the poor innocent you 
 have called to you ?" 
 
 Then she added, with a mother's holy faith, 
 
 " Ah ! do not fear, for he will go whither you guide 
 him." 
 
 Jean really was like the innocent in the picture ; his 
 fair hair, his great blue eyes, which seemed to observe 
 nothing that passed around him as if a veil hung be- 
 tween earth and his understanding. 
 
 The resemblance was so striking, that all recognised 
 it in the child when his mother took him out in her 
 iinns, and the women of the village, ever ready with 
 their pity, often more painful than their indifference, 
 exclaimed as they saw him,
 
 DAME MARIE, MARIETTE, & c . 33 
 
 "Jesus God ! Poor little thing. It is the very fac- 
 simile of the innocent in the picture." 
 k Madeleine smiled, for in her eyes Jean was the most 
 beautiful of children, and she would not own that even 
 Mariette was so handsome. 
 
 Her anxiety, however, was very great. When one 
 year old Jean had never spoken a word, and she feared 
 the child would be dumb. 
 
 One day, however, she was at once delighted and 
 surprised. As she ever said, " My God, enable my 
 child to speak let him not be dumb," the child remem- 
 bered the word he had so often heard, and said, 
 
 God" 
 
 Madeleine fell on her knees and said, 
 
 " Lord, I thank you not only for what you have 
 granted rne, but that the first word uttered by my child 
 was your holy name."^ 
 
 From that moment Jean began to speak, but not as 
 other children did. Other children have, so to say, two 
 tongues, that of childhood, and afterwards a serious 
 language. He however at once* begun with the serious 
 tongue. He however spoke but little, uttering only 
 two or three words, and completing his sentence by a 
 smile, a gesture or a glance. 
 
 Mariette was his only companion, and he was never 
 seen with the other children of the village. 
 
 Besides Jean did not play he dreamed. 
 
 He loved Dame Marie and his mother almost equal- 
 ly. He loved Father Cadet with all his heart, and little 
 Pierre when the latter was born. The rest of the vil- 
 lage, however, we will not call stranger, but unknown 
 to Jean. 
 
 He loved animals, and they loved him. What was 
 there about the child to induce such animals to love
 
 34 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 and follow him ? The obstinate Pierrot, who would 
 often wilfully refuse to cross a rivulet or a ditch for 
 Father Cadet, as soon as Jean either took the bridle 
 or mounted him, became docile as a lamb, and obedi- 
 ent as a dog. 
 
 Tardif, who by his laziness often deserved his name, 
 saw the child far off, and lowed as he drew near. 
 True, the child never entered the stable without 
 bringing his little arms-full of fresh grass and tender 
 flowers, and Tardif then ruminated so voluptuously 
 that one might have thought he had possession of the 
 secret as to what grasses and flowers Tardif preferred. 
 
 The black cow was doubly productive to Dame Marie. 
 Every year she bore a calf, and gave milk every day 
 and thanks to Jean, who had taught Mariette to select 
 the most savorous grass ; the milk of the black cow 
 was famous in all the environs. .It often happened that 
 when the calf was sold the poor mother became sad, 
 and refused to let down her milk to those, who, to enjoy 
 it wholly themselves, had killed her offspring. Then 
 Jean would go into the stable, take the black cow by 
 the muzzle, raise her head as high as his face, and look 
 the dark-eyed animal directly in the orbits and would 
 talk to her what was his language ? the Lord only 
 knows, but the animal would low two or three times, and 
 Jean would call Dame Marie. He would keep his hand 
 on the animal, who submissive, if not consoled, would 
 suffer the white cream it sometimes had retained three 
 days to stream down. 
 
 With wild animals, however, the theory is very differ- 
 ent. As Jean had never done an injury to any living 
 creature, all except those the instinct of which leads 
 them to do injury, loved him. One might have said 
 " they fancied the child to be an angel passing over
 
 DAME MARIE, MARIETTE, &c. 35 
 
 earth with a tongue speaking all languages in the name 
 of the Lord." In fact, from the dreamy manner in 
 which Jean lay on the moss or leaned against a tree 
 listening to the singing birds, one might think from his 
 silent attention, that he understood their song, and could 
 have translated and explained it. 
 
 Mariette, who understood nothing of that tongue, 
 would ask Jean : 
 
 " What bird is that singing ?" 
 
 Jean would say : 
 
 " It is a nightingale, a jay, or a redthroat," for he 
 needed not to see the bird to recognise it. 
 
 As he listened, Mariette would say : 
 
 " What does it sing about ?" 
 
 Jean answered, 
 
 " It thanks God for having spared it a long flight 
 hence to the pool, and for having deposited a drop of 
 dew in that leaf." 
 
 Or else : 
 
 " It thanks God for having permitted the thorn by 
 the wayside to pluck wool from the sheep, for the brood 
 time is come, and with thai; wool the female will make 
 her nest." 
 
 Or yet : 
 
 " It complains that some village child has robbed her 
 nest, without knowing with what seed to feed her 
 young, so that they will die of hunger." 
 
 So too, it was with the plants, grass, and flowers. Jean 
 had never uselessly trampled a plant beneath his feet, cut 
 the grass with his reaping hook, or torn up any flower ; 
 if by mistake he had trodden down any twig or any 
 branch on which he had trodden, he carefully lifted it 
 up, and said if he had done it,
 
 36 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " I did not see you ; forgive me." 
 
 If another had done it, he said : 
 
 " Be not angry with him who has crushed you thus, 
 for he knew not that you live and suffer and weep as 
 we do. He has broken your stem, but your roots 
 remain, and from them a new twig will put forth, which 
 will be more fortunate, will grow and will spread its 
 seed around you, so that next year, instead of being 
 alone and isolated, you will have a family around you." 
 
 Thus it was when he cut grasss for Tardif or for the 
 black cow or when he pulled a' flower for the girdle or 
 hah' of Marietta. 
 
 If he cut grass before he touched it with the reaping, 
 hook, he said : 
 
 " Not to injure you do I cut you ; for it does not 
 injure you to do so for a good purpose, but to feed 
 the ox and Dame Marie's cow who famish." 
 
 The result of this faculty with which he seemed to 
 have been endowed by God, was that he heard and 
 understood all creation, that he was happier with the 
 trees, plants, flowers and birds, in the air and rain of 
 heaven, than in contact with' man; thus while in their 
 language, trees, plants, birds, the air of heaven, rain 
 and sun, said as they sheltered, amused, and caressed 
 him, " he is an angel" the villagers looked sadly and 
 silently at him, and at the age, when children are play- 
 ful and turbulent, shrugged their shoulders, or in the 
 air of mockery said : 
 
 " He is an idiot." 
 
 Yet as he answered the questions put to him cor- 
 rectly, as he never told an untruth ; as he told the truth 
 whether it was pleasant or not, they called him Con- 
 science, instead of Jean.
 
 DAME MARIE, MARIETTE, & c . 37 
 
 The result was that after a while Mariette, Marie, 
 Father Cadet and Madeleine herself adopted the name 
 Jean bore in the village, and like other people called 
 him Conscience. 
 
 I am thinking that it wap a good name, a name after 
 God's own heart. The lad gradually became unfamiliar 
 with any address but Conscience.
 
 V. 
 
 How BERNARD AND LITTLE PIERRE COMPLETED THE ONB, 
 FATHER CADET'S FAMILY, AND THE OTHERS DAME MA- 
 RIE'S. How THE LATTER BECAME A WIDOW. 
 
 IN 1805 Conscience was ten years old, and I, the 
 author, scarcely five. In 1805 my father left the 
 Chateau des Fosses, about a quarter of a league 
 from Father Cadet's cottage, for another chateau three 
 leagues distant called Antilly. 
 
 After the campaign of the Alps, my father brougnt 
 from St. Bernard a couple of those magnificent dogs 
 which the monks of the Convent preserve pure with 
 such care. These dogs were of magnificent size and 
 looked like two year old lions. When we were a,bout 
 to leave Fosses for Antilly, the female gave birth to 
 five pups, two of which had been given away, two left, 
 and the fifth with the cruelty habitual to vulgar men, 
 had been thrown out of the gate by my father's game- 
 keeper, the name of whom was Mocquet. 
 
 Conscience, who was always wandering about, chanced 
 to pass in that direction, and having heard the cries of 
 the whelp, picked it up and carried it not to the cot- 
 tage of Father Cadet, for he was not sure of his 
 generosity, and feared lest having Pierrot and Tardif, 
 he might not wish a new guest, but to Dame Marie's 
 jtable. 
 
 As long as Bernard, thus by abbreviation Conscience 
 
 38
 
 BERNARD, LITTLE PIERRE, &c. 
 
 39 
 
 called the dog, fed on milk, there was no difficulty, 
 for the black cow was there, and the two children could 
 always obtain from Dame Marie, the soul of humanity, 
 whatever it required. But when grown or growing, 
 Bernard with his colossal form and corresponding ap- 
 petite would become a heavy tax on any household. 
 
 Conscience however resolved to run the risk of Ber- 
 nard's introduction into his paternal home. 
 
 Consequently he took advantage of an opportu- 
 nity when it was empty to introduce Bernard, and con- 
 sequently to protect him from Father Cadet's first 
 emotion stood before the animal. 
 
 But not Father Cadet, but Madeleine was the first 
 to enter. 
 
 When Madeleine saw Conscience standing with a 
 dog by his side, she uttered an exclamation of surprise. 
 
 Nothing but the likeness of the dog had been want- 
 ing to complete the realization of the picture in th& 
 church. 
 
 Madeleine was a devout believer, and saw the hand 
 of Providence everywhere. She saw that not in vain, 
 the dog had chanced to fall in the pathway of her child, 
 and that it would be almost sacrilege to separate those 
 who had been joined in the picture. 
 
 Father Cadet however, remained, and it would not 
 be easy to induce him to adopt the dog. Father Cadet 
 not only disdained, but hated useless things, so that 
 'they feared he would drive away Bernard who would 
 have to be introduced either as an object of luxury or 
 of sentiment. 
 
 Fortunately at that time there was a talk of robberies 
 in the neighborhood, and two or three nights befoci 
 Father Cadet thought he heard some one in his yard 
 Bernard was presented to him as a guardian anc
 
 40 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 defender, and having been besought to his own satis- 
 faction, much to the delight of Madeleine, Conscience, 
 and Mariette, consented to his remaining. 
 
 It really would have been a pity to separate the boy 
 and his dog, for a wonderful friendship existed between 
 them. Bernard exhibited an attachment to Conscience 
 which would really lead us to believe in a sentiment, we 
 almost uttered at the commencement of this book, that 
 animals have a soul. The soul of Bernard was grateful 
 to him who saved his life ; this gratitude was translated 
 by an obedience which seemed almost fabulous. At a 
 simple gesture of the boy, the dog would cross water or 
 fire ; his eyes never strayed from his, and if closed in 
 sleep, they always re-opened in the direction of Con- 
 science. They were always together walking side by 
 side. Conscience let his hand towards the dog hang, 
 and the animal licked it as he walked by his side. 
 
 It was well that Bernard was so gentle and obedient 
 to the child, for he was of colossal power and would 
 have been dangerous had not a word or glance made 
 him powerless as the strongest steel muzzle. 
 
 Next to Conscience the person Bernard loved best 
 was little Mariette, then Madeleine, then Dame Marie. 
 As for the heads of the families, the schoolmaster and 
 Father Cadet, Bernard exhibited the most marked in- 
 difference to them. 
 
 As we have mentioned the schoolmaster, let us pause 
 a while on the good man, who having for a moment 
 hoped that the Convention would add something to the 
 three hundred francs, he received from the commune as 
 instructor and chanter, had been forced to relinquish 
 the hope, a mortification which increased as he saw his 
 family increased by a boy, who was consigned by him 
 to the especial care of the Prince of the apostles, and
 
 BERNARD, LITTLE PIERRE, &c. 41 
 
 been called Peter or Pierre, his father's name, to 
 distinguish him from whom, he was called in the Picard 
 patois, QUIET Pierre or little Pierre. 
 
 To complete his misfortune, not long after his son's 
 birth, the schoolmaster became sick and died, so that 
 the two women were reduced to a pension of a hun- 
 dred francs which the commune granted them, and to 
 what they could earn by their hands. 
 
 This took place about 1810 : Mariette was then 
 about fifteen, and could understand the irreparable loss. 
 As was the case in all important events, the two houses 
 became one, and Madeliene and Conscience shared the 
 grief of their neighbors, as if they could thus relieve it. 
 
 But while he wept with the mother and daughter. 
 Conscience had words of consolation for them which 
 seemed wonderfully inspired, so that the two women 
 would often lift up their tearful eyes to see if it was really 
 Conscience the poor innocent who was talking to them. 
 
 Thanks to this voice which seemed to come from 
 above, their grief without disappearing entirely, lost its 
 bitterness, and at the end of six months their hearts 
 like their apparel, without being entirely out of mourn- 
 ing, no longer bore that dark tint by which Hamlet 
 characterises mortal grief. 
 
 A merciful providence watches over the poor ; when 
 misfortune strikes us, we think not only that our 
 strength will not suffice to bear it, but also, that it is 
 really insupportable. We examine the resources left 
 us, and as we reckon them up shudder and ask whither 
 they will conduct us. Life then seems reduced to im- 
 possible conditions, and we tremble to enter into a new 
 life which seems ready to close around us, and to finally 
 stifle us : then days roll by and months follow, while 
 from the bosom of misery seem to spring blessed in-
 
 42 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 epirations : we lift our brows to heaven and there catch 
 a glimpse of God. Then the afflicted, miserable as he 
 may be, is like a criminal, who, while being led to the 
 scaffold, meets a king. He sees that he will not die. 
 
 After having as well as he could, and without sus- 
 pecting that he had the power, consoled, Conscience saw 
 that he ought to aid the two women. Considered even 
 by Father Cadet, a being apart from the rest of the 
 world, Conscience was almost master of his own time. 
 He could then employ it in their service. At first, he 
 suggested to Mariette, the idea of selling in the city, 
 not only the milk of the black cow, but that of the cows 
 of Longpre. It was arranged between her and the 
 owner, a young woman left a widow, with a child five 
 or six months old, and unable. to give her personal at- 
 tention to all the details, that Mariette should have one 
 measure of the milk out of every four she sold, and then 
 as Mariette could not without Conscience's assistance 
 take twelve measures of milk to the city, and as Father 
 Cadet needed Pierrot, and also was not a willing lender, 
 Conscience, with two old wheels, made a kind of hand- 
 cart, to which he harnessed Bernard without diffi- 
 culty. Thus accoutred, he willingly enough drew his 
 liquid load to Villers-Cotterets. When there, Mariette, 
 who had the address of the principal houses of the 
 town, and especially of the Inspector of Forests, offered 
 them her services, saying that if her milk was liked, 
 she would every day deliver to each of her customers 
 the quantity they wished. Mariette was pretty, grace- 
 ful, and had a good voice. Her mourning made her 
 interesting, and on the very first day she fixed herself 
 well enough. 
 
 Every measure she sold for eight sous : she got eight 
 measures from the mistress of Longpre, for selling
 
 BERNARD, LITTLE PIERRE, &c. 43 
 
 which she received sixteen sous. The black cow also 
 gave two measures, which paid sixteen sous in addition, 
 which belonged to Mariette and her mother alone. 
 This was thirty-two sous a day, or almost forty-eight 
 francs a month. 
 
 This, with the hundred francs given to Dame Marie 
 by the commune, amounted to nearly six hundred 
 francs a year, and assured the poor household at least 
 twice what they had during the life of the schoolmaster 
 
 Every morning at six o'clock, Conscience, Mariette, 
 and Bernard, set out with the little car. In three 
 quarters of an hour they reached the city, and Mariette 
 entering the various houses, measured out milk to each 
 one, while Conscience and the dog waited, the latter 
 looking and asking if they were satisfied with him. 
 
 Mariette measured her milk so gracefully, and re- 
 ceived her money so thankfully; there was something 
 too so novel in the attendance of the dog and idiot, for 
 in the city as in the village the poor lad was so esteem- 
 ed that had the mistress of Longpre owned ten cows 
 instead of four, and if Bernard's car had been four 
 times as large, and contained four times as much milk, 
 Mariette would never have brought a drop to Hara- 
 mont. 
 
 On her return Mariette arranged the empty vessels 
 so as to allow herself a place, got in, and Bernard drew 
 her back without fatigue, Conscience walking beside 
 her. 
 
 At nine o'clock, they were generally on their return. 
 
 The result was, that Mariette could assist her mo- 
 ther all day, either with her needle or in taking care 
 of her little brother.
 
 44 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 "When the season of the faine* came, the aid which 
 God himself has extended to the poor people who in- 
 habit the forests, as of yore he gave manna to the He- 
 brews in the desert, Conscience again assisted Mariette 
 in gathering the precious fruit ; instead of permitting 
 the young girl to gather the faines, grain by grain, 
 kneeling on the ground, instead of himself gathering it 
 in this way, he put a broom and a fan in Bernard's car 
 and went into the depths of the forest. 
 
 "When there he picked out a tree well loaded with 
 fruit, and ascended it with an agility almost equal to 
 that of the squirrel, and shook down the faine on the 
 green carpet below. When the grass was thus hidden 
 beneath the fruit, he descended and making a heap of it 
 with his broom, in a halfan-hour fanned out all the faine 
 he had collected. 
 
 The faine being fanned, that is, separated from the 
 dry leaves, sticks, pieces of wood and empty hulls, was 
 put in the car, covered by twigs and carried home. 
 
 The first year Conscience adopted this plan, Dame 
 Marie made and sold one hundred and fifty francs 
 worth of oil, which made her income amount to seven 
 hundred and fifty francs, that is to say more than Ca- 
 det's, though the latter at that time owned six acres of 
 land which thanks to the manure of Pierrot, Tardif and 
 the black cow, yielded to him in exchange for Con- 
 science's services, had become much improved and 
 among the best in the region. 
 
 Conscience had yet dreamed of another thing; he had 
 dreamed of endowing the house, into which God's bless- 
 
 Faine is the fruit of the beech, and contains an oil infinitely 
 better than that of the walnut. When fresh, it is almost as pure 
 as that of the olive.
 
 BERNARD, LITTLE PIERRE, &c. 45 
 
 ing seemed to have entered with him, with a swarm of 
 bees. This was since he had discovered in a hollow 
 trunk a whole family of these laborious insects. The 
 consequence was, that by the advice of the fan-maker, 
 he made an excellent hive, covered it with golden straw, 
 and waited until the bees swarmed. 
 
 He followed them to the free on "which they were 
 about to settle, and as he long had known them, spoke 
 to them as he did to the animals. When the time 
 was come for them to leave he opened his bosom to 
 them without the least idea that any of his little friends 
 would injure him, received a portion of the swarm with 
 the Queen-bee, and followed by the others who playfully 
 hovered around him, he passed through the whole vil- 
 lage which looked with amazement at the winged swarm, 
 and reached the new hive, which the Queen entered first 
 followed by her subjects as if into a palace worthy of it- 
 
 From the next year Dame Marie and Mariette had 
 the best honey in the village to eat at breakfast with 
 their milk. 
 
 But what was especially wondered at, for man won. 
 ders at all he cannot understand, was that as soon as 
 Conscience appeared in the garden, the whole swarm 
 flew to him and settled on his hands and neck, buzzing 
 about the flowers he held in his hands, and which he 
 brought to the Queen, as if in adoration of her majesty. 
 
 The Queen would gravely fly to his finger, shake her 
 diaphanous wings, and rub her legs covered with the pol- 
 len of flowers together.
 
 VI. 
 
 HAPPENED ATHABAMONT BETWEEN 
 1810 AND 1813. 
 
 IN the early part of 1 8 1 a great event took place ; a 
 villager returned from the army with the cross of the 
 legion of honor, and having lost two fingers of his right 
 hand. 
 
 He was young, being scarcely twenty-five ; he had 
 his furlough, two hundred and fifty francs, his cross, 
 and a pension for three years. 
 
 He was a handsome fellow, with a round joyous 
 face, had red hair and moustaches, the latter of which 
 was always waxed and pointed. 
 
 He had served in the Hussars, and when he returned 
 to the village with his blood-colored pelisse, with yel- 
 low lace, his blue dolman, his furred colbach, from 
 from which hung a blue tassel, and his pantaloons with 
 yellow buttons, his appearance produced a double sen- 
 sation, in the first place, as a child of the country whom 
 fathers and mothers were glad to see, and then as a 
 young man agreeable to the village maids. 
 
 He had been enrolled when seventeen, about 1803. 
 He had participated in the campaigns of Austerlitz 
 and of Jena, and in that last brilliant campaign closed 
 by the battles of Esling and Wagram. 
 
 In this last battle while charging a regiment of infan- 
 try, with his squadron, ho received a ball which broka 
 
 46
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT HARAMONT. 47 
 
 I'M index and medium fingers of the right hand, which 
 it had been necessary 'to amputate, and his colonel, 
 who had already remarked him, once or twice when un- 
 der fire, asked and obtained for the brave lad, three 
 well-deserved favors, his cross, his pension, and his dis- 
 charge. Though regretting him as a brave soldier, his 
 inferior officers did not lament him as a comrade The 
 fact is, Bastien, so he was called, after two glasses 
 of wino became quarrelsome, and it often happened, that 
 after having entered a cabaret, arm-in-arm with a com- 
 rade, he left before long, to find some hedge behind 
 which he could fight with and cut his throat. 
 
 Bafttien was himself aware of his unfortunate charac- 
 ter, but as he thought it would be too difficult to cor- 
 rect, he preferred to cultivate carte and tierce with assi- 
 duity, so that he had become an excellent swordsman. 
 The consequence was, that scars on the arms and face, 
 always common in regiments that use the curved sabre, 
 were especially so in Bastien's regiment. 
 
 The majority of these scars had been given by 
 Bastien. 
 
 For this reason, though regretted as a soldier, Bas- 
 tien was not much mourned as a comrade. 
 
 This did not prevent his comrades giving him a 
 grand entertainment on the day of his discharge. Per- 
 haps the festival was especially cordial and brilliant be- 
 cause he was about to leave them. 
 
 When about to separate for ever we forget many 
 things, and they had been able to see, much to the 
 honor of the French soldier, 'that those who were the 
 most scarred were kindest to Bastien. 
 
 Bastien therefore left Vienna, where this farewell 
 Dinner took place, crossed a part of Tyrol and Switzer-
 
 48 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 land, whence he entered France, and appeared at Har 
 amont a very impersonation of the god of war. 
 
 "We have told che effect he had produced. 
 
 Alas ! amid this generous sensation Bastien sought 
 in vain for- the gentle caresses without which there is 
 no real happiness in this world, the embrace of a fa- 
 ther and a mother's kiss. 
 
 Bastien, an orphan from his childhood, had never 
 known this great happiness, and his determination to 
 enlist doubtless arose from his isolation. 
 
 In other respects, as may be seen, Bastien had not 
 lost his time. He returned relatively rich, for he had 
 n've hundred and fifty livres secured him for his life. 
 
 He could therefore either live and do nothing, or add. 
 to his possessions by every trifle he earned. 
 
 Bastien, however, while in his regiment had never 
 worked, so that he adopted no business, but went into 
 the house of Matthew, who continued to add to his 
 possessions, and took special charge of his horses. 
 
 This occupation suited Bastien the Hussar as he was 
 called : it reminded him of his squadron, and Bastien 
 fancied he was conclusive when closing his teeth and 
 extending the lower jaw, he said, seeing the letter E, 
 
 " Ah ! the Regiment ! so it was there it was plea- 
 sant." 
 
 The phrase did not seem to convey much to others, 
 but it was not so to Bastien, to whom it recalled a se- 
 ries of duels, love scrapes, and good dinners and battles. 
 He even recollected his unhappy hours for, it is not 
 the memory of them that we are most unwilling to re- 
 linquish. 
 
 Those who heard him make this exclamation looked 
 at him with surprise and amazement.
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT HJVRAMONT. 49 
 
 " Ah !" said he, a you Pekins cannot understand 
 this." 
 
 This the Pekins never could, unless Bastien deigned 
 to enlighten them a thing he never did, so that Hara- 
 mont never knew what was the pleasure Bastien so 
 piteously lamented. 
 
 Bastien, we have said, produced a profound impres- 
 sion on the women of Haramont. Bastien was young, 
 rich, and handsome, and wore the Cross when that de- 
 coration was not so prodigally bestowed. This was 
 more than enough to turn the heads of the village girls. 
 Yet Bastien was far from having exhibited all his at- 
 tractions. He had not yet exhibited his dancing. 
 
 On the Sunday after his return Bastien made this 
 great choreographic display. The arts touch and unite 
 the great swordsman could not but be a great 
 dancer. 
 
 They danced about five hundred paces from the vil- 
 lage, on the edge of the forest, beneath a circle of hock 
 beeches, on a place carefully beaten by the village 
 master of ceremonies, who levied on each man a sou a 
 contra-dance in return for his weekly labor. 
 
 When on the Sunday after his return he was seen 
 advancing towards the dancing hall, clad in his brilliant 
 costume, with his spurs and well blacked boots, his 
 hair hanging on each side of his face, and with a su- 
 perbly dandinant gait, every eye was turned towards 
 him, and awaited him with curiosity. 
 
 A decided opinion in relation to Bastien had not yet 
 been expressed by the young girls, who wished to see 
 if he danced as well as he did every thing else. 
 
 Every one too was anxious to see whom Bastien 
 would ask first.
 
 50 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 Bastien approached a dark-eyed girl with arched 
 brows, named Catharine, who had, they said, been tc 
 the great city. 
 
 Catharine in fact had entered the service of a noble 
 lady of the vicinity, had gone to Paris with her, and 
 had in about a year returned pale and thin, but with 
 about an hundred louis, which she had put out on a 
 first mortgage in Master Niguet's office, and which 
 brought her about one hundred and twenty livres a 
 year. 
 
 Whence came those louis ? 
 
 Catharine gave this explanation. Her mistress had 
 a dangerous illness, during which Catharine had attend- 
 ed her with such devotion, that on her recovery she had 
 been presented with an hundred louis. 
 
 Unfortunately for Catharine, all the world did not 
 believe this very ingenious history. One single objection 
 made a breach in it. 
 
 They asked Catharine why she had left so kind and 
 grateful a mistress. 
 
 To which Catharine could only reply, that she suf- 
 fered from ennui and had returned to the village. 
 
 Many doubted if this was the source of Catharine's 
 ittle fortune. 
 
 Some even went farther, and assigned another origin 
 at Catharine's little fortune. 
 
 They said that not the mistress, but the maid, had 
 been ill, as was proven by her pallor and emaciation. 
 
 They added that the hundred louis Master Niguet 
 had invested were derived not from the benevolence of 
 the Baronne, but from the liberality of the Baron. 
 
 We must say that this tradition, malevolent as it 
 was, explained the return of Catharine more clearly 
 than the other, and was more generally believed.
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT HARAMONT. 51 
 
 Consequently, in spite of Catharine's brilliant beauty 
 in spite of the hundred louis securely placed, no vil- 
 lager had yet been found willing to marry Catharine, 
 
 Many however had paid court to her. 
 
 Catharine however had declared that she was an 
 honest girl, and that she would listen to none who did 
 not appear with the marriage pen in his hand. 
 
 This caused the miller of Wealu, a rather rough 
 growler, to say that the egg of the goose who was to 
 produce that pen, was not yet laid. 
 
 Bastien approached Catharine with his leg thrown 
 forward, his arms loose, and presented her his chamois- 
 gloved hand. 
 
 Catharine accepted it with a glance of triumph, and 
 took her place in the circle with Bastien. 
 
 During the ritornella Bastien took off his belt, and 
 gave his sabre and sabretasch into the hands of the 
 son of the master of ceremonies, (who collected the toll 
 between the dances,) with as much grace and dignity 
 as Mars when about to dance with Venus would have 
 deposited his buckler and shield in the hands of Amor, 
 
 Much was expected from Bastien, but we must say 
 he surpassed all anticipations. Bastien had a step for 
 each of the four figures which complete the contradance. 
 Things were done that the Haramontese believed im- 
 possible. All crowded around to see Bastien dance, 
 so that he himself, in spite of this triumph of his self-love 
 was obliged to ask his compatriots, if they wished to see 
 him dance to allow him a little more room. 
 
 All recognised this request to be just, and complied 
 with it, and Bastien concluded his last figure with two 
 or three entrechats which were so perfect that all the 
 spectators applauded loudly and long. 
 
 Bastien took his partner proudly to her place, and 
 4
 
 52 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 looked around to see whom he would next honor with 
 his hand. 
 
 At the foot of the dancing place, not mingling with 
 the dancers, and attracted by curiosity alone, were 
 Dame Marie and Mariette. Baetien saw her sweet 
 pure face, and without noticing the color of her dress, 
 said to her, in his most flowery style, 
 
 " Mademoiselle, will you honor me with your hand 
 at the next contradance ?" 
 
 Mariette blushed, for the eyes of all had followed 
 Bastion, and were directed on her. 
 
 " Thank you, M. Bastien, but you see, I am in 
 mourning for my poor father." 
 
 " Ah !" said Bastien. " You see when I saw you 
 approach the dance, I fancied." 
 
 " You are right," said Mariette. " I was wrong to 
 come with a sad heart, and in mourning, where people 
 are amusing themselves. Will you go, mother ?" 
 
 She hurried Dame Marie away by the road which 
 led by the edge of the forest 
 
 " Oh, ho !" said Bastien, " little Mariette seems while 
 I have been absent, to have changed her name. She 
 must be Mile. Pincee. 
 
 Mariette did not hear what Bastien said, but others, 
 among whom was Conscience, did. 
 
 Conscience had paid so little attention to the dance, 
 that he lay stretched out on the other side of the bank, 
 and his great dog served him, as he usually did, on 
 such occasions, as a pillow. 
 
 He looked at Mariette through the dancers, and he 
 forgot all this as he saw them moving in time to the 
 music, and the violin players beating time. 
 
 Like every one else he had for a moment looked at 
 Bastien and pitied him sincerely, for being forced to
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT HARAMONT. 53 
 
 dance in so fatiguing a manner. He could not com- 
 prehend a man moving his legs so violently, and giving 
 himself such fatigue, unless constrained to do so, by 
 some law or obligation. 
 
 When he saw Bastien leave the circle, and advance 
 towards the young girl, he suspected his intention, and 
 would have been sorry to see Mariette make herself a 
 spectacle by dancing with a young man who moved so 
 differently from the other villagers. 
 
 Distant as he was from the group, the faculty he 
 enjoyed of bearing the most distant sounds enabled 
 him to hear the question and the answer. He thought 
 Mariette had replied correctly, and that Bastien was 
 rather impertinent. He however thought a man who 
 who had taken such violent exercise might very well 
 be a little put out. 
 
 He pitied him therefore, instead of blaming him, and 
 with Bernard followed Mariette. This he did naturally 
 as the satellite follows a star.
 
 VII. 
 
 SEQUEL OF WHAT HAPPENED AT HARAMONT BE- 
 TWEEN 1810 AND 1813. 
 
 TlllOM this moment a position was definitely 
 
 ' assigned to Bastien the Hussar. The women 
 looked on him as the paragon of perfection and of good 
 manners ; men esteemed him the most disagreeable per- 
 son they had ever seen. 
 
 The only persons who had escaped the sympathy 
 and antipathy were Conscience and Mariette. 
 
 Mariette was indifferent. 
 
 Conscience pitied him. 
 
 Conscience would have agreed with the Dey of Al- 
 giers, when present at a magnificent ball, the giver of 
 which danced and waltzed like one of bis guests, sent 
 for him, and said with an expression of great simplicity 
 and good humor : 
 
 " Monsieur, why is it that being as rich as. you are, 
 you take the trouble to dance yourself?" 
 
 The result was, that the men whom Bastien took 
 good care not to give the least idea of turning in, three 
 times left the field of the waltz free to Bastien, who like 
 an Eastern Pacha had but to throw down his handker- 
 chief without any fear of difficulty. 
 
 54
 
 SEQUEL. 55 
 
 The peasants had wished to protest, but <*t the first 
 rumor, Bastien had faced about and twined his mous- 
 tache like a cork-screw around his finger, saying in the 
 peculiar manner of his regiment of Hussars, " If you 
 please ?" All was then submitted to at once. 
 
 Not as a dancer alone had Bastien gained the admi- 
 ration of the Haramontese, but also as a rider : Bastien 
 sate his horse like an Hussar of Guard, that is to say, 
 with a rare perfection. As he had especial care of 
 horses, he did not fail to mount Matthew's colts and ride 
 them bare-backed, through the environs, chosing those 
 roads which took him through the village both going 
 and coming. 
 
 Strange though to say, though spught after by the 
 handsomest girls of the village, better received than 
 the other young men by Catharine, who seemed dis- 
 posed for his sake to renounce the matrimonial rigor- 
 ism she affected to others, all seemed indifferent to him 
 so long as he could not see Mariette following him aa 
 he caracolled through the street. 
 
 Therefore the more restive and evil disposed the 
 horse he rode, the more inclined he was to go to Dame 
 Marie's side of the village, so that Mariette might be 
 obliged to see him a modern Alexander display his skill 
 in breaking a new Bucephalus. 
 
 Sometimes his attention was half rewarded, for 
 Mariette looked at him from curiosity, and Conscience 
 because Mariette did, asking himself sometimes why 
 instead of using the spur and whack to subdue the res- 
 tive animal, he did not use the simple means of speech, 
 with which, in the course of a few moments, Conscience 
 subdued the most restive animals brought him. 
 
 Bastien either because he saw that Conscience's 
 heart was filled with love for Mariette, and that Mari-
 
 56 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ette had a great tenderness for Conscience, did not 
 like him. Let us at once say that this feeling of aver- 
 sion did not amount to hatred. Conscience was 
 BO good and quiet that none could hate him, but he 
 was unpleasant to Bastien, as any thing that annoys 
 us, and is in our way, always is. 
 
 Bastien therefore never lost an opportunity to mock 
 Conscience and his angelic sweetness of disposition, 
 which to Bastien seemed pusillanimity that was his 
 principal theme. 
 
 Conscience was not a dancer, nor a rider, nor a 
 swordsman ; he was ignorant of the three arts in which 
 Bastien excelled. 
 
 Bastien therefore Jaughed at Conscience not only for 
 what he was, but for what he was not. 
 
 We need not say that Conscience listened to all this 
 ridicule with calm indifference. 
 
 A thing however happened one day which made Bas- 
 tien reflect. 
 
 As he had in the whole neighborhood, great reputa- 
 tion as a horse-breaker, the farmers and proprietors 
 who had bad-tempered colts or restive horses, sent for 
 Bastien, who after two or three trials, reduced the reb- 
 els as Baucher or Franconi would have done. 
 
 One day Bastien was sent for to ride a horse pur 
 chased by a farmer in the neighborhood named M 
 Detournelles. As it was Sunday, Bastien naturally 
 vain-glorious, resolved to make a public display of his 
 equitation, and chose the village square, and the hour 
 when the people would leave mass, as the scene and 
 time. 
 
 Just when the first young girls, and it is always they 
 who are most anxious to regain the light and liberty 
 they have lost during divine service, appeared at the
 
 SEQUEL. 57 
 
 church-door, Bastien appeared on his horse at exactly 
 the opposite side of the square where a street ended. 
 
 The horse had consumed an hour in coming from 
 the farm to the village, the distance being half a league, 
 and had been restrained by his rider, anxious to arrive 
 neither too early nor too late. 
 
 The consequence was, that the horse was white 
 with foam, his eyes blood-shot, and his nostrils smoking 
 with rage. 
 
 When on the square, that is to say, on a fitting 
 arena, the exercises began. 
 
 Victory at first seemed about to declare itself in favor 
 of the man, but either because the horse was sensible 
 of the instinctive dignity, of which Buffon speaks, or 
 that he had during the previous hour borne all Bas- 
 tien's affronts to gather up strength to inflict signal 
 vengeance, when he saw himself in front of the crowd- 
 ed steps of the church, as if of a circus, the windows 
 filled with faces, like the boxes of a theatre, be- 
 gan a series of jumps and rearings, terminated by so 
 unexpected a leap, that good a rider as Bastien was, 
 he was thrown in the dust ten paces from the spot 
 where his horse had stood. 
 
 As soon as the horse was rid of his rider, with his 
 head and tail erect, he galloped back to the farm. 
 
 This fall was much laughed at by the young peas- 
 ants, who totally eclipsed and constantly laughed at 
 and supplanted by Bastien, did not very closely sym- 
 pathise with him ; when, however, they saw Bastien, 
 instead of rising at once, as one does under such cir- 
 cumstances, remain motionless in the place where he 
 had fallen, they saw that his head having struck the 
 ground, he must certainly have been stunned. They 
 hurried therefore to his assistance.
 
 58 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 They were not wrong for Bastien was completely 
 stunned. 
 
 They lifted him up, gave him a glass of brandy, 
 fanned his face, and Bastien at once opened his eyes 
 and his mouth. 
 
 His eyes, he rolled wildly about, as if to search for 
 his horse. 
 
 His mouth, to swear and blaspheme, thus informing 
 the peasants of Haramont how much richer the lan- 
 guage of camps is than that of villages. 
 
 All at once his eyes paused and his mouth closed, as 
 if he had seen the head of Medusa. 
 
 He had seen something more terrible to him. 
 
 Conscience was bringing the restive horse back again 
 having mounted him and found him gentle as that 
 animal on which the Lord made his entrance into Jeru- 
 salem. As he held a green bough in his hand, he re- 
 called Palm-Sunday, which, his feet hanging out of the 
 stirrups, his kind eyes, sweet smile, and the separation 
 of the crowd before him, presented as accurate a re- 
 semblance to God as a poor mortal could. 
 
 For a moment Bastien fancied himself in dreamland , 
 he rubbed his eyes, muttered indistinctly, but saw that 
 positive real thing draw near as a fantastic vision might 
 have done. 
 
 " M. Bastien," said Conscience calmly, " I was on 
 the road to Longpre, and saw this horse running away, 
 and was afraid you would be uneasy, and brought it 
 back." 
 
 AH laughed except Bastien,' and Conscience looked 
 at the crowd with astonishment, not understanding why 
 they laughed. 
 
 He blushed, dismounted, and handed Bastien the 
 bridle. Then placing his hand on Bernard's head, he
 
 SEQUEL. 59 
 
 set out to fcilow Dame Marie and Mariette, who being 
 among the last to leave the church, had no very dis- 
 tinct idea of what all this was about. 
 
 Bastien forgot to thank Conscience, and anxious for 
 his revenge, sprang again on the back of the horse. 
 One might almost think, however, that the devil which 
 a quarter of an hour before possessed the animal, had 
 been exorcised by Conscience. The horse submitted 
 to his rider without a curvet or a start. 
 
 Bastien took back M. Destournelles' animal com- 
 pletely broken. 
 
 We need not say that the hussar was careful not to 
 tell how this had been accomplished, and received the 
 greatest credit for it from the farmer. 
 
 As, however, he never could account for the means 
 adopted by Conscience to subdue an animal which had 
 unseated him, and as he, Bastien, was too proud to ask 
 Conscience for his secret, which the latter would have 
 found much difficulty in explaining, the result was evi- 
 dent, but the cause remained obscure. 
 
 Another circumstance also happened, which much to 
 Bastien's distaste, left him under obligations to Con- 
 science. 
 
 Besides dancing, fencing and riding, Bastien was 
 very fond of the chase. Before he enlisted in the army 
 Bastien had been one of the most expert poachers 
 alive ; on his return, thanks to his Cross of the Legion 
 of Honor, a decoration at that time much respected, he 
 hunted where he pleased on the estates of Haramont, 
 Longpre and Largny. 
 
 At first there had been one difficulty : the amputa- 
 tion Bastien had undergone of the index and medium 
 fingers of the right hand, made the management of the 
 gun impossible at first. Instead, however, of persist-
 
 60 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ing in firing from the right shoulder, Bastien learned to 
 use the left. For a month he missed all that he fired 
 at then thpee out of four then half, until finally he 
 became as skilful with the left as he had been with the 
 right that is to say, he became one of the best shots 
 in the canton. 
 
 One of the favorite hunting fields of Bastien, be- 
 cause it is usually the fullest of game, was the marsh. 
 
 The marsh he visited most frequently, because it 
 was but half an hour distant from Haramont or 
 Longpre, was that of Wualn. 
 
 There lived another famous sportsman, the malicious 
 miller who ventured on the jest about Catharine's mat- 
 rimonial pen. 
 
 Bastien had heard of this, but instead of being angry 
 had more than once laughed over the matter with the 
 miller, a thing that proved the matrimonial pen, so 
 much coveted, would not be presented by him. 
 
 The miller and Bastien then were the best friends in 
 the world, and when the season came, shot three or 
 four times a week sometimes together and sometimes 
 alone. 
 
 One day, then, when Bastien was hunting alone in 
 an immense pond extending from the north to the south 
 of the valley, overlooked by a dam on which stands a 
 mill, a snipe arose, which with his usual skill Bastien 
 knocked over. 
 
 The snipe fell in the pool. 
 
 All know how a sportsman dislikes to lose his game 
 and Bastien being more unwilling even than the ma- 
 jority are to do so, resolved to have his bird at all 
 risks. 
 
 For this purpose he laid his gun on the grass, so as
 
 SEQUEL. 61 
 
 to be able to use both his hands, and began to advance 
 with care along the trembling bank of the pool. 
 
 When as far as he could get, Bastien was yet eight 
 or ten feet from the bird. 
 
 Bastien, though a good shot, rider, dancer and 
 sportsman, yet had a defective education he was una- 
 ble to swim. 
 
 Bastien could only reach the bird by swimming a 
 thing he would have undertaken had he been but a 
 swimmer of the third order. 
 
 Just at this moment Bastien would willingly have 
 exchanged either of his other talents to be able to 
 swim. 
 
 He would not however relinquish the snipe. 
 
 Fortunately there was no current in the pool, and 
 the bird remained stationary. 
 
 Bastien looked around him and saw a willow, to 
 which he went, and having broken off the longest 
 branch, returned to the extremity of the trembling pro- 
 montory. 
 
 By the addition of the length of his arm to that of the 
 willow, he was able to reach the bird. 
 
 But the pliant extremity of the twig was not suffi- 
 ciently strong to draw the bird to him. 
 
 By a miracle of balancing he gained six inches more 
 space. 
 
 He bent further forward and described a semicircle. 
 
 Bastien made a greater effort yet, and fell in. 
 
 He saw the consequences at once. 
 
 The chances were ten to one that he would be 
 drowned. 
 
 Short, then, as the time was, he uttered a cry of dis- 
 tress, for he was in a truly lamentable situation 
 
 Fortunately Conscience, returning from Vanciennes,
 
 62 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 crossed the dam of the pond, in company with his 
 faithful Bernard. He heard the cry and hurried to the 
 place -whence it seemed to come. 
 
 There was a pathway through the rushes which Con- 
 science followed, and thus reached the extremity of the 
 promontory whence Bastien had fallen. 
 
 He saw the water bubbling as if air was rising to the 
 surface. 
 
 Amid all this, he saw two hands attempting convul- 
 sively to grasp something. 
 
 He needed no more to tell him that a man was being 
 
 O 
 
 drowned, and without looking to see who it was, called 
 to Bernard, who sprang into the water, beneath which 
 he disappeared. 
 
 Five seconds afterwards he rose to the surface hold- 
 ing Bastien by the collar of his coat, and swam to the 
 shore, where Conscience pulled the half-drowned hus- 
 sar from the water. 
 
 Then the two recognised each other : Conscience 
 was really glad that he had been able to extricate 
 Bastien from danger, and the latter somewhat ashamed 
 at having received such a favor from Conscience. 
 
 As, however, in the main, Bastien was a good enough 
 fellow, and as his fear of death had made him estimate 
 the value of life, he began by thanking Conscience 
 from the bottom of his heart. As Bernard also had 
 powerfully contributed to his preservation, he preferred 
 to owe something to a dog than to a man, and contrived 
 that the greater part of the glory should accrue to 
 Bernard. 
 
 Thus whenever Bastien saw Bernard he exhibited 
 an excess of gratitude to him, which was but ingratitude 
 to Conscience. 
 
 Conscience, however, did not remark this bearing
 
 SEQUEL. 63 
 
 which would have been painful to another with a less 
 Christian heart, and as often as the matter was alluded 
 to, Bastien said with forced gaiety : 
 
 " On my word, I was in a bad way, and but for Ber- 
 nard there, would now have been food for the pikes of 
 Father Charpentier, would I not, Conscience ?" 
 
 Conscience would simply say, " Bernard is a good 
 dog." 
 
 Days, months, years thus passed with such simple 
 events, and such as we have recorded, almost reflect 
 the life they led, as a mirror would.
 
 VIII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF WHAT HAPPENED AT HARAMONT 
 BETWEEN 1810 AND 1813. 
 
 they reached the end of October 1813, and on 
 his return from his farm one day about noon, Fa- 
 ther Cadet found Dame Marie, Madeleine, Mariette, 
 Conscience and Bernard, grouped on the threshold of 
 the cottage on the right, and thence, as we have alrea- 
 dy said he usii'ally did, proceeded to the right. 
 
 That evening the Veillee began. On that day with 
 Mariette having served the milk in the city, Conscience 
 had returned through that part of the forest called " the 
 chesnut grove," and had gathered a large bag of nuts 
 which Bernard brought back in the car. 
 
 These chesnuts, with a few bottles of sweet cider, 
 were to be the repast of the evening, at this village 
 rout, as most luxurious food is at city entertainments. 
 
 The veillee took place in an immense cave, into 
 which every girl took her spinning wheel ; a lamp hung 
 from the roof lighted with its quivering blaze every 
 face. It was dim, to be sure, but gas light was not 
 needed to manage the wheel, and in this half darkness 
 labor lost little, and love gained much. 
 
 As may be presumed, as soon as the young men 
 were admitted, Bastien, who was also admitted with,
 
 SEQUEL. 65 
 
 and would have been to the exclusion of the others^ 
 was the principal ornament. 
 
 Bastien, for Sunday evenings, invented many games, 
 which in spite of the imagination displayed, had little 
 chance of being adopted. Some submitted to the mo- 
 thers, and to the most prudent of the girls, were pro- 
 nounced too hussarish not to receive corrections. 
 
 Mariette, like the other young girls, attended these 
 veittees. Not to have done so would have attracted 
 attention, and it would have been thought contemptu- 
 ous in Haramont, to remain Out of the circle of young 
 girls of her age. 
 
 Mariette, however, rarely sang, danced, or joined in 
 the little games in which Mme. Longueville used to join, 
 under the pretext that she was not fond of innocent re- 
 creations. 
 
 Mariette, therefore, usually sat in a corner occupying 
 the least possible place, and having Conscience before 
 her, either erect or on the ground, with Bernard at his 
 feet. He seemed to look at the young girl's beautiful 
 face, not only with his eyes, but with every aspiration 
 of his body. 
 
 From custom, no one disputed this place to Con- 
 science. Had any one wished to affront him, all the 
 village would have risen en mass, for they adored the 
 poor idiot as he was called,-to avenge the affront. They 
 objected, however, to Bernard, a mere quadruped, and 
 who took in the dances and games but a secondary in- 
 terest, but who, occupping much room, added nothing to 
 the pleasure of the company. 
 
 On this occasion an exception had been made in his 
 favor, in consideration of his having pulled the ches- 
 nuts from the neighborhood of Villers-Cotterets to Har- 
 amont.
 
 66 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 The weather without, was cold, sombre and dark, 
 but the cave being close and well heated, the young 
 people heard the wind whistle through the b* ranches, 
 from which it tore the dry leaves which whirled in the 
 night like a flock of owls. 
 
 All the world resumed the state of things of the pre- 
 vious year. Those of the women who like Mariette ex- 
 pected to be mere spectators, and there were two or 
 three, had taken the precaution to bring their wheel and 
 dietaff and span. 
 
 The veillees always began with songs, which some- 
 times are naively simple; it is well known that the modes- 
 ty of young villagers is not easily roused as that of city- 
 bred young women is, and that what makes the latter 
 blush and look aside, the former receive with a merry 
 laugh. 
 
 They draw by lot the name of the person who is to 
 begin. As they knew Mariette declined taking an ac- 
 tive part, her name was not placed with the rest. 
 
 The others were thrown into a hat which was placed 
 before Conscience, who put in his hand and drew out 
 Catharine's name. 
 
 All were delighted when Catharine sang, for she not 
 only knew the best songs, but executed them with an 
 air and style, they said she had acquired at the Parisian 
 spectacles, when she had accompanied her kind mistress 
 to the great city. 
 
 Catharine did not wait to be besought. She called 
 nine young girls to her, and then the ten seizing hold of 
 each other's hands, received each a name which occur- 
 red in the ronde. 
 
 They balanced their hands backward and forward, and 
 the slightly metallic voice of Catherine began a song in
 
 SEQUEL. 67 
 
 the Picard patois which, we are sorry we cannot repro- 
 duce in a suitable form to please our readers. 
 
 .The Rondo of Catharine had great success with the 
 young men and women, but did not suit Bernard who 
 as if he wished to protest against the immorality of the 
 two last verses, lifted up his head, looked towards the 
 door, and howled. 
 
 We need not say that this protest w*as not well re- 
 ceived by the company, and that the dog was told to be 
 silent. The company unanimously asked for a second 
 song. 
 
 The names were again put in a hat and handed to 
 Conscience, who seemed engrossed by Bernard's howl- 
 He took out Bastien's name. 
 
 Bastien was not likely to be frightened by a song, for 
 he had a full repertory. It was however of a peculiar 
 kind, and not calculated even to suit the least shame- 
 faced young women. 
 
 " Ah ha !" said he, twisting his moustache, " so it is 
 my turn to sing." 
 
 " Yes," said the girls, " a good song." 
 
 " How good ! I never sing any others." 
 
 A murmur of incredulity pervaded the room. 
 
 Almost immediately, as if to reassure the company 
 Bastien thundered out the following song. 
 
 Les hussards en campagne, 
 
 Rintintin ! 
 Les hussards en campagne, 
 
 Rintintin ! 
 
 Un pied chausse et 1'autre nu, 
 Pauvre hussard ! d ou reviens-tu ? 
 Rintintin !* 
 
 * The Hussars in campaign, 
 
 Tira la Tirala ! 
 The Hussars in campaign, 
 With one leg booted, and the other bare, 
 Tell me, hussar, what you are, 
 
 What you are, etc. 
 5
 
 68 T H E Qo N S C R I P T . 
 
 But here there was an outbreak of opposition which 
 was apparent at the first verse. 
 
 " Ah ! Monseieur Bastien," said the young girls clas- 
 ping their hands, " another !" 
 
 "Why another?" 
 
 " Because," said the young men, " we know that. 
 You have already sung it ten times." 
 
 Bastien frowrfed on the young men and said, " Sup- 
 pose I have, and choose to sing it eleven." 
 
 " You can sing as you please, Bastien, but we are 
 not bound to listen." 
 
 Two or three started to leave. 
 
 Bernard was of the opinion of those who protested, 
 for he arose a second time, and uttered a second howl, 
 yet more lugubrious than the first. 
 
 All trembled. 
 
 " My God!" said Mariette, "some one is dying." 
 
 " Will you make that dog hush ?" 
 
 " I can," said Conscience, " tell Bernard to pull Bas- 
 tien out of the water when Bastien is drowning, but I 
 cannot make him hush when he wishes to speak." 
 
 ' You can not ? Then if he howls again, I will make 
 him." 
 
 " Bastien," said Conscience, in a persuasive voice, 
 " let me advise you not to quarrel with Bernard." 
 
 " Why not ?" said Bastien, 
 
 " Because Bernard wishes you to do so." 
 
 " Bernard does ? and why ?" 
 
 , "You do not like me, Bastien, and Bernard does 
 not like those who hate me." 
 
 All, even Bastien, were mute at this melancholy 
 answer. 
 
 " What folly ! I do not hate you," said he. " Far 
 the contrary."
 
 SEQUEL. 69 
 
 He offered Conscience his hand. 
 
 Conscience smiled, and gave him his. 
 
 Bernard arose, put out his tongue and licked their 
 united hands. 
 
 " You see he does not hate me," continued Bastien, 
 who persisted in pronouncing the word hate in his 
 peculiar manner. 
 
 " Because you are good enough in the main," said 
 Conscience, " and sometimes say to yourself that your 
 ill-feeling towards me is unjust." 
 
 The opinion Conscience uttered accorded so exactly 
 with what passed in Bastien's mind, that the latter 
 could not reply, and changed the subject of con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Well !" said he, " do you wish another song ?" 
 
 " Yes !" said all. 
 
 " Well, I will sing you one in the Bressan patois ; 
 but you must dress me for that." 
 
 " What ?" said the young men, " dress you ?" 
 
 " Yes, the ladies with their white hands must dress 
 me as an old woman, else no song." 
 
 " What do you want, then ?" 
 
 " Oh ! a cap, a cape, and an apron will do ; give me 
 a wheel, and a distaff too, and you had as well give me 
 a little tow. However, as we said at the Regiment, one 
 cannot make an omelette without cracking the eggs." 
 
 As what Bastien asked for was easily to be pro- 
 cured, he was soon transformed into an old woman, 
 and to tell the truth, with a cape modestly pinned on, 
 with spectacles on his nose, as he put the distaff in his 
 waist, and turned the wheel with his left foot, the 
 triumph he desired was complete, that all, even Mari- 
 ette, clapped their hands and applauded him. 
 
 Bernard, however, seemed uneasy.
 
 70 T H K C N S C R I H T . 
 
 Conscience alone however, attended to this, and he 
 began to think the dog was not uneasy without a cause. 
 Without noticing it or paying any attention to him, Bas- 
 tien began this song with an accompaniment on the wheel. 
 
 " Ah quy fait done bon, 
 Quy fail done bon 
 Garder les vaches 
 Au pasquier des boeufs 
 Quand on est deux ! 
 Quand on est quatre on s'embarrass^; 
 Quand on est deux 
 Quand on est deux 
 Ca va bien mieux. 
 Zon, /.on, zon. 
 
 "We need not say that the syllable twice or thrice re- 
 peated translates the round of the wheel. Unfor- 
 tunately we cannot preserve on paper, Bastien's accent 
 and grimace, or we would exert on our reader that 
 produced on the company by Bastien. We would 
 make him laugh. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Bastien resumed, and sung a do- 
 zen such couplets, not models either of good taste, 
 style, or propriety. 
 
 Scarcely had Bastien concluded, amid universal 
 applause of the young men and girta, than Bernard, as 
 if he waited an opportunity, took up the phrase where 
 Bastien had dropped it, and gradually rising from base 
 to the highest notes, filled the whole cave with one of 
 the saddest sounds ever heard. 
 
 Even Bastien had not courage to menace Bernard. 
 
 The howl was succeeded by a yet more melancholy 
 silence, until at last Conscience arose and pronounced 
 the word, 
 
 " Fire !" 
 
 At that moment the church bell rang the alarm. 
 
 The cry of fire aroused the whole population of the 
 village.
 
 IX. 
 
 SEQUEL OF WHAT HAPPENED IN THE VILLAGE OF 
 HAEAMONT BETWEEN 1810 AND 1813. 
 
 rj^HE moat terrible cry to which human terror gives 
 
 |_ utterance, beyond doubt, is fire. 
 
 Especially when this cry accompanied by the bell is 
 heard during a dark and stormy night. 
 
 At this cry, the young people of each sex rushed 
 from the cave into the street, and followed the current 
 which rolled towards the northwest. 
 
 Above the houses of the village, a great light was 
 seen to diffuse itself over the heaven, increasing from 
 moment to moment, and diffusing itself in sparks, which 
 the wind bore amid volumes of smoke. 
 
 As soon as the young men and girls had reached the 
 last of the village houses, there being no other obstacle, 
 they were able to realise the extent of the disaster. 
 
 The farm of Longpre was in a blaze. 
 
 Mariette saw Father Cadet standing with his arms 
 folded, on a stone, looking at the conflagration, and 
 rendering no assistance, doubtless from the certainty 
 that such aid as a frail old man like himself could yield 
 was an useless aid. 
 
 " My God ! Father Cadet," said Mariette, " what is 
 the matter ?" 
 
 " You see, my child," said the old man. 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 71
 
 72 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Because, in spite 'of what 1 said, that obstinate 
 Julienne would store her hay before it was cured, and 
 it has itself taken fire." 
 
 " Poor Julienne !" said Mariette. 
 
 Julienne was the woman who every day gave Mari- 
 efcte eight measures of milk to carry to Villers-Cot- 
 terets. ' 
 
 Then the peasants, overcome with stupor, stood 
 still as if they were petrified. 
 
 " You that are men," said Mariette, turning to Bas- 
 tien, Conscience, and the others, " fly to her and at 
 once." 
 
 This appeal of Mariette, was electrical : except Fa- 
 ther Cadet and three or four old men, who stood 
 motionless at the entrance of the village, each one hur- 
 ried to the fire. 
 
 In general, fire is one of the accidents, in relation .to 
 which it is least necessary to take trouble to excite 
 attention : one might say, that during a fire each one 
 fears for himself, and that all by the risk of some per- 
 sonal danger, are impelled by fire to extinguish it. 
 
 The little farm now burning, was on the other side 
 of a ravine, scarcely five hundred paces distant, had 
 one been able to reach it in a right line. It was, how- 
 ever, necessary to ascend and descend the declivity, a 
 thing which doubled the distance. 
 
 As they approached they could distinguish by the 
 light of the flames those who had come first, and who 
 hovered around the volcano, extending a useless aid. 
 
 As Father Cadet said, the barns were burning first, 
 but from them the fire soon spread to the main build- 
 ings. 
 
 A few minutes sufficed for Mariette, Bastien, and 
 Conscience to reach the scene.
 
 SEQUEL. 73 
 
 They were followed by those who had left the 
 veillee with them. 
 
 Those who came first were obliged to beat in the 
 door. Julienne had doubtless gone to pass the evening 
 in the neighborhood. The plough-boys were at the 
 cabaret, and the maids with their beaux. 
 
 On entering the yard, the cries of the cattle were 
 heard. All know the effect produced by fire on do- 
 mestic animals. Usually, nothing can induce them to 
 leave the place in which they are; horses remain in the 
 stable, oxen in their stalls, sheep in the fold, until 
 death overtakes them. 
 
 The first comers had used every means to save horses, 
 cows, and sheep, who with their usual obstinacy, had 
 resisted, and poor Julienne seemed likely, not only to 
 have her house burned, but in the conflagration to be 
 entirely ruined by the loss of all her stock. 
 
 The strange power, however, which Conscience pos 
 sessed over animals was then displayed ; in their fright 
 they had broken their halters, and stood in a group, of 
 which their heads formed the center, and assailed any 
 who dared to approach them with kicks. When, how- 
 ever, they heard Conscience's voice, they neighed and 
 lifted up their heads, suffering the young man to ap- 
 proach them through the wreaths of smoke which gushed 
 through the open places of the floor of planks above. 
 He mounted one of them, directed it without difficulty 
 towards the door, and rode out, followed by all 
 the others ; then as they ran wildly off, he whistled to 
 them with a peculiar modulation, and all came to rejoin 
 the one Conscience rode in a corner. Lest they should 
 again become frightened, he ordered Bernard to watch 
 them, a command the dog instantly obeyed. 
 
 Then he entered the cow-house, as he had the stable.
 
 74 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Two or three men, who had already sought to do BO, 
 had been thrown down and trampled on, and all bad 
 ceased to attempt to subdue these furious animals. 
 Conscience, however, advanced directly to a bull, who 
 was scattering the straw of his litter wildly around. 
 He seized him by his smoking nostrils, and led the ani- 
 mal, which became completely submissive. As soon 
 as they saw the bull walking in obedience, the cows 
 followed in an instant; cows and bull under the care of 
 Bernard as the horses did, sank on their trembling 
 legs, and slept by the side of the ruins. 
 
 The sheep remained : it was not necessary for Con- 
 science himself to enter the fold, which already was 
 almost destroyed. He called to them from the door as 
 the shepherds call, and at his voice they rushed forth 
 like an avalanche, with bounds and bleatings which at 
 once testified the terror they had felt, and joy at their 
 rescue. 
 
 The peasants had seen Conscience accomplish this 
 triple rescue, deemed impossible, with a mingled feeling 
 of astonishment and veneration. Bastien especially, 
 who had narrowly escaped being trampled beneath the 
 feet of the horses and oxen. Bastien, who, in order to 
 save a single sheep, had been forced to carry it out on 
 his shoulders, was tempted to look on Conscience as a 
 village sorcerer, to whom countless miracles, each more 
 singular than the other, were attributed. Only the 
 miracles attributed to the sorcerers none ever saw them 
 perform, while Conscience, in the presence of all, with 
 his ordinary simplicity, had accomplished things re- 
 puted impossible. 
 
 The peasants then collected around him, as if the 
 simple joung man was about to become to them, a sub- 
 lime inspiration, before which fire was extinguished,
 
 SEQUEL. 75 
 
 when all at once, terrible cries were heard in the dis- 
 tance, from towards the tower of Vez, gradually, how- 
 ever, growing more and more distinct. These cries 
 were the sad, heart-rending exclamations of a woman, 
 amid which could be distinguished only the words : 
 
 " My child ! my child ! save my child !" 
 
 Julienne rushed up panting, with her hair loose and 
 her arms extended. Her child, scarcely three months 
 old, had been left by her in charge of one of the maids, 
 who had shut it up in the chamber, and passed the eve- 
 ning in the village of Bonneil, knowing that Julienne 
 had gone to her father's house at Vez, and would re- 
 main there all night. 
 
 Prom Vez, however, Julienne had seen the conflagra- 
 tion, and knew it was her farm. She had returned, 
 and on the way had seen another woman hurrying for- 
 ward also. 
 
 This was the unfortunate maid, who at once saw 
 how imprudent she had been, and what might result 
 from her conduct. On that account she hurried for- 
 ward if possible to save the child. 
 
 When she saw her alone, the poor mother at once 
 understood all, and far outstripping the -hireling, with 
 the force, courage, and fury of a mother, had, uttering 
 the cries heard at such a distance, hurried on. 
 
 All had shuddered at her cry, " my child ! my child ! 
 save my child !" 
 
 They had been busy in saving horses, cows, sheep, 
 and had suffered the fire to extend to the house which 
 was thought empty. Julienne's fortune had been 
 saved, while they suffered her life to be devoured. 
 
 All removed from the path of the woman, who rush- 
 ed against the kitchen door with such violence, that it
 
 76 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 was broken ; when, however, the air penetrated within, 
 the fire burst forth on all sides. 
 
 They could go up stairs to the room in which the 
 child was, only by a wooden stairway. 
 
 It was on fire. 
 
 Julienne rushed towards the flames, but was seized 
 from behind, and pulled back into the room. 
 
 Her cries, however, increased, and with hands out- 
 stretched towards the windows, through which the fire 
 shone, as the glasses cracked in the heat, she could utter 
 but one cry, but one exclamation, 
 
 " My child ! my child ! my child !" 
 
 Mariette looked around and saw consternation in the 
 face of every man. 
 
 They looked for Conscience, he had disappeared. 
 
 " Bastien ! Bastien !" said she, " do you hear that poor 
 mother ?" 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Bastien," said Julienne, " you are a 
 soldier and are afraid of nothing." 
 
 " Mon Dieu," said Bastien, " it is just as if one said, 
 ' Bastien, throw yourself from the tower of Haramont,' 
 I would have as much chance of escape. I will try 
 however." 
 
 He rushed into the interior, accompanied by cries of 
 " courage ! Bastien ! courage !" 
 
 These cries came from every lip, or rather sprang 
 from every heart. 
 
 In spite, however, of this encouragement, Bastien 
 could ascend the staircase but half-way, and soon ap- 
 peared walking backwards, and seeming to fight with 
 the flames. 
 
 His hair and moustaches were burned. 
 
 " Bastien, my preserver Bastien ! one more effort." 
 
 Bastien obeyed and disappeared amid the smoke
 
 SEQUEL. 77 
 
 but the burning staircase gave way beneath his feet, 
 . and he fell amid the wreck. 
 
 Hope, however, though lost by all others, never 
 leaves a mother's heart. 
 
 " The window ! the window !" cried Julienne. 
 " There is a ladder there must be one. My God ! if 
 I had that ladder I would go for my child myself." 
 
 " The ladder ! the ladder !" exclaimed Bastien, " and 
 no one shall go for the child but myself." 
 
 They looked for the ladder in vain, and the mother 
 wrung her hands in despair. 
 
 Just then a gentle voice, as if from heaven, was 
 heard above. 
 
 " Room ! room !" it said, " here is the child." 
 They looked up, and amid the smoke and flames saw 
 Conscience, with the child in his arms, draw near to 
 the window. 
 
 He had taken the ladder, come through the garden, 
 and having entered the house through a window, had 
 reached the cradle of the child, whom he found half 
 stifled. 
 
 He had then sought to retrace his steps, but the fall 
 of the staircase had made the flames more intense, and 
 the way by which he might have returned, was cut 
 off! ... 
 
 For that reason it was that he now came to the win- 
 dow with the child in his arras. 
 
 " Get a sheet or coverlet ready to catch the child." 
 Two or three persons rushed into the house, for the 
 poor mother stood motionless, with her arms extended, 
 muttering inarticulate sounds. 
 
 Those who had gone into the house returned with a 
 coverlet, which they stretched out holding tightly to 
 the corners, beneath the window.
 
 78 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 It was time : as if furious at seeing its prey borne 
 from it, the flames appeared on every side, and sur-. 
 rounded Conscience with a circle of fire. 
 
 As soon therefore as the coverlet was within reach, 
 he let the child fall. It was uninjured, and the mother 
 rushed wildly across the fields with it. 
 
 Three hundred paces from the house, she sank com- 
 pletely exhausted on the ground. 
 
 What cared she for her burning house ? "What cared 
 she for the destruction of her harvests ? Had she not 
 saved the only thing she lived for her child ? 
 
 In the sublimity of ingratitude, she had forgotten 
 even Conscience. 
 
 The window was twenty feet from the ground. 
 
 Having thrown the child out, Conscience lifted his 
 meek eyes to heaven, folded his arms on his bosom, 
 muttered a few brief words, and leaped out. 
 
 Though he fell on bis feet, the violence of the con- 
 cussion was so great, that he trembled, uttered a pain- 
 ful cry, and fainted. 
 
 When he regained consciousness, he was lying on 
 some bundles of fresh straw in the yard. 
 
 Bernard whined by his side, licked his right hand, 
 and from time to time smelt his face, to ascertain if he 
 was dead. 
 
 Fortunately the two mothers, Dame Marie and Ma- 
 deleine, knew nothing of all this. 
 
 When he opened his eyes, Conscience saw Mariette. 
 
 He smiled, and made an effort to place his face 
 close to hers. 
 
 Mariette forgot all : she uttered a cry of joy, and 
 pressed her lips to the young man's. 
 
 Since their childish caresses, it was the first time 
 their lips hud ever touched.
 
 SEQUEL. 79 
 
 The two then for the first time perceived a thing 
 which they had not suspected. 
 
 They had ceased to love each other as brother 
 and sister, and had begun to love as lover and mis- 
 tress. 
 
 They arose, holding by each other's hand, and 
 followed by Bernard, proceeded on their journey home- 
 ward in silence. 
 
 When two thirds of the way home, they met their 
 mothers, who had come to meet them. 
 
 They had already learned the service Conscience had 
 rendered to poor Julienne ; the two mothers, like her, 
 had not thought of the horses, cattle and sheep but 
 they said, 
 
 " My child, so you saved the little one !" 
 
 Conscience smiled and was silent, but Mariette told 
 what he had done during this terrible night and the 
 story which escaped from her heart, was bathed in 
 tears of love. It exhibited Conscience as he really had 
 been an intermediate between Providence and mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 The two mothers listened in amazement to Mariette's 
 story; they had never seen her so much excited and so 
 full of fervor. They had never seen Conscience so 
 calm. 
 
 At last, though it was not said, they saw that the 
 prayer of their hearts had been granted. Dame Marie 
 put Mariette in Madeleine's arms, while she herself em- 
 braced Conscience. 
 
 Then from the lips of the two children escaped the 
 murmurs, 
 
 " Dame Marie, I love Mariette." 
 
 " Dame Madeleine, I love Conscience." 
 
 " Well," said both mothers, sighing with joy
 
 80 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 " there is no harm in that, and we will talk to Father 
 Cadet about it." 
 
 Father Cadet, it will be understood, was the supreme 
 arbiter of the destiny of the two cottages. 
 
 The next day overtures were made by Madeleine to 
 Father Cadet. 
 
 Father Cadet listened gravely to- what Madeleine 
 had to say, and when she had done, said : 
 
 " Hm ! we will see." 
 
 Now as this was the ordinary answer of Father Ca- 
 det when he was disposed to yield, the two families 
 looked on it as a consent, and joy, the benediction from 
 heaven, descended on the two families. 
 
 Alas!
 
 X. 
 
 WHAT PASSED IN EUROPE FKOM 1810 TO 1814. 
 
 FROM the very moment when the eyes of Conscience 
 opened and met those of Mariette fixed on him 
 from the moment when the chaste lips of the two chil- 
 dren met, that is to say from about ten o'clock in the 
 evening of the 9th of November, 1813, the centre gate 
 of the Tuilleries was swung open before three post car- 
 riages, one of which had six horses. The three drove 
 rapidly across the court-yard, and paused, the first 
 under the gateway, and the others just in front of it. 
 
 Footmen in a livery of green and gold, rushed to the 
 door. The steps were put down, and 'a man in a grey 
 frock-coat over a green uniform, with white breeches 
 and top boots, wearing a little cocked hat that has 'be- 
 come a type, got quickly out and looked up the stair- 
 case, where stood a blonde and delicate woman, dressed 
 in red velvet, with a fair rosy child in her arms. The 
 man ascended the staircase amid a crowd of courtiers, 
 on whom he did not deign even to look, embraced the 
 woman and child, and hurried them into a boudoir hung 
 with green cashmere, and closed the door behind him. 
 
 " Ah 1 It will be time enough to play tke Emperor 
 
 81
 
 82 v THK CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to-morrow. To-night let me be a father, a husband, a 
 man ! My good Louise ! My poor child ! "We are 
 once more united." 
 
 Five minutes after, the grand Chamberlain appeared 
 in the saloon and said, 
 
 " Gentlemen, his majesty the Emperor thanks you 
 for your zeal, but is fatigued, and will receive no one 
 until to-morrow." 
 
 The embroidered crowd bowed submission, and re- 
 spected the fatigue of their master. 
 
 For the man before whom the gate of the Tuilleriea 
 opened the man who wished to be a man, a husband 
 and father, that night, and who postponed the Emperor 
 until to-morrow, was Napoleon. 
 
 Alas ! great changes had been effected in three years 
 in the fortune of that man. 
 
 If human creature had ever been ordained by heaven 
 for a providential mission, it was the Conqueror of 
 Marengo, and he who was defeated at Leipsic. 
 
 Until 1810, that is to say, as long as he represented 
 the popular interests of France, he had succeeded in 
 everything. 
 
 In 1810 he repudiated Josephine, and married Marie 
 Louise. 
 
 All then began to re-act 
 
 It is true, till- then, nothing had resisted him. 
 
 Portugal placed herself in communication with the 
 English, and he occupied Portugal. 
 
 Godoy exhibited animosity by arming, and he forced 
 Charles IV. to abdicate. 
 
 Pius VII. made Rome the general rendezvous of the 
 agents of England, and treating the Pope as a temporal 
 Prince, he deposed him. 
 
 Nature had refused him children by Josephine, and
 
 WHAT PASSED IN EUROPE. 83 
 
 forgetting the companion of his youth, the angel of his 
 first wars and glories, he repudiated his wife. 
 
 Holland, in spite of its promises, had become a depot 
 for English manufactures, and he deposed his brother 
 Louis, and united his kingdom to France. 
 
 Then the French Empire, reviving the Roman world 
 of Augustus and the Frankish Empire of Charlemagne, 
 had one hundred departments. 
 
 It extended from the Breton Ocean to the Grecian 
 seas, from the Tagus to the Elbe. 
 
 A hundred and twenty millions of men then obeyed 
 one will ; subjected to one power, and led in one way, 
 they cried "Vive Napoleon" in eight different languages. 
 
 On the 20th of March 1811, a hundred and twenty 
 guns announced to the universe that an heir to the mas- 
 ter of the world had been born. 
 
 It was the last favor fortune had to bestow on him. 
 
 Thus it is that human pity veils the eyes of a man 
 she guides to death. 
 
 " Sire, there are limits to human prosperity. You 
 have rushed to the south, to the burning sands which 
 are a pathless Ocean, and you have been forced to 
 retrace your steps. Sire, you now hurry to the north, 
 to those polar ices which will repel you more mutilated 
 than did the southern sands." 
 
 It matters not, Providence impels him forward. 
 
 Besides this man who warred on all Europe, has now, 
 with the exception of Russia, which he is about to in- 
 vade, all Europe on his side. 
 
 Does not Austria, which he defeated at Austerlitz, 
 furnish him thirty thousand men 1 ? 
 
 Does not Prussia, defeated at Jena, furnish him twen- 
 ty thousand ? 
 
 Does not the confederation of the Rhine, of which he 
 6
 
 84 T H K C O K S C R I P T . 
 
 has declared himself Protector, furnish him eighty thou- 
 sand ? 
 
 Does not Italy, of which he has declared himself king, 
 furnish him twenty-five thousand ? 
 
 In fine, did not the Senatus-Consultum divide the 
 National Guard into three bands for internal service, and 
 besides the huge army which marches towards the Nie- 
 men, has he not at his disposition, one hundred cohorts, 
 each a thousand strong ? 
 
 Thus, on the 22nd of March, 1812, burst forth that 
 proclamation addressed to six hundred thousand men. 
 That is to say, the most magnificent army, which ever, 
 since the time of Attila, obeyed the orders of a single 
 chief. 
 
 " Soldiers, Russia swore an eternal alliance to France, 
 and war on England. It violates its oaths, and now 
 will give no explanation of its conduct, unless the 
 French eagles recross the Rhine, and thus leave our 
 allies at its mercy. Does it deem us so degenerate 1 
 Are we no longer the soldiers of Austerlitz ? It offers us 
 between dishonor or war, and the choice we will 
 make will not be doubtful. Let us march onward, 
 cross the Niemen, and carry the war into Russia. It 
 will be glorious to the French arms, and the peace wo 
 shall conclude will put an end to the unhappy influence, 
 the Muscovite cabinet has for fifty years exercised in 
 European affairs." 
 
 Yet when he reached the banks of the river, whero 
 three years before, Alexandre had sworn him eternal 
 friendship, and where he had dreamed of the conquest 
 of India, and the annihilation of English power, he 
 paused. 
 
 Passing his hand across his brow, he said : 
 
 " Fate overwhelms Russia, let its behest be fulfilled."
 
 WHAT PASSED IN EUROPE. 85 
 
 His fate was about to be accomplished. 
 
 It took three days for this immense army to cross 
 the Niemen. 
 
 Soon he began to read the manner that the Rus- 
 sians opened their campaign as an open book. They 
 were not the three words of flame on the walls of a fes- 
 tal hall, but the open menace of the future. 
 
 The Russians retired before him and as they did so, 
 destroyed everything, harvests, castles and hovels ; six 
 hundred thousand men advanced into the same deserts 
 which a hundred years before had been unable to feed 
 Charles XII. and his twenty thousand Swedes. From 
 the Niemen to Wittepsk they marched by the light of 
 a perpetual conflagration, and met neither soldiers, 
 Generals, nor army. Terrible was the war in which 
 they looked in vain for men to fight with, and where 
 ruin and devastation alone were to be found. 
 
 Having thus arrived at Wittepsk, not understand- 
 ing a war where vacuity alone met him, he threw him- 
 self into an arm-chair, and sending for Count Dora, he 
 said : 
 
 " I will remain here. I wish to reconnoitre, to ral- 
 ly, and to rest my army. I wish to re-organise Poland 
 The campaign of 1812 is done ; that of 1813 will accom- 
 plish the rest. You, sir, contrive to sustain us here, 
 for we will not re-enact Charles XII." 
 
 Turning to Murat. 
 
 " Let us plant our eagles here, 1813 will see us at 
 Moscow, 1814 at St. Petersburg. The Russian is a 
 three years' war." 
 
 His ancient genius, the genius of the- Pyramids, of 
 Arcola, of Marengo, called forth these words. To 
 induce him to break this resolution, which disturbs 
 Alexandre, the latter has only to show him the sol-
 
 86 THE CON SCRIPT. 
 
 diers he has hitherto concealed. Like a gamester who 
 has sunken to sleep, but who revives at the first sound 
 of gold, at the first shots, Napoleon awakes, and rushes 
 in pursuit of soldiers, the existence of which he had 
 begun to doubt. On the 14th of August he overtook 
 and defeated them at Kramoi ; on the 18th he drove 
 them from Smolensk, which he left in flames ; on the 
 SOth he took possession of Viazma, the magazines of 
 which he found destroyed. At last, when he could re- 
 turn, and while this magnificent army might escape 
 the destruction Moscow prepared for it, he was in- 
 formed as by a cartel, that the Russian army com- 
 manded by the Conqueror of theTurks, awaited him 
 at Borodino, on the banks of the Kalouga. 
 
 The cartel was accepted, and on the 6th of Septem- 
 ber, at three o'clock in the morning, the two armies 
 stood face to face. 
 
 But God continued to withdraw his hand from him. 
 In vain as a gentle and charming presage, the portrait 
 of his son by Girard was brought to him with letters from 
 Marie Louise. Having placed it for a few moments in 
 front of his tent to be admired by those Kings, Dukes, 
 Princes and marshals, who served under his orders, he 
 was seized by one of those melancholy dreams such as 
 Csesar and Charlemagne knew, and with a motion of his 
 hand, he said : 
 
 ^* Take the picture of that child within. It is too 
 young as yet to be introduced on a field of battle." 
 
 He was right, for never was a battle more violent 
 nor more undecided, never was te Deum more dearly 
 purchased. 
 
 Eleven generals died on that field, to which the sword 
 was as unimpressible as to the plough.
 
 WHAT PASSED IN EUROPE. 87 
 
 From that mom Ait he was lost ; like a vessel in the 
 Polar seas ; the ice which is to envelope already floats 
 around him. 
 
 Then he enters Moscow, the Capital he was not to 
 have occupied until the next year. He discounts time. 
 
 But Moscow is not like other capitals. Though he 
 has conquered it, he is not master of Russia. 
 
 Prom the evening of his entrance into the city, Mos- 
 cow revealed itself to him only by conflagrations. 
 
 Then doubt seizes him, apprehension takes possession 
 of him. Fatal doubt, terrible apprehension, of which he 
 was not guilty on the 18th Brumaire, and which he will 
 again exhibit in 1814 at Fontainebleau, and in 1815 at 
 the Elysee. 
 
 Then instead of deciding, on either marching to Saint 
 Petersburg or returning to Paris, instead of pitching 
 his winter quarters in the heart of Russia as Caasar had 
 done in Gaul, he entered into negociationwith Alexandre/ 
 who kept him undecided at Moscow. 
 
 Precious months, irreparable months, had been suf 
 fered to glide by between the conflagration of Moscow 
 and the winter. 
 
 At last, on the 22d of October, Napoleon leaves Mos- 
 cow : it is his first step on retreat. 
 
 On the 23d the Kremlin is blown up. 
 
 For about eleven days, the retreat was effected with- 
 out too great disasters. All at once, however, on the 
 7th of November, the thermometer sank to 18 below 
 freezing point. 
 
 God will at least leave this consolation to human 
 pride. That army was not conquered by man, but by 
 the elements. 
 
 What a defeat though was that ! 
 
 It was a disaster which equaled that of the greatest
 
 88 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 victories : it was Cambyses enwrapped in the sands of 
 Ammon, Xerxes in a single ship recrossing the Helles- 
 pont: it was Varro leading the wrecks of his array from 
 Canna3 to Kome. 
 
 Twenty days, twenty mortal days, pass beneath a sky 
 of snow, on an earth of snow, like a double pall above 
 and below our heads and our feet. 
 
 During these twenty days the army strewed on the 
 roadside two hundred thousand men and five hundred 
 pieces of artillery. It rushed to the Beresina like a tor- 
 rent to a Gulf. 
 
 On the 5th of December, Napoleon got into a sleigh 
 and left Smorgons ; at evening on the 8th he reached the 
 Tuilleries. 
 
 On the next day but one, the great bodies of the state 
 congratulated him on his return. 
 
 On the 12th of January 1813, a Senatus Consultum 
 placed at the disposal of the minister of war 350,000 
 conscripts. 
 
 On the 10th of March, he heard of the defection of 
 Prussia. 
 
 For four months France seemed transformed into one 
 immense cump. 
 
 The 350,000 conscripts were formed into regiments. 
 
 Mothers wept. They discovered that the sonorous 
 words of which proclamations were formed, were a poor 
 balm for deep wounds. 
 
 On the 1st of May, Napoleon was at Lutzen ready to 
 attack the Kusso-1'ru.-sinn army with two hundred and 
 fifty thousand men, of whom two hundred thousand had 
 been furnished by almost exhausting France, and fifty 
 thousand by the Saxons, Wustphaliaus, Wurtemburgers, 
 Bavarians and the Grand Dutchy of Berg.
 
 WHAT PASSED IN EUROPE. 89 
 
 The Giant they fancied overthrown was again arisen! 
 not only was ready to sustain, but to resume the contest. 
 
 Anteus had touched the generous and fruitful mo- 
 ther, called the soil of France. 
 
 After the victories of Lutzen, Bautzen and Wag- 
 ram, according to dates, comes Leipsic of fearful me- 
 mory. 
 
 Leipsic, in which the French alone fired one hundred 
 and seventeen shots, that is to say, eleven thousand less 
 than at Malplaquet. 
 
 Every French shot cost ten louis: who can tell how ma. 
 ny tears every Russian, Prussian or Saxon shot cost us ? 
 
 Charlemagne another one of your peers sleeps at this 
 new Roncevalles Pomatowski who was drowned in 
 the Elster. 
 
 On its reaching Erfurth on the 23d of September, the 
 French army was reduced to 80,000 men. 
 
 On the 30th it met the Bavaro-Austrian army drawn 
 up in front of Hanau, and intercepting the road to 
 Frankfort. 
 
 It cut its way through, killing six thousand men, and 
 on the 6th and 7th of November, recrossed the Rhine. 
 
 On the 9th of November, as we hav,e told at the com- 
 mencement of this chapter, at the moment when Con- 
 science, reopening his eyes, saw Mariette,at the moment 
 when their lips met in the first chaste kiss, Napoleon re- 
 turned to the Tuilleries. 
 
 Perhaps it may be asked what connexion existed be- 
 tween the new Hannibal, the modern Caesar, and the 
 children whose story we write, and how the terrible 
 events we have recorded can influence the humble lot of 
 two poor peasants of Hararnont. 
 
 We will explain without trouble.
 
 90 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 On the tenth of September, Napoleon said to the 
 Senate : 
 
 " All Europe in one year will march against us. I 
 want soldiers." 
 
 A levy of three hundred thousand men was at once 
 ordered. 
 
 In this levy the only sons of widows from eighteen to 
 to twenty-five were included. 
 
 Conscience was eighteen, and was a widow's only son. 
 
 Do we not know that the thunder bolts of God some- 
 times strike the humblest creatures?
 
 XI. 
 
 IMPOST OF BLOOD. 
 
 IT is true they were far those two children whom 
 love had united with its golden ring from appre- 
 hending the danger which menaced them. During the 
 eight days which had passed since they knew they 
 loved, they had forgotten all the rest of the world, and 
 were so occupied with each other that they scarcely 
 knew what occurred in the village. 
 
 Poor innocent souls, they did not occupy themselves 
 with the great society which boils in cities ; not taking 
 notice of it, asking nothing of it, they fancied it was as 
 neglectful of them, and continued to live in their pleas- 
 ant hopes and in their holy faith. 
 
 One Sunday, as they came from Mass, the peasants 
 of Haramont saw at the corner of the street a printed 
 paper recently put up. 
 
 They read it. 
 
 It was an order from the prefect appointing the next 
 Sunday, October 26, as the day for drawing lots for 
 conscription, in the Department of Ariege. 
 
 From the canton of Villers-Cotterets alone, there 
 were required one hundred and two men. 
 
 91
 
 92 T H E Co N S C R I P T . 
 
 None except the infirm, therefore, had any chance 
 of escape. 
 
 The Maire had caused the order to be put up du- 
 ring Mass, that the mothers seeing it first when they 
 came from church, where they had been praying God, 
 might be better able to bear tha news. 
 
 From the sobs that were heard on all sides after 
 reading the notice, one might have concluded that the 
 divine consolation was powerless. 
 
 The two children had come side by side from the 
 church, without seeing or hearing anything that passed 
 around them. They had gone into the cottage of Dame 
 Marie, where they preferred to be, for Father Cadet 
 sometimes got angry at their loves. 
 
 Besides he had said We must see. 
 
 But he had not said Yes. 
 
 They sate side by side, holding each other's hands 
 they hud not heard the rumors current in the city 
 they had not heard the thunder rolling above their 
 heads ; yet they spoke in such a low tone, that if any 
 one had been at the other end of the room, he could 
 with difficulty have distinguished the words exchanged 
 in so low a tone from two mere aspirations of inarticu- 
 late breaths. 
 
 All at once Madeleine appeared in tears, and said, 
 embracing him, 
 
 " My child, my poor child !" 
 
 He opened his great blue eyes ; his mother had 
 snatched him from poor Mariette, and pressing him to 
 her bosom, kissed him. 
 
 " Mother," said he, " what misfortune has happened 
 that you weep for me thus ?" 
 
 " The greatest possible misfortune to a poor mother," 
 said the unfortunute woman.
 
 THE IMPOST OF BLOOD. 93 
 
 Conscience looked at her with surprise. 
 
 Mariette trembled and foresaw some catastrophe. 
 
 " Do you not know, Mariette ? They will take him, 
 and he will be killed like William. Is it not sacrilege 
 to take the child, when the father has already been ta- 
 ken ? My poor William ! my poor Conscience !" 
 
 Mariette began to understand, and growing pale, 
 could only murmur with her trembling lips, the holy 
 name of God that name, which springs from our lips 
 at every grief, because it is the spring of all consolation. 
 
 " Oh !" said Conscience, who had divined all, " when, 
 dear mother ?" 
 
 " Next Sunday. I had supposed they would at least 
 have left poor widows their last consolation and sup- 
 port. Oh ! he has no pity on mothers he will be pun- 
 ished in his son." 
 
 At the same hour, alas ! a similar cry was heard 
 throughout France echoing the lamentation and the 
 malediction we have heard. 
 
 My God ! did this Caesar, Emperor, this demi- 
 God, not fall because you had not heard this universal 
 curse ? 
 
 Time rolled by, and the grief was equally profound, 
 though not so loud, in each of the cottages. Dame 
 Marie wept for both Conscience and Mariette. Father 
 Cadet, who heard the news as he returned from his 
 vineyard, seemed to become at once an octogenarian. 
 
 From time to time, however, a ray of hope descend- 
 ed on this silent sorrow, as a warm sun-ray penetrates 
 into a dark and icy cavern. About ten of the numbers 
 the highest would be good : perhaps it was possible 
 Conscience would draw one of them. , 
 
 The two mothers parted : Mariette made a vow to
 
 94 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 go on a pilgrimage with Conscience to Notre Dame de 
 Liesse, if heaven granted Conscience a good number. 
 
 Father Cadet did, what all thought him incapable ot 
 doing ; he said, 
 
 " Mon Dieu, I would give a hundred crowns if Con- 
 science got a good number.*' 
 
 Conscience consoled every body even little Pierre, 
 who wept because he saw others weep. 
 
 " Mother," said he, " be calm. You know that God 
 loves me. My father too died, and our debt was thus 
 paid. All do not remain on the battle-field as he did, 
 for Bastien has come back. I will return, mother, per- 
 haps with a pension . . . perhaps with a Cross. I will 
 return, Dame Marie. Be at ease Mariette will pray 
 for me, and God's angels will hover over her head to 
 gather her prayers." 
 
 Madeleine said, " You talk thus, my child, to console 
 me. Have such one, and such one, come back ? Does 
 any one know where they are ? No ! They have dis- 
 appeared and left no trace " 
 
 The poor mother repeated the names of villagers who 
 had gone as William had as Conscieuce would who 
 had never returned, and whose mothers yet wept for 
 them. 
 
 From time to time Bastien came also ; he knew that 
 his presence was a consolation, because he was a hope. 
 As his sympathy, however, was expressed with oaths, 
 it became more energetic as the women became moved. 
 Their religious susceptibility made them fear the guar- 
 dian angel of their cottages would be offended at the 
 soldier's words. 
 
 For eight days, except the trips of the children and 
 Bernard, at the village all was confusion. 
 
 The two mothers who had deplored so much the
 
 THE IMPOST OF BLOOD. 95 
 
 losses of Julienne, who had her buildings and her har- 
 vest burned, wished that like her their houses might be 
 burned, so that they might retain their child in their 
 arms, at the age when the child escapes from human 
 laws and holds only from God. 
 
 Father Cadet neglected his farm, and walked up and 
 down before the door of his empty cottage, for the mo- 
 thers and their children preferred to sit in the cottage 
 of Dame Marie : from time to time he looked to hea- 
 ven, but sometimes seizing with his hand the stock of 
 the vine which grew before his house, he would stand 
 longer than he knew of, taciturn, sad and motionless, 
 looking at the ground as if he looked at a tomb. 
 
 The animals, themselves, shared this sadness. Pier- 
 rot pushed forth his long curious head, with its out- 
 stretched earf, from the window of the stable ; Tardif 
 and Noire exchanged long lowings : Bernard stuck 
 more closely than ever to Conscience. One might have 
 said that the poor animal, knowing that he was about 
 to be separated from his master, was unwilling to lose 
 a single one of the moments he could pass with him. 
 
 The fatal Sunday came. 
 
 On the previous night no one in the two cottages, 
 except Father Cadet and little Pierrot, the old man and 
 the child, the two frail creatures who need sleep, 
 because the latter yet lingers in the night of the past, 
 and the former is about to enter into that of the future. 
 
 When the Angelus rang, the two mothers arose, and 
 went to pray at the church. Dame Marie, at the high 
 altar, and Madeleine before the picture, which was the 
 object of her veneration. 
 
 Alas, what at another time had been an object .of 
 veneration, now became a terror. 
 
 The beckoning of Jesus, for the child to come
 
 9G THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to him, signified that the death of Conscience would 
 be premature. Was not to go to Jesus, to ascend 
 to heaven? 
 
 During thia time the children had remained toge- 
 ther. 
 
 " If you be unfortunate, and have a bad number, 
 Conscience, will there be no means to escape this trou- 
 ble ?" 
 
 " Mariette, there is always one way to avoid trouble, 
 it is to bear it. You love me, Mariette ?" 
 
 " Ah ! yes." 
 
 " You think that I too, love you." 
 
 " I arn sure of it, Conscience." 
 
 "Well, my dear Mariette, everything is in those two 
 words, you see : they can take me from you, and dress 
 me up as a soldier, send me to the wars, nd even kill 
 me. They cannot, however, when I arn gone fighting or 
 dying, keep me from thinking of you." 
 
 " Dying,'' said Mariette in tears. " Do you think 
 then of dy ing?" 
 
 The poor child raised her clasped hands to heaven, 
 and then threw her arms around Conscience's neck. 
 
 " Die, die," said she. 
 
 " Alas ! to die," said Conscience, " I know is only to 
 part for a time ; but Mariette, it is not to forget. Nothing 
 but forgetfulness is a total separation. Look at my mother. 
 My father has been dead nineteen years, yet not a day 
 has ever passed without her speaking of him, not an 
 hour without her thinking of him. My father, too, sees 
 and thinks of her ; smiles at her sacred fidelity. He 
 reaches forth invisible arms, which she will not see 
 nor perceive until the moment of death. For that rea- 
 son, Mariette, the dying smile while the lookers on 
 weep, the dying see what is hidden from the living."
 
 THE IMPOST orBLOOD. 97 
 
 " My God ! Conscience, who told you all these sad, 
 yet beautiful things ?" 
 
 " Mariette, you know that I was one of the chil- 
 dren of the choir." 
 
 Well !" 
 
 ""Well, I used to attend the Cure when he admin- 
 is^ered the extreme unction." 
 
 " Yes ! just as the other children did ; why though 
 do not the other children talk of life and death, say such 
 beautiful things as you do, which beautiful as they are> 
 make me shed tears ?" 
 
 " Mariette, I see things that others do not. You 
 know very well Mariette, that I arn an innocent," said 
 Conscience, naively. 
 
 " Yes, they say so," said Mariette. 
 
 Conscience smiled, and with a fixed eye shook his 
 head, as if he was gifted with second sight. 
 
 " Well : I told you when I accompanied the Curate 
 to attend on the dying, I saw one thing that even, his 
 reverence did not." 
 
 " What did you see, Conscience ? You terrify me. 
 My God, did you see death ?" 
 
 " No, Mariette, but I saw life, life eternal. Do you 
 see, Mariette," (the young girl approached him trem- 
 bling,) " there is always a moment, just before he closes 
 them forever, that the dying man keeps his eyes fixed 
 and motionless. He moves his whole body, as if to 
 rush forward, and his lips quiver, as if to say, ' Lord, I 
 come.' That, Mariette is the passing moment between 
 this world and the other, the line which separates space 
 from the infinite, time from eternity, night from day. 
 Look, Mariette, it is what now passes in heaven, light 
 striving with darkness, the sun revealing itself by its 
 fi~ -t ray. Oh ! that look of the dying, their eyes rolling
 
 98 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 in the void, as ours just now did in the night, then fixing 
 themselves on the sun of the unknown world, as ours 
 now do on the real world ; Mariette, that glance says, 'My 
 God, the hope of rny whole life has not been deceived ! 
 My God, you are then behind the veil of life, as day is 
 behind the veil of night. Lord, here I am, ready to 
 enter your bosom whence I came, and to restore the \w- 
 mortal soul you lent me.' " 
 
 " Oh, Conscience, why did you not say that to the dy- 
 ing ? How you would have consoled them !" 
 
 " It was not necessary, Mariette, for what I thought, 
 they saw." 
 
 "Alas !" said Mariette weeping, "all this is very beauti- 
 ful, yet it will not console me : for if you are drawn and 
 leave, you will not be here to tell me." 
 
 " Let us hope," said Conscience, clasping Mariette's 
 hand. " See our mothers come from prayers."
 
 XII. 
 
 THE MAIEE, THE DOCTOR, AND THE INSPECTOR OF 
 
 FOKESTS OF YlLLEES-CoTTEKETS. 
 
 WE have already said the drawing took place at 
 the city. 
 
 Every morning it is well known Mariette, Conscience 
 and Bernard took their milk thither. 
 
 So great was the simplicity of life of these people, 
 that sad as the day must be to them, it began like all 
 others, entering into the same details, and into the total 
 of the good and bad days the Lord granted them. 
 Only, as the two children were much beloved, and as 
 they were always seen together, without any one ever 
 having doubted in the least the purity of their love, and 
 as it was known that the drawing 'was to take place ou 
 that day, all looked at them with mingled sympathy 
 and interest. 
 
 The Maire, a good-humored magistrate, first made 
 them come in, and sought to inspire Conscience with 
 hope, by jesting about the way to get a good number. 
 Conscience smiled sadly, and Mariette wept at this. 
 
 When he saw the effect of his jests, the Maire stop- 
 ped ; he was a kind and an excellent man. 
 
 " But," said he, " are you not an innocent ? Do not 
 get angry, for I speak for your own good," 
 7 09
 
 100 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Conscience smiled. 
 
 The Maire continued 
 
 " As you are an innocent, perhaps you are mistaken. 
 Dame, if by chance you were a year younger, a means 
 would be contrived to postpone you to the next year, 
 and then to the year after." The Maire hummed the 
 first bar of a little song. " Between now and next year 
 much water will pass under the bridge " 
 
 Conscience shook his head. 
 
 " That is true, M. Mussart. The name of the Maire 
 of Villers-Cotterets was Nicholas B rice- Mussart. " It 
 is true I am an innocent, but I know my age. I was 
 born on the 10th of March, 1796, and this is the 26th 
 of November, 1813. Consequently I am now eighteen 
 years and eight months old, and am therefore liable to 
 the law." 
 
 " The law ! the law !" murmured the kind Maire, 
 " as if there was any law to authorize the taking of 
 children from their mothers, and sending them to be 
 butchered especially when like you, they are only 
 children and innocents. Conscience, my lad, God ia 
 up there to correct the laws of men, and when the lat- 
 ter are too cruel, to reverse human wills." 
 
 " I know that, Sir," said Conscience, " and I am 
 glad that you do also. It proves that you walk in the 
 way of the Lord." 
 
 " How 1" said the Maire as he heard him speak thus, 
 " he must have learned that from the Cure of his vil- 
 
 " Toinette," said the Maire, " have breakfast at nine, 
 as the drawing takes place at eleven. Go tell Heraux 
 to come and eat an omelette au lard with me." 
 
 Going back into his office, he said,
 
 THE MAIRE, DOCTOR, &c. 101 
 
 " Did you hear how that lad talked ? Parole d'hon- 
 neur, the Abbe Gregoire could not have replied bet- 
 ter 1" 
 
 Conscience and Mariette continued their rounds, and 
 having been to several other places, reached the house 
 of the physician of the place. 
 
 The Doctor's wife wished to see them. 
 
 " Well, my children," said she, " the great day of 
 suffering is come at last." 
 
 Mariette began to weep. 
 
 " Fortunately, Madame Lacosse, your children are 
 yet young," said Conscience. 
 
 " Yes, certainly : one is ten and the other eight 
 but you see, this year they are taken at eighteen, and 
 next year he will want them at sixteen. Perhaps, so 
 many of the poor creatures are killed, he may want 
 them the year after at fourteen. You see that in three 
 or four years, my poor Conscience, I shall be unhappy 
 as your mother is." 
 
 Madame Lacosse wiped from the corner of her eye 
 a tear, which was at once sympathetic and selfish. 
 
 " Madame," said Mariette, encouraged, " cannot 
 Conscience speak to M. Lacosse ?" 
 
 "Yes, my child why?" 
 
 " Madame, M. Lacosse is a physician." 
 
 " Ah ! I see you wish to know if there be no way 
 to save the boy. Yes, he can speak to him." 
 
 Then calling : 
 
 " Lacosse ! Lacosse !" or rather said she to Mariette 
 " let him go into his Cabinet. They can say there, 
 where there are none but men, things they cannot talk 
 of before women." 
 
 Mariette opened her great blue eyes with surprise.
 
 102 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 She did not understand that there were any things that 
 could not be talked of before all the world. 
 
 Madame Lacosse pushed open the door of the room, 
 and Conscience was in the presence of the Doctor, who 
 from having heard this conversation, was informed of 
 the object of his visit. 
 
 " Well ! so it is your turn now, my poor innocent.; 
 Let us see. Perhaps there may be a way, for they tell 
 me you are simple." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Conscience naively, " so they tell 
 me." 
 
 " Is it true" 
 
 " Dame ! they say so, and it must be true " 
 
 " What do you think ? I do not ask you the ques- 
 tion as I would a philosopher, a poet, or a statesman, 
 but " the Doctor smiled " what do you think about 
 it?" 
 
 " Doctor," said Conscience without any hesitation 
 " if you speak of my intelligence, I think God has 
 classed me amid the humbler portions of creation." 
 
 " Indeed ! do you think so ?" said the Doctor, sur- 
 prised at the distinctness of the reply, both in thought 
 and form. " You think so and who taught you ? 
 Why ?" 
 
 " It is easy enough, Doctor. Besides the society of 
 my mother, of Maviette's mother, of Marietta, and little 
 Pierre her brother apart I mean from my family, I 
 prefer the company of animals to men." 
 
 '' Ah ! ha !" murmured the Doctor. " You are right, 
 my child, and that is perhaps a proof of innocence, but 
 not of idiocy. Why do you prefer the society of ani- 
 mals to that of men ?" 
 
 " Because it seems to me that they walk more di- 
 rectly in the paths of nature ; because they act in obe-
 
 THE MAIRE, DOCTOR, & c . 103 
 
 dience to their organization ; because all they do is the 
 result of their instinct, and that all the animals which 
 God has given to man to be useful to him, are so natu- 
 rally and simply, some at the expense of their liberty 
 as the horse, the ass, and the dog others of their 
 lives, as the ox, the sheep, and fowls; because I, 
 that know what they say, being a poor creature like 
 them, understand them when they complain, as they 
 do sometimes ; they never curse." 
 
 The Doctor heard Conscience with astonishment. 
 
 " And who do you think," asked he, " has taught 
 . the animals to act thus ?" 
 
 " God." 
 
 " And then, thanks to your simplicity, do you also 
 talk with God as you do with the animals ?" 
 
 "No, for I cannot see God as I see them. Goa is 
 not a visible nor a materiix) thing.' 
 
 " What then is God ?" 
 
 " The Universal soul diffused through nature, of 
 which this soul we have in us, is but an atom," a par- 
 cel, a breath which yet suffices to animate us. One 
 does not see God, Doctor. One feels him." 
 
 The amazement of the kind Doctor almost amounted 
 to stupefaction. 
 
 " Who," asked he, " taught you thus ?" 
 
 " Long nights passed in reveries in the forests, the 
 murmur of winds beneath the great trees, the song of 
 the rivulets in the meadows, and the flowers in the gar- 
 dens." r 
 
 " Was it not the Cure ?" 
 
 " The Cure never talks of these things. Once T wish- 
 ed to speak of them, but he shrugged his shoulders, 
 and said, ' yes, yes.' Tfhen he left me, full of compas- 
 sion, and as he went, murmured ' Poor innocent.' "
 
 104 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Then you have never talked of them." 
 
 " Yes, Doctor." 
 
 " With whom ?" 
 
 " With the things that speak of them ; with night, 
 with the wind, with the stream and the flowers." 
 
 "Then, were the Council of Eevision to talk to you 
 of such things, would you answer thus ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Doctor." 
 
 " You could not answer and say simply, ( I do not 
 know,' or ' I do not understand.' " 
 
 "Yes! if I did not know, and if I could not under 
 stand." 
 
 " But if you did know, and understood?" 
 
 " To do so would be to lie." 
 
 " You would not lie, then, to avoid being a soldier." 
 
 No Sir." 
 
 " Even if your mother and Mariette begged you ?" 
 
 " Oh I they would not do so. If I did, I would not 
 be an innocent as you call me j I would do as men do, 
 not as animals." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 <l No," continued he ; " and even if Mariette, and my 
 mother asked me, I would not." 
 
 " Parbleu 1" said the Doctor. " This is a strange 
 innocent. I never saw one like him." 
 
 Then, seized with great pity for the poor lad. 
 
 " Let me see your body, as nothing is to be hoped for 
 from the mind." 
 
 He made Conscience undress. 
 
 Conscience had no idea of modesty as society under- 
 stands it ; modesty, to him, did not consist in showing 
 a greater or a less part of the body naked. Did not 
 the animals, trees, and flowers show themselves entirely
 
 THE MAIRK, DOCTOR, & c . 105 
 
 to him 1 His modesty consisted in not deceiving, not 
 lying, not committing a guilty action. 
 
 At the intimation of the Doctor he then took off all 
 his clothes. 
 
 Poor Conscience. He had nothing to hope for there. 
 
 His body was handsome and pure as his soul was ; 
 he might be called a living model of Ganymede or 
 Apollo. 
 
 The Doctor shook his head, and said : 
 
 " You have nothing to hope for in that respect. 
 Dress yourself, my child. Ah ; your sight." 
 
 Then beckoning Conscience to him, he said, 
 
 " Let me see your eyes." 
 
 Conscience approached him. 
 
 " Odd ;" said the Doctor. You are a nyctalop." 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 " It means that you see by night as well as by day." 
 
 " True. I see better. The objects though are all of 
 the same color, of a rich blue, more or less deep accord- 
 ingly as it is more or less dark." 
 
 " Do you see far ?" 
 
 " Very far, Doctor." 
 
 " It matters not. All kinds of phenomena have been 
 seen." 
 
 The Doctor took a pair of spectacles with green 
 glasses and put them over Conscience's eyes." 
 
 " Well ?" asked he. 
 
 " Doctor," said Conscience, " take away these specta- 
 cles, they blind me." 
 
 " Then you do not see ?" 
 . " I am in a cloud." 
 
 " What color is it ?" 
 
 " Grey.'*
 
 106 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Yes ! in the dark," said the Doctor, " deep red be- 
 comes grey. Well ! there is no means of passing you 
 foe near-sighted." 
 
 And he took off the spectacles. 
 
 " The cloth was red," said Conscience. " I was de- 
 ceived." 
 
 " No, my friend, you were not deceived. Nature 
 never deceives, but your senses were veiled by the in- 
 terposition of art. Conscience, commend yourself to 
 God, for nothing but chance now can save you." 
 
 " Thanks, Doctor," said Conscience, " for I feared as 
 much. As it would please Mariette, though, I consult' 
 ed you as she desired." 
 
 " So, my child ! I am sorry to say, that I can do 
 nothing for you." 
 
 " I am not the less grateful, however," said Con- 
 science in his mildest voice. 
 
 He rejoined Mariette, and continued his rounds with 
 her. 
 
 After visiting two or three houses, they came to that 
 of the Inspector of Forests. 
 
 The latter had just reviewed his Guards, whom he 
 had been ordered to place on a war establishment. 
 
 His son for whom he had already purchased two 
 substitutes, had been forced to leave as a guard of 
 honor, 
 
 "Ah! is it you, Conscience? You have to draw 
 to-day ?" 
 
 " Alas, yes, M. Inspector." 
 
 u Then, my dear boy, I advise you to draw number one 
 at once, in order that the brigands rnay not make you 
 languish after all." 
 
 "To me, M. Inspector, it would be all the same, 
 but for my mother's sake, Marie and MarieLte,
 
 THE MA i RE, DOCTOR, &c. 107 
 
 my departure will be a matter of much sorrow and per- 
 haps of importance." 
 
 " As for the sorrow, I can understand it, for I have 
 already much to console at home, and cannot undertake 
 three other women. I cannot however understand,'' 
 and he looked at Conscience with something of an ex- 
 pression of pity, "what use a poor innocent like you can 
 be. But your departure need not prevent Mariette 
 from bringing us milk. And as for your two mothers, 
 I will attend to their winter supply of wood, so that 
 they shall never have been so well warmed." 
 
 Conscience was deeply touched at this offer of the in- 
 epector, M. Deviolaine this was his name who had 
 a hard face which was but a mask to cover up a kind 
 and excellent heart. 
 
 " M. 1'Inspecteur, I thank you from the bottom of 
 my heart for this, in the first place on rny own behalf, 
 and then for Mariette, who is weeping too much to do 
 so ; also for my two mothers." 
 
 In fact Mariette had again begun to weep. 
 
 " Come !" said the inspector. "For some time we have 
 had tears enough here without yours ; go, for if my wife 
 and daughters were here, and chanced to see your 
 tears, they would begin again, and water enough would 
 fall to beat down all the crops in St. Eemy. Go, my 
 lad, go !" 
 
 Tapping Conscience on the shoulder, he kindly put 
 him out of doors. 
 
 Conscience knew that he could rely on the noble offer 
 of the inspector, and, that if any trouble supervened 
 while he was gone, at least the houses of his two mo- 
 thers would be warm.
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE D E A w i N o 
 
 IT was half-after-ten, and at eleven the drawing was to 
 begin. As however the villages of the Canton of 
 Villers-Cotterets, and the city itself would follow in al- 
 phabetical order, Haramont was the third or fourth. 
 
 Haramont would not draw until half-after twelve or 
 one o'clock. 
 
 This enabled Conscience to take Mariette to Hara- 
 mont. 
 
 Alas ! the poor children felt that they had so little 
 time to pass together, that they were unwilling to lose 
 a moment. 
 
 Conscience also fancied that he had not warmly em- 
 braced his mother, and he wished to do so again. 
 
 They then walked side by side across the park. 
 
 In the Inspector's garden, there was a gate which 
 opened into this park, and made it unnecessary for them 
 to pass through the city. 
 
 They were on foot. Bernard who knew the way bet- 
 ter than the postman, walked before them and looked 
 back from time to time, not to see if the children fol- 
 lowed him, for his instinct taught him better than his 
 eyes nould, that they did. 
 
 108
 
 THEDRAWING. 109 
 
 Bernard for eight days had known perfectly well that 
 one of the two houses was in great trouble. We will 
 not dare to say that he knew which, but during that 
 time, he had become more affectionate to Conscience, 
 who was exposed to danger, the danger of being sepa- 
 rated from him. 
 
 When he had now reached a place in the park called 
 the Pheasantry, where two roads met, each of which 
 led to Haramont, called the one the high-road, and 
 the other the by-path, Bernard, contrary to custom, 
 appeared to turn aside from the latter, and take the path. 
 
 Conscience recalled him, to go as he usually did with 
 Mariette and himself, but the dog shook i is head and 
 went on. 
 
 Conscience, now about twenty paces distant, called 
 him back again, but instead of obeying, Bernard sate 
 down, and looked at the two children. 
 
 Mariette wished to call to him again, but Conscience 
 checked her. 
 
 " Bernard is not mistaken, Mariette. He has some- 
 thing to say to me." 
 . Approaching the dog 
 
 " Well 1" said he, half talking, half scolding, " what 
 is the matter, Bernard ?" 
 
 Bernard whined in a low tone, without any expres- 
 sion of sadness, and lifted up his paw towards the 
 forest. 
 
 " Yes, Bernard," said Conscience, " you are right. 
 You are an animal, and instinct does not deceive you." 
 
 " Well," said Mariette,' who had rejoined Conscience, 
 " what does Bernard say ?" 
 
 " Look," said he. 
 
 Extending his right hand towards the forest, he 
 pointed out, debouching from the shade and approach-
 
 110 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ing them, an old man riding on an ass, and followed by 
 two women diessed in black, who leaned on each other. 
 
 A child's hand was held by one of the women, and 
 the lad as children will do suffered himself to be 
 half dragged. 
 
 The man and ass were Father Cadet and Pierrot. 
 
 The women were Madeleine and Dame Marie ; the 
 child was little Pierre. 
 
 As if to sustain in the isolation which awaited them, 
 the Lord had permitted them to receive the baptismal 
 names of two holy women. 
 
 The two groups advanced until they met, and then 
 mingled together. 
 
 The poor family had been unable in their sorrow 
 to await so long, the decision of the drawing, and 
 Father Cadet, who two years ago by means of a mort- 
 gage on his land, had contrived to add three new acres 
 to it, was on his way to take to Master Niguet, the no- 
 tary, the first instalment of its price that is to say, 
 eight hundred francs. 
 
 The harvest had been good, and Father Cadet saw 
 with satisfaction from the weight of the sack he carried 
 in the pocket of his chestnut-colored coat, which he had 
 tied up so tightly with a string, that the rattling of the 
 money did not betoken its presence Father Cadet, we 
 say, saw with satisfaction, that the harvest of each year 
 sufficed, with the addition of two or three hundred 
 francs, to pay for the land in three years. 
 
 We do not mean to say that amid the trouble which 
 had befallen the poor family, Father Cadet was pre- 
 occupied only by his land, for this would be an 
 insult to the old man's heart, but we will say that as 
 wine and idleness equally delighted Figaro's heart, the 
 land and his grand eon shared that of Father Cadet.
 
 THE DRAWING. Ill 
 
 He therefore took occasion to hurry his visit to 
 Villers-Cotterets, and consented to part with his dear 
 money, though the date of payment was a week dis- 
 tant. 
 
 The consequence was, that all were journeying to- 
 wards Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 It was after eleven when they reached it. The whole 
 population was collected before the Maire's house, that 
 is to say around the church and the castle square. The 
 Maire's house was next to the church, and overlooked 
 the square. 
 
 There, in- groups mournful as those in which the Is 
 raelites wept on the banks of the Euphrates, were mo- 
 thers, sisters, fathers and young men who were to draw 
 for the conscription ; among these groups were young 
 people who had barely left their childhood, and who 
 were remarkable for their paleness and debility, and 
 especially by their tears. 
 
 These groups did not mingle. Each was composed 
 of the inhabitants of one village, and each looked at the 
 others with hatred, asking that the heaviest portion of 
 the impost of blood might not fall on them. 
 
 Some had sought for consolation in intoxication 
 and their intoxication, the cause of which was apparent, 
 was perhaps more distressing than the tears of others. 
 
 They awaited the conclusion of Mass to commence 
 the drawing of lots. 
 
 The people came out sadly and in tears. The church 
 was so fuil, that people on their knees were seen as far 
 as the middle of the street; sorrowful days are always 
 those of piety. 
 
 The rolling of the wheel echoed sadly in every heart n 
 Pt was a kind of premature summons. The sound of the
 
 112 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 drum for three or four years, bad been sad indeed to 
 mothers' hearts. 
 
 The Maire, wearing his scarf, accompanied by his 
 two adjuncts, and foi'owed by a corporal and four 
 gens d'armes, appeared. 
 
 As he passed, all saluted him most respectfully. 
 Those who had the honor of his acquaintance, called 
 him by name, to which he replied by a protecting mo- 
 tion of the hand. 
 
 They wished to win the Maire's favor. It seemed to 
 all these poor creatures in their distress, that they 
 should procure friends from all directions, and that the 
 Maire was a powerful one, even against Providence 
 and chance. 
 
 After the Maire, there entered the hall where the 
 drawing was to take place, all that the room could con- __ 
 tain, enclosed by barriers, like those around a theatre 
 door. 
 
 The name of the first village in alphabetical order 
 was called. 
 
 It was Boursonne. 
 
 Then began a doubly painful spectacle, the joy of 
 some enhancing the grief of others, which not unfre- 
 quently enhanced the delight of the fortunate. 
 
 Those who rejoiced did so because they had drawn 
 a number high enough to have some chance of remain- 
 ing, and the drawing of each high number lessened that 
 of those not yet called to the wheel. 
 
 What caused the joy of some caused sadness to 
 others. 
 
 An inferior number increased the sadness of those who 
 had drawn it, and the joy of those who remained, since 
 by condemning the drawer, it left some chance to those 
 who had not yet drawn.
 
 THE DRAWING. 113 
 
 This joy and sadness soon extended from the room to 
 the crowd without. 
 
 [The Conscript having drawn his number, which was 
 proclaimed by the Maire and registered, if the number 
 was good rushed forth with open arms, looking de- 
 lightedly to heaven, and at the very door shouted out 
 his own joy and that of his family, bearing triumph- 
 antly the saving number aloft. 
 
 If on the other hand, his lot was bad, the Con- 
 script appeared at the door, sad, with hanging arms, 
 and shaking his head, caring little for the fatal number 
 which proclaimed by the Maire, was inscribed by the 
 clerk on the register, and yet more deeply recorded on 
 the heart of the young man, by despair. 
 
 This scene was renewed every minute. Of, however, 
 one hundred and twenty numbers which had been de- 
 posited in the urn, thirty or forty only, were reputed as 
 good, the alternative of sadness was far more frequent 
 than that of joy, and there was far more sorrow than 
 pleasure in the sad precinct. 
 
 This grief was the more profound as each village had 
 seen some of its children set out on the two terrible 
 campaigns of 1812 and 1813, of whom none had re- 
 turned, except some poor mutilated individuals, so that 
 mothers in their tears pressed their children to their bo- 
 soms, and as they felt their mutilated limbs, murmured, 
 
 " Balls ! bullets ! My God, My God ! can it be with 
 your consent that man thus treats your flesh and 
 blood ?" 
 
 Three villages came before Haramont. These were 
 Boursonne, already named, Corey and Damplieux. 
 
 Two of the villages seemed manifestly protected by 
 Gcd. These were Boursonne, and Damplieux. In all 
 probability, of the thirty Conscripts, they were to fur-
 
 114 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 nish six or eight. Almost all the good numbers were 
 in their bands. 
 
 Corey, none knew why, was to be crushed. 
 
 In all cases, such strange and unaccountable whims 
 of fortune are observed. 
 
 After Diimplieux came Haramont. 
 
 Conscience left his two mothers, Mariette and little 
 Pierre, with many kisses. 
 
 Bernard wished to follow him, but dogs were pitiless- 
 ly proscribed from the interior, and Bernard then re- 
 turned and sate at Mariette's feet. 
 
 Father Cadet was gone to the notary's to avoid the 
 'fatal explosion if such should be. 
 
 Conscience, surnamed Jean Manscourt, came out 
 fifth. 
 
 The two first who left the room, appeared sad and 
 downcast. They had drawn bad numbers. The third 
 had a doubtful number in his hand. The fourth was 
 joyful, having drawn 164. 
 
 The poor mothers, Mariette and little Pierre, knew 
 that Conscience came fifth. 
 
 What grief and anguish passed through the hearts 
 of the three poor women in that moment of expectation, 
 God knows ! God alone counted the hasty beating of 
 their pulses. God only knew how pale they were. 
 
 At the moment Conscience put his hand into the urn, 
 they had calculated it before hand ; at that very mo- 
 ment the dog slowly lifted his head, and howled sadly 
 'The women trembled. 
 
 The howl was not finished, when Conscience ap- 
 peared sad but resigned at the door, his usual melan- 
 choly smile yet lingering on his lips, with the usual 
 melancholy expression on his brow.
 
 THE DRAWING. 115 
 
 The three women shrieked, for they saw that their 
 misfortune was complete. 
 
 He approached .slowly, embracing the three at once, 
 as it were, to assume the three-fold grief. 
 
 He then, in a tone, the sadness of which it is impos- 
 sible to describe, said, 
 
 " Nineteen, just the number of my age." 
 
 " My God, my God ;" said the two women falling 
 from his arms on their knees, " have we been proven 
 sufficiently ?" 
 
 Mariette stood erect, and consequently was alone in 
 Conscience's arms ; he pressed her to his bosom, and 
 murmured: 
 
 " Dead or alive, you know I am yours." 
 
 For some seconds he pressed her lips. 
 
 At that moment, Cadet returned from the notary's, 
 and appeared at the corner of the church, leading his 
 ass by the bridle. 
 
 He saw the women kneeling, with uplifted hands ; he 
 saw Mariette weeping in Conscience's arms, and under- 
 stood all. 
 
 " Ah !" murmured he, " so Conscience is to be treated 
 as my poor William was." 
 
 With an effort over himself, he added : 
 
 " I would have given five hundred francs to ensure 
 him a good number. On my word I would." 
 8
 
 XIV. 
 
 IN WHICH THOSE WHO HAVE FORMED A BAD OPINION OF CA- 
 DET AND BASTIEN WILL PERHAPS CHANGE THEIR MINDS. 
 
 "VTAPOLEON was anxious to get his three hundred 
 _L^( thousand Conscripts, and therefore the Council of 
 Revision sate on the next Sunday. 
 
 It was the last ray of hope left to Cadet and Mari- 
 ette. It seemed to them that the poor innocent must 
 be refused, though in her maternal pride, Madeleine 
 shook her head, and said : 
 
 "They will never refuse him ; he is too handsome.'' 
 
 Since his conversation with Doctor Lacosse, Con- 
 science knew perfectly well vfhat he had to expect. 
 
 Then, though the women continued to hope, he 
 smiled sadly, and said nothing, for a falsehood would 
 have been needed to console his mother. 
 
 The road from Villers-Cotterets to Haramont pre- 
 sented a sad spectacle. Haramont furnished nine 
 young men. Of the nine, the village furnished five, so 
 it had not, it will be seen, been badly treated. 
 
 The four who had escaped, or thought so, for at 
 that sad epoch, nothing was sure, returned with their 
 numbers on their hats, surrounded by triumphant rib- 
 bands and were dancing, shouting aflti filling tho woods 
 with their joy. 
 
 116
 
 CADET AND BASTIEN. 11? 
 
 Of the' five others, two had sought for consolation 
 in drunkenness, and shouted and sang as the others did, 
 but so sadly, convulsively, and painfully, that they 
 seemed phantoms wrested from the tomb and forced 
 to share for a moment in the unknown or forgotten 
 joy of the living. 
 
 The others who had preserved their sang froid, and 
 among them was Conscience, returned without noise, 
 without ribbands, without eclat, humble, modest, and 
 Christian-like in their sorrow. 
 
 Those who had drawn good numbers reached home 
 first, and brought the news of their own joy, and of 
 others' distress. We must say there was general grief 
 at Conscience having been drawn. 
 
 Conscience was so good, so gentle, so inoffensive, that 
 all loved him. 
 
 Bastien was in the cabaret when he heard the news. 
 As was sometimes the case, he had drunken more than 
 he should, and with flashing eyes and voluble tongue, 
 was fighting his campaigns over again, drinking from 
 time to time to the conqueror of Austerlitz and Wa- 
 gram. He was placing the glass to his lips for the fifth 
 or sixth toast, when he heard : 
 " Conscience has been drawn." 
 
 Though the glass touched the Hussar's lips, we must 
 Bay, that he did not taste the wine. 
 " What is that you say ?" asked he. 
 One of the Conscripts entered the cabaret, with hia 
 head all decked with ribands, and said : 
 
 " We say Conscience has been drawn. That is all." 
 " That is all ?" said he, placing the glass on the table, 
 " that is enough, I think ; it is too much, for it makes 
 two families unhappy." 
 He added sadly : 
 V
 
 118 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Poor Mariette ! how she will weep !" 
 
 Rising without touching his half emptied glass, with- 
 out looking at his bottle, he left the cabaret, asking as 
 he did so, of those who had been fortunate, 
 
 " Where is poor Conscience ?" 
 
 " Behind us." 
 
 " Did he come by the high road, or by the pathway ?" 
 
 " The pathway." 
 
 " Very well; if possible I will console him." 
 
 He went towards the pathway. 
 
 More than a hundred persons were waiting this sad 
 cortege, which was seen through the trees slowly ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 Conscience and his mother came first. His heart, so 
 perfectly correct in its appreciation of sentiment, had 
 understood that at such a time all was due to his mo- 
 ther. 
 
 Next came Mariette and Marie. 
 
 Then came Cadet and Pierre riding the ass, as 
 both were silent, the child .understood neither the cause 
 nor the import of this sorrow. 
 
 All who awaited advanced to meet them as soon as 
 they, were visible. Bastien was the first. It seemed to 
 him that he had countless reasons to satisfy Conscience, 
 a thousand horizons to open to him, so that after ten 
 minutes' conversation he must infallibly be convinced. 
 "When he saw him, however, his tongue seemed para- 
 lyzed, and slackening his pace, he suffered himself to 
 be gradually come up with and passed, by the first, the 
 mass, and the last of the cortege. When he saw the 
 deep distress of the families, he shook his head and 
 said, 
 
 " I was wrong God only can console those poor
 
 CADET AND BASTIEN. 119 
 
 All, it seems, were of Bastion's opinion, for none 
 hazarded a word of consolation, and nothing but sobs 
 and ' alas !' were heard. 
 
 Bastien was no longer even qn the road ; he had 
 stood aside to allow them to pass, being determined not 
 even to notify Conscience of bis existence, for he was 
 aware of some little wrongs he had done, if Conscience 
 did not notice him. Nothing however escaped Con- 
 science's great round blue eyes, and he saw Bastien; 
 he who could read hearts sought so deep compassion 
 in that of the Hussar, that he left his mother's side and 
 advanced directly towards Bastien. 
 
 Bastien saw him approach, and cast a look to the 
 right and to the left, to ascertain if Conscience was 
 coming to see him. As no one else was near, there 
 could be no doubt. 
 
 He then with outstretched arms advanced to Con- 
 science. 
 
 At the same moment a sentiment with which he had 
 hitherto been unacquainted, took possession of Bastien, 
 and completely shook his heart. 
 
 " Ah ! poor Conscience ! poor Conscience !" said he, 
 embracing him, " so you are about to go. The lot has 
 then fallen on you ? Just God knows. A brave boy 
 like you . . . the pearl of good sons who saved my 
 life . . . yes, my life ... I, Bastien, say so," con- 
 tinued the Hussar, speaking to the peasants, who saw 
 this expansion of sensibility with amazement, for it was 
 in him a novel thing. " My life Yes ! I said, true 
 enough, that it was Bernard who pulled me out of the 
 water ; but had Bernard been alone he would not have 
 come to me he would not have wet his paws, he does 
 not like me well enough. No, it was kind Conscience 
 who sent him to my aid. It was he. Listen on the
 
 120 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 evening of the fire at Julienne's ... I made many 
 boasts and brags about that evening. Well ! on that 
 evening Conscience did every thing; he saved the 
 horses, oxen and sheep : well, Conscience went to res- 
 cue the child amid the flames Conscience is a lad 
 none should interfere with well ! I look on him as the 
 bravest and most courageous of us all. Go, Con- 
 science, for. your mother calls you. You have in Bas- 
 tien a friend for life and death, and when Bastien says 
 that, it is true, and he will prove it any way he can 
 contrive to. Go, Conscience, go " 
 
 He pushed the young man back to his mother's side. 
 She, poor woman, received him, all grateful to Bastien 
 for what he had done, for she saw that his conduct 
 was prompted by his inmost heart. 
 
 The two families, as they were wont to do, with the 
 exception of Cadet, went into the cottage of Dame 
 Marie, and left the door open, that all sympathy might 
 reach him who was the object. 
 
 All at once, amid the crowd of friends who pressed 
 around the desolate family, a woman appeared : 'twas 
 Julienne, the mistress of Longpre. She had her child 
 in her arms, and went directly to Conscience, who sate 
 by his mother on a bench, and placed the child at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Conscience," said she, " truly as you saved the 
 life of this child, I wish he were old enough to go in 
 your place : Conscience, truly as you saved his life, he 
 should go, and you should remain with your mother 
 and Mariette." 
 
 The poor mother pronounced these words with such 
 gratitude, that all sobbed aloud, and Mariette threw 
 herself in her arms. 
 
 Bastien was without, leaning on Catharine's arm
 
 CADET AND BASTIEN. 121 
 
 he had seen through the door what had passed, and 
 heard what had been said. 
 
 He put his hand on the round and dimpled arm of 
 Catharine, and said in reply to a thought which Juli- 
 enne's words had awakened in his mind 
 
 " Listen ! that is an idea." 
 
 "What?" asked Catharine. 
 
 "Nothing, my beautiful unless as yon probably 
 will not die of sorrow at losing me, as this poor woman 
 will do at separation from her child, I do not risk your 
 health by telling you that I am about to take a short 
 journey." 
 
 " And whither ?" asked Catharine. 
 
 " Be easy. Not far to Soissons, sub-prefecture of 
 Aisne, and as I presume Matthew will not refuse me a 
 horse, thanks to the quadruped, I will be back to-mor- 
 row evening, or the next day at farthest." 
 
 " To remain here, Bastien ?" 
 
 " Who knows ?" 
 
 Disengaging himself from Catharine's arm, he said, 
 
 " Come, my love, kiss me and wish me a pleasant 
 journey. Let me go, for the sooner I do, the sooner I 
 shall return." 
 
 Catharine knew Bastien : she was aware that when 
 there was an idea in his mind, it was not easy to rid 
 him of it. Besides Bastien had told her so often of his 
 great acquaintances in regiments and in office, that she 
 fancied he had some such at Soissons, to whom he 
 wished to speak of Conscience. 
 
 As she was a good girl enough in the main, she, 
 confiding in his speedy return, opposed no difficulty to 
 his departure. 
 
 Bastien die* not fail at once to do what he had re-
 
 122 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 solved on, and readily obtained what be wanted from 
 Matthew. 
 
 Father Cadet too had gone into his house, after hav- 
 ing put Pierrot in his stable. He then turned his empty 
 sack wrong side out, to see if some crown did not 
 stick at the bottom, and seeing that it was really 
 empty, he had returned to sit in his great wooden chair 
 whence through the open door he could see all that 
 took place in Dame Marie's house. 
 
 What he saw really distracted him. 
 
 Father Cadet loved as all old men love selfishly. 
 The misfortune of others was not a direct sorrow to 
 him, but one which recoiled on him. In fact, he was 
 not aware of the absolute necessity to him of seeing 
 Conscience and his dog every day, and treated them 
 both as idlers. Had Conscience been about to leave 
 for three, four, six months, or a year, leaving in the 
 cottage however the certainty of his return, Father 
 Cadet would have bid adieu to him without too much 
 emotion. This was not the case, though. Conscience 
 was going away, one did not know whither or rather, 
 one did know, to be butchered. He was about to* leave 
 despairing hearts, tearful eyes, and sobbing voices All 
 this deranged Cadet's old habits, for on his return from 
 the field the old man loved to see smiling faces and to 
 find his supper ready. His life was to be changed, and 
 he had reached the age when all change is painful. In 
 seventy years Cadet had been able to reach that point. 
 
 Besides, in spite of what socialists say, the idea of 
 inheritance is a great stimulant to man. To amass for 
 the purpose of leaving to a child, who in his turn, will 
 amass and bequeath to his twice what he received ; to 
 eleep the eternal sleep in the belief that a field of three, 
 four or five acres, to become the ball of snow, to be
 
 CADET AND BASTIEN. 123 
 
 the germ of an estate in the hands of a son and a do- 
 main to a grandson, and a fief in a degree yet farthei 
 removed, is one of those dreams of pride, which greatly^ 
 soothes us in the passage from this world to the next. 
 Father Cadet looked at his nine acres, on which he 
 owed sixteen hundred francs, a sum he could easily pay 
 in two years' increase in Conscience's like a cloth of 
 gold, ever increasing, and grown in the hands of his 
 descendants large enough to cover all the plain of 
 Largny. 
 
 If, however, Conscience left and were killed, and Father 
 Cadet died, what would become of the nine arpents 
 so hugely extended in imagination ? To Madeleine, 
 who would die without children, and would bequeath 
 it not augmented ? For how could a lone woman add 
 to it ? Besides, what would her augmentations amount 
 to, as it would have passsed out of the family ? 
 
 In the course of his life, too, Cadet had some qualms 
 of doubts about what he was pleased to call Con- 
 science's sluggishness. Father Cadet was not satisfied 
 that this sluggishness with which he charged the young 
 man, was not more productive during the three or four 
 hours he suffered the lad to have his own way, than 
 was Father Cadet's whole day. He had seen, on cer- 
 tain days, when he was forced to go to Villers-Cotterets 
 or to the market at Crespy and Compiegne, to buy or to 
 sell, when Conscience went in his place with Pierrot and 
 Tardif, to plough or to harrow, the next day he ob- 
 served such progress that he could not realise that not 
 one, but that two days' toil had been done. Father 
 Cadet, then, astonished and surprised, had questioned 
 his grand-son about the mattter, and had been told 
 " I sang to the animals, Father Cadet, and they worked 
 well ;" as Cadet did not comprehend this answer,
 
 124 TUB CONSCRIPT 
 
 though he reflected long on it, one day when he was 
 about to plough, he took Conscience with him. When 
 he reached the plough, and the ass and ox were har- 
 nessed to the plough, he sate down at one end of the 
 field, and said to Conscience, " Sing to the animals, to 
 enable me to see how you manage them." Conscience 
 at once put Tardif and Pierrot on the line he wished 
 them to travel over, and he planted at the extremity of 
 that line, as guide to them rather than him, a thorn 
 wand, he sate quietly on the plough-beam, with his feet 
 resting on the sock, pressing the instrument with all 
 his weight, instead of all his power, being far less fa- 
 tiguing. He then began a song, or rather a monoto- 
 nous and gentle air, which seemed to Father Cadet, in 
 the double character of both Tardif and Pierrot, for 
 they, when they heard the air had not the least need 
 of the goad, but did just twice as much work as when 
 they were guided by Father Cadet, who reflected so 
 much on the matter, that the next day, the old man, 
 who, on the evening before, thought no one could tell 
 him anything about agriculture, seeing the result, 
 was pleased to abandon the Cadet mode for that of 
 Conscience. Consequently, he had harnessed Pierrot 
 and Tardif to the plough, planted the same wand at the 
 end of the furrow, and had sate on the beam as Con- 
 sience had done, trying to sing the same air. Whether 
 though, from the harnessing, from the manner Father 
 Cadet sate, or probably because of the song which Con- 
 sctence sang, something was wanting, for it was in vain 
 that Father Cadet sate on his beam, and sang like a 
 Roman Conqueror on his car. He was forced to inter- 
 rupt his song by dialogue and oaths, for neither Pier- 
 rot nor Tardif moved, and Cadet having lost an
 
 CADET AND BASTIEN. 125 
 
 hour in vain efforts, was forced to return to the old 
 way or Cadet mode, being forced to own that in this 
 manner he was inferior to Conscience. 
 
 Father Cadet, thinking then that if Conscience, in- 
 stead of going remained, if Conscience lived instead of 
 dying, that instead of leaving all to Madeleine, he found 
 a natural heir in Conscience, in spite of the slothfulness, 
 of which Cadet sometimes complained, all would pros- 
 per in his hands, for Conscience really seemed to be 
 favored by Providence. 
 
 Father Cadet then resolved to make a momentary 
 sacrifice for the purpose of keeping Conscience near 
 him, thinking that he would be easily rewarded by the 
 application of Conscience' faculties to the cultivation of 
 the field. 
 
 The result was that the next day, having passed the 
 night listening to Madeleine's sobs, Father Cadet rose 
 early; and even before Conscience and Mariette, faith- 
 ful to their old habits, had set out with Bernard, he 
 took Pierrot from the stable, an,l putting the pad on his 
 bdck, set out himself for the city. 
 
 Thus Villers-Cotterets was pompously called at the 
 city. 
 
 Now, what was Father Cadet about to do at Villers- 
 Cotterets ? What had also taken Bastien to the city of 
 Soissons ? 
 
 It is probable that we shall find out in the course cf 
 the next chapter.
 
 XV. 
 
 WHAT TOOK FATHER CADET TO YILLEBS 
 COTT EKETS. 
 
 rp HOUGH Cadet set out last, as he had the shortest 
 JL journey to accomplish, and consequently will be the 
 first back, we will now follow him, and find out what he 
 is about to do almost secretly at Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 Father Cadet and Pierrot reached Villers-Cotterets 
 at about seven o'clock in the morning. They .came 
 down the street on which the church was, to the great 
 square, turned into the Soissons road, and stopped at 
 the corner of the street near the smaller thoroughfare 
 at Pleux. 
 
 They were at the door of M. Niguet's office. 
 
 Father Cadet sate on the ass as women do, with both 
 feet on one side, as our old Picard peasants always do, 
 being satisfied that women would not sit thus, if it were 
 not the most comfortable way. Father Cadet slid to the 
 ground, tied the ass to M. Niguet's shutter, and tapped 
 at the door. 
 
 Madame Niguet opened the door and recognised the 
 old mun. 
 
 " Ah ! is it you, Father Cadet ?" said she. " What 
 
 126
 
 FATHER CADET. 127 
 
 brings you here at sucn an hour? Did you make a 
 mistake in your count yesterday ? Did you give my 
 husband a crown too much ?" 
 
 " No, Madame Niguet. I always count twice, and 
 never give a crown either too much or too little. It is 
 a safe precaution, for one cannot be mistaken more than 
 once. No, I do not come for that. I wish to speak on 
 business to M. Niguet." 
 
 " Is your business so pressing though, that you come 
 at seven o'clock ?" 
 
 " Very pressing, Madame, and I hope you will at once 
 let me into the study." 
 
 " But Father Cadet, as yet there is no one in the 
 study, not even the runner." 
 
 " I do not wish, Madame, to see the runner, but to 
 epeak to M. Niguet." 
 
 " The fire is not yet made, and you will freeze." 
 
 " I am not cold." 
 
 " Why not come in here, until M. Niguet gets up ?" 
 " ! you see Mariette brings you milk here, Mme. 
 Niguet, does she not ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mariette is a charming girl." 
 
 " I think when she brings you milk, Conscience ac- 
 companies her ?" 
 
 " Yes your grand-son a fine lad : unfortunately " 
 
 Madame Niguet paused, lest she should distress 
 Cadet. 
 
 " Unfortunately," continued he, "a poor idiot that 
 is what you mean, Madame Niguet ?" 
 
 " Father Cadet, I am not the first person, I hope, 
 who has told you so." 
 
 " No, certainly. Madame Niguet, I do not wish 
 Conscience to see me here
 
 128 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 "Ah!" 
 " No !" 
 
 " Pierrot is at the door, and he will see Pierrot." 
 " There is a yard ! is there not ?" 
 " Yea." 
 
 " Well, let me put Pierrot in it, and if the door is 
 shut, he will not see him." 
 
 " Well ! I will wake M. Niguet;lead Pierrot down 
 Pleux street, and there you will find the court-yard 
 open. Then I will lead you into the study." 
 
 " Very well, Mme. Niguet, very well." 
 
 Father Cadet took Pierrot by the bridle, turned down 
 Pleux street, entered the open court-yard, and was then 
 shown into the study, where he found M. Niguet 
 wrapped in a woollen robe de chambre, a cotton night- 
 cap tied on by a Pompadour riband, his feet in a pair 
 of slippers embroidered by Madame Niguet twenty or 
 twenty-five years before. 
 
 What was beneath this costume is indescribable, and 
 we will not attempt to portray it. 
 
 M. Niguet was altogether different from certain per- 
 sons who are ill-tempered when they are awakened ; he 
 was in a good humor when his wife roused him, for he 
 knew she never did so for nothing. 
 
 He was therefore very gracious to his early visitor. 
 
 " Ah ! Father Cadet," said he joyously ; " sit down, 
 Father Cadet, and let us talk." 
 
 " M. Niguet and the company" said Cadet, " my re- 
 spects." 
 
 M. Niguet looked around to see what was the com- 
 pany Father Cadet spoke of; it was, however, an idea 
 of Father Cadet, that any person he spoke of never 
 was alone, but always had company.
 
 FATHER CADET. H9 
 
 He thought it was more polite than to say Mcn&ieur 
 only. 
 
 " Sit down ! sit down !" 
 
 " I thank you, M. Niguet, I am not weary." 
 
 Father Cadet however sate down, for it was a part 
 of his system to say he was not tired. 
 
 " Well, Father Cadet," said M. Niguet, as soon as 
 the old man had fixed himself, " so you are at Villers 
 Cotterets ?" 
 
 " Yes, M. Niguet." 
 
 " On business ?" 
 
 " Yes, on business." 
 
 Father Cadet sighed. 
 
 ' Ah !" said M. Niguet laughing, " do you mean to 
 buy the whole of Largny ?" 
 
 Father Cadet sighed, and let his head sink slowly. 
 
 " No, M. Niguet quite the contrary." 
 
 " Do you wish to sell ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I may be compelled. I do not however 
 wish to sell." 
 
 " What then do you wish ?" said the notary, seeing 
 that the old man wished to come to the point. 
 
 " Then I said But you know M. Niguet yesterday 
 was the conscription ?' 
 
 " Yes, and your grand-son was unlucky." 
 
 " Yes, M. Niguet." 
 
 " It gave me muoh distress, I assure you," said the 
 notary. 
 
 " You are very kind, M. Niguet and company," said 
 Father Cadet. "Yes, the poor child was drawn." 
 
 "No. 19, I think?" 
 
 " No. 19 yes. But I said on the day of the draw- 
 ing, I would give a hundred crowns if Conscience got a 
 good number."
 
 130 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Ah ! you said so " 
 
 " Yes, on my word I did so that yesterday when it 
 fell to him, I must own that it gave me much trouble, 
 and I said I would give five hundred francs if poor 
 Conscience had not been drawn." 
 
 " Diable ! then you are very fond of your grand- 
 son !" 
 
 " I love him much, M. Niguet. Ah, I love him as 
 much as " 
 " Although ?" 
 
 M. Niguet understanding that he had begun a phrase 
 which might be disagreeable to Cadet, paused, but the 
 old man quietly abandoned the phrase M. Niguet had 
 begun. 
 
 " Though he is an idiot. Yes, M. Niguet." 
 " You said so, Father Cadet" 
 " I do not know if it be right, but so it is. Well, M. 
 Niguet, this is the state of things. As an honest man 
 sticks to his word, even when the promise is made 
 only to himself, this morning I arose at day and said, 
 { Well, I will take Pierrot, and go to see M. Niguet,' 
 and here I am." 
 
 " And what then ?" asked the notary, who had be- 
 come anxious to hear the promised question. 
 
 " What then ? why this I said, M. Niguet, that I 
 would give a hundred crowns if Conscience did not 
 go?" 
 
 " Well ?" repeated M. Niguet with increased anxiety. 
 " Well," said Father Cadet, " the money is ready n 
 M. Niguet began to understand. 
 " Ah ha ! That is to say you are unwilling for Con . 
 science to go." 
 
 " I will give five hundred francs sooner."
 
 FATHER CADET. 131 
 
 " Ah ! I understand. Five hundred francs will not 
 be enough." 
 
 " You think so ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " I thought of that," said Father Cadet with a sigh, 
 " and I made up my mind. I had rather "be quits with 
 my five hundred francs, but if it be absolutely ..." 
 
 " Well," said the notary, who was watching the 
 internal contest between avarice and paternity of which 
 the old man's mind was the scene. 
 
 " "Well ! If I must, I would go as far as a thou- 
 sand." 
 
 M. Niguet shook his head. 
 
 Father Cadet observed the motion. 
 
 " Heh !" said he. 
 
 " Father Cadet, you must think no more about it. 
 Leave the matter to God, for richer men than you 
 have been forced to abandon this idea. You have done 
 what you should have done, and even more. You know 
 the will is reputed for the deed. Then be at peace 
 with yourself." 
 
 " Yes you say it is too dear ?" 
 
 " And that I must not think of it ?" 
 
 No." 
 
 Father Cadet arose. 
 
 " Thanks, M. Niguet. You see I come to you as 
 to a confessor. But if it be too much for my poor 
 purse ?" 
 
 " It is, Father Cadet." 
 
 " Let us talk no more of it. Adieu, M. Niguet." 
 
 Father Cadet walked slowly to the door, and when 
 his hand was on the knob, he turned, scratched his 
 head, and said, 
 
 " Perhaps fifteen hundred francs . . ." 
 9
 
 1<J2 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 The notary took one of his hands in both of his, and 
 said, 
 
 " It would be far more than that." 
 
 " The fact is," said Cadet, " that I know fifteen hun- 
 dred francs is a large sum but you see if one can 
 buy back the life ef an only son for fifteen hundred 
 francs, and at the same time keep his mother, poor 
 Madeleine, from dying of tears, well ! I would say, 
 ' As you please ' It is fifteen hundred francs lost 
 but in the end, do you understand, M. Niguet ? the 
 land is to be his, and he would, if he worked, win back 
 the fifteen hundred francs. But if it be more if it be 
 more than fifteen hundred francs ?" 
 
 " It would be more than all your land would sell for, 
 my poor Cadet." 
 
 The old man was overpowered. 
 
 " How ! You do not say so ? My whole field which 
 for fifteen years I have ploughed and harrowed myself 
 my whole field would not be enough ?" 
 
 " No, my friend, so think no more of it." 
 
 " M. Niguet, must my poor boy then go ?" 
 
 " Yes, if the Council of War think so." 
 
 " The Council of War will think so." 
 
 ''Probably. Why not ? They do not look 
 for intelligence, but health and strength. To learn to 
 make a half face to the right, to load in twelve times, 
 does not require a man of genius like Eacine, or of pen- 
 etration like Demoustier. You must then expect Con- 
 science to go, Father Cadet." 
 
 " Dame," said the old man with glassy eyes and with 
 difficult breath, as if he were stifling, " I must, if it 
 seems the sale of my field will not suffice to keep him 
 at home " 
 
 He stood motionless, as if he were about to faint.
 
 FATHER CADET. 133 
 
 " Well, Father Cadet," said the notary " what 
 next ?" 
 
 " Oh, M. Niguet," said the old man, shaking his head 
 sadly, " do you know what you have done ?" 
 " No, my friend." 
 
 " You have given the death-blow to Madeleine and 
 to myself." 
 
 " Father Cadet !" 
 
 " Yes. For the poor lad Conscience, you see, will 
 be killed as William was. How can a poor innocent 
 like him defend himself? Conscience dead, Madeleine 
 will die. Madeleine dead, what will you that I shall do 
 in the world ? Besides, I will soon die, and my field 
 will belong, to whom? To the Manscourt of Pisseleu 
 or Vivieres, far-off cousins. That is the reason I asked 
 you if I could not save the poor lad, if I sold the field. 
 Well," continued Cadet with the most painful sigh he . 
 had yet uttered, " perhaps it would be best to sell. 
 Adieu, M. Niguet and company. I am very grateful 
 to you, although ... I do not know what I say, and 
 cannot find the door. My God ! M. Niguet, every 
 thing turns, and it seems to me that I am about to die. 
 Adieuj M. Niguet and company, a di eu." 
 
 Father Cadet here staggered a step or two, fell un- 
 der the weight of his emotion in the arms of M. Niguet 
 who placed him in an arm chair, and called for his 
 wife to assist him, just as the latter said to Conscience, 
 " My lad, are you sure of Cadet's good feeling to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Why, madame ?" 
 
 " Because I think he is about to disinherit you." 
 Conscience shook his bead gently, and went away 
 without any anxiety on that score.
 
 134 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 He had just closed the door behind Mariette and 
 himself when Madame Niguet heard her husband. 
 
 What originated this idea in the mind of Mme. Nig;- 
 uet, was the precaution Father Cadet had taken to 
 conceal his presence at the notary's, from his grand- 
 son, and 'his anxiety to put Pierrot in the yard. 
 
 She then ran to her husband, saying the while to her- 
 self, " Whatever poor Conscience may think, there is 
 something in this." 
 
 There was this in it. Father Cadet had been seized 
 with an attack of apoplexy, which would certainly have 
 been mortal, if they had not sent at once for the good 
 Doctor Lacosse, who fortunately arrived in time to 
 bleed the old man. Bleeding at that day, when Ho- 
 moeopathy was not invented, presented itself as the 
 only remedy against apoplexy.
 
 XVI. 
 
 WHY BASTIEN WENT TO SOISSONS. 
 
 BASTIEN, as we have said, had borrowed a horse 
 from Matthew, sprung on it, and set out for Sois 
 sons at full trot. 
 
 Though but two hours and a half in passing over 
 the seven leagues that separated him from the old Me- 
 rovingian city, he did not reach it till night, and till 
 the offices were closed. 
 
 He had decided and stopped at the inn of the trois 
 Pucelles, and waited until the next day. 
 
 On the next day, when the offices were opened, he 
 presented himself at the sub-prefecture, and managed so 
 well that he saw the Sub-Prefect himself. 
 
 The sub-prefecture was one of those providers of hu- 
 man blood, for one to whom no other name but that 
 of CORSICAN OGRE could be given. 
 
 Every man who appeared before he functionary 
 appeared as a person, subject either now or in future, 
 to the recruiting law, and consequently as a thing be- 
 longing to him to be disposed of for the purposes of tho 
 government. 
 
 In this respect, there was, in 1814 and 1815, much 
 emulation among the sub-prefects. Their duty was to 
 
 135
 
 136 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 furnish the men demanded of them, and some even 
 wished to see which could exceed the number. 
 
 Our Sub-Prefect was very anxious to be a Prefect. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as Bastien had been announced 
 as anxious to see him on recruiting business, instead of 
 refusing to receive him, he ordered him to be introduced 
 at once. 
 
 Bastien entered with his arms loose, with his colbach 
 on one ear, his dolman over his shoulder, and the cross 
 on his breast, making his spurs ring in testimony of his 
 importance. 
 
 The sub-prefect stood in front of the fire place with 
 one hand in the arm-hole of his waist-coat, with his arm 
 thrown forward, and his nose up in the air. 
 
 This was known to be the usual mode of Napoleon's 
 receptions ; all the world, especially the estimable class 
 of functionaries, a peculiarly independent class at that 
 time, modelled themselves after him. 
 
 He examined Bastion with a rapid and knowing 
 glance, saw in him a man of twenty-eight or thirty, 
 small but compact, and fit for service in three or four 
 different arms. 
 
 In this matter, however, Bastien seemed to be deci- 
 ded, since he appeared before the sub-prefect as an 
 hussar. 
 
 " M. Sub-Prefect," said Bastien, toying with the tas- 
 sel of his colbuch, "I have troubled you, for the pur- 
 pose of saying " 
 
 " Yes, my friend, I see. That you find yourself sub- 
 ject to a recall, and that you wish to rejoin your regi- 
 ment. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur, you are mistaken." 
 
 " Your route will be givea you. That is not my 
 business, but you were right to come to me. Your
 
 WHY BASTIEN WENT TO SOISSONS. 137 
 
 Majesty and King has need of men, and it is our duty 
 to facilitate the wishes of every soldier to resume 
 his service,'' 
 
 " Excuse me, M. Sub-Prefect, no, I am not come 
 about that. I have a leave of absence and a retired 
 pay, besides this cross which you may observe ; conse- 
 quently, I have a right to cross my legs on the fire-irons. 
 Here is a ticket in perfect order, adorned with a turkey- 
 cock, and I am come to see you, wearing the uniform, 
 which suits my general appearance." 
 
 " What then, do you want ? tell me." 
 
 " I was about, M. Sub-Prefect, to do so, when 
 you interrupted me, by cutting off my sentence so 
 shortly and inappropriately." 
 
 " How, inappropriately," said the Sub-Prefect with a 
 frown. 
 
 " Excuse me, M. Sub-Prefect, it is the word we used 
 in the Regiment to express when a thing is done with- 
 out reason, wrongly, in fine inappropriately." 
 
 " Then explain yourself ! What were you about to 
 say, if I had not interrupted you inappropriately, as 
 you said in the Regiment ?" 
 
 Bastien looked in the white of the Sub-Prefect's eyes 
 to see if some insult was not concealed in the words of 
 the functionary. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " so we used to say in the Regi- 
 ment." 
 
 " I am waiting," said the Sub-Prefect, " for you to 
 be pleased to tell me for what purpose, you did me the 
 honor to ask for me." 
 
 " If you had let me tell you, you would already have 
 heard. I wished to tell you I come from the village of 
 Haramont." 
 
 " Where is the Tillage of Haramont ?"
 
 138 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " What ? you do not know where the village of Haa- 
 mont is ? And you the Sub-Prefect of the Department 
 of Aisne! You are a droll Sub-Prefect." 
 
 The Sub-Prefect was disposed to ring for two gens 
 d'armes to put Bastien out. But Bastien had a sword 
 by his side, and a cross on his breast. The age was 
 one when sabres were drawn in serious battles, and 
 crosses enough to fill a page of the Moniteur were not 
 rained down every morning even in the presence of so 
 important a personage as Sub-Prefect of a Sub- Prefect- 
 ure, it was something to wear a cross and sabre. 
 
 Instead of engaging in hostilities with Bastien, the 
 Sub-Prefect went to a map on the wall, and looking 
 over it carefully, said : 
 
 " Heu ! Haramont, that is it. Canton of Villers-Cot- 
 terets, sixty six fire places four hundred souls levy 
 of 1814, nine Conscripts." 
 
 " Good," said Bastien, " you know now what Hara- 
 mont is. "We can talk." 
 
 " Nine Conscripts," repeated the Sub Prefect. 
 " Well, has it furnished them ?" 
 
 " My village has furnished what it owes," said Bas- 
 tien, piqued at the Sub-Prefect's manner. "The proof 
 of it is that the village drew yesterday." 
 
 " Why then, are you come ?" 
 
 " Why, I tell you that is the reason why." 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 " Why, on account of the Conscription." 
 
 " Well ; you are not a Conscript. You have your 
 leave." 
 
 " Take care, my dear Sub- Prefect. You are too 
 quick, as we said in the Regiment." 
 
 The Sub-Prefect made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " Be calm ! be calm !" said Bustien. " When I say
 
 WHY BASTIEN WENT TO SO^SSONS. 139 
 
 that I come for that, I mean that I come to replace 
 one who has been drawn." 
 
 " Then come to the point. You wish to replace one 
 of those who have been drawn?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then you sell yourself?" 
 
 "No, M. Sub-Prefect, I give myself." 
 
 " What ! Give yourself?" said the Sub-Prefect, with 
 amazement. 
 
 " Can I or not?" 
 
 " Certainly, but" 
 
 " If I can, there is no but about it. You understand 
 I give myself, on the express condition, you understand, 
 that the one for whom I give myself is left." 
 
 " That is just. You go in his place ?" 
 
 " Exactly. Then enroll me, and let me go the soon- 
 er the better, since you say the little smooth-face wants 
 men, he must not be kept waiting." 
 
 " How ! the little smooth-face." 
 
 " Thus we called him in the Regiment. It may be he 
 is not called so now ! It may be that he is prouder now 
 than he used to be, and that when met, he is called your 
 majesty. We are slow though in the campaign ; let us 
 come to business, if you please." 
 
 " Ah ! then," asked the Sub-Prefect, " it is a relation 
 your nephew or brother, whom you wish to replace ?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Do you make such a sacrifice for a stranger ?' 
 
 " No : Conscience is not a stranger no.' 
 
 " His name is Conscience ?" . 
 
 " Yes, does that surprise you ?" 
 
 " Why, peasants have such strange names." 
 
 "Do they not? You never hear of Conscience in 
 cities."
 
 140 . THE CONSCRIPT.' 
 
 " You are decided then to go for Conscience ?" 
 
 " Very decided." 
 
 " You have thought well of it ?" 
 
 " Certainly. 1 ' 
 
 " Very well. A note to the Doctor will be given you 
 that he may ascertain that you have no disease." 
 
 "AhlM. Sub- Prefect." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " I do not think I look sick." 
 
 " It matters not. It is a formality." 
 
 " Ah ! if so, nothing is to be said but to submit to it." 
 ' Bastien waited quietly until the Sub-Prefect had 
 written. 
 
 " Now," said the Sub-Prefect when he had written, 
 folded and pealed the letter, " take this to the Doctor. 
 What have you in your hand though ?" 
 
 " Never mind that," said Bastien, putting his left hand 
 out for the letter, and keeping the right behind him. 
 
 " Not that hand/' said the Prefect. " The other, it 
 seems to me, wants two fingers." 
 
 " Well, what of it ? You certainly would not have 
 them cut off and be there still 1" 
 
 " Ah ! but if you have lost two fingers, you are 
 maimed." 
 
 " How ? Maimed !" 
 
 " Certainly, you are aware that his majesty, Emperor 
 and king, wants complete men ?" 
 
 " .You are very particular, M. Sub-Prefect, I think." 
 
 " If you had been drawn yourself, my fine fellow, 
 perhaps they would not be too particular. As, however, 
 you wish to go for another who perhaps has all his 
 members, we cannot reasonably accept you." 
 
 " Beh ! then you refuse me ?" 
 
 " I Bay you are unfit for military service."
 
 WHY BASTIEN WENT TO SOIBSONS. 141 
 
 " And when men built like me come to you, you bar- 
 gain with and depreciate them, do you ?" 
 
 " My friend, you should have begun by showing me 
 your hand, and then I could not have bargained with, but 
 would have told you plainly, ' It may not be,' and all 
 would have been over." 
 
 " So you will not take me in Conscience's place ?" 
 
 " Sorry to say anything disagreeable, but my friend 
 it is impossible." 
 
 " So poor Conscience must go ?" 
 
 " Unless he, like you be deficient, he must probably 
 go." 
 
 " You do not know, this will make a whole family un- 
 happy." 
 
 Peuh 1" t 
 
 " His mother will die." 
 
 " Bah ! if all the mothers were dead, one would not 
 see so many women in mourning." 
 
 Bastien was terrified at this cynical reply. 
 
 " It is well," said he, with a dignity of which one 
 might have thought him incapable. " God is my wit- 
 ness, I did this to protect those poor people from des- 
 pair, and you have wished to make them unhappy. 
 God will judge us according to our deserts. Adieu, M. 
 Sub-Prefect." 
 
 He left. 
 
 " Ah 1" said the Sub-Prefect as he left. '" That fellow 
 does not know that in three months he will have to re- 
 join his regiment, and that if I accepted him I would 
 rob the Government of a man."
 
 XVII. 
 
 UNDEESTANDINGS. 
 
 Cadet was led mounted on his ass to 
 Haramont by the runner of M. Niguet. 
 
 This new sorrow was a relief almost to the afflicted 
 family. 
 
 Doctor Lacosse had sent with him a prescription 
 which was to be taken with the greatest punctuality. 
 
 In spite of the promptness and efficaciousness of the 
 attendance, as the blood had been extracted from the 
 right side, the left was menaced with complete paraly- 
 sis, and the tongue was palsied that it could scarcely 
 articulate. 
 
 Doctor Lacosse, however, promised that he would be 
 better, though he did not guarantee a complete cure. 
 It was, however, evident, that Cadet was become una- 
 ble to cultivate his farm just at the moment that Con- 
 science wasclled away. With a paralyzed arm, of 
 course he cotfl^ not work. 
 
 This however was a future misfortune, and no one 
 perhaps in th^^feole house, except Father Cadet, 
 thought of anything except present trouble. 
 
 Bastien returned to the village two hours after the 
 return of Father Cadet. The accident which had be- 
 
 142
 
 UNDERSTANDINGS. 143 
 
 fallen the poor man was the talk of all Haramont. It 
 was the first thing he heard. 
 
 " Well !" said he, " that alone was wanting." 
 
 He went to the cottage to ask about Father Cadet's 
 health, and did not say a word either of his journey to 
 Soissons or of the cause. 
 
 From time to time, however before, it had always 
 been with pride he looked at his mutilated hand with 
 pain, and exclamations of discontent. 
 
 On the next day Mariette and Conscience, as usual, 
 took their milk to the city, and returned at the usual 
 hour. 
 
 When they did so, Conscience, without seeming to 
 notice either his mother, Dame Marie, Mariette, nor 
 Catharine, who were present, went directly to the old 
 man's bed and knelt by it, aiding Father Cadet in the 
 effort he made to place the hands on the head. 
 
 " Father," said he, " I ask your pardon for being 
 the cause of the terrible accident which happened to 
 you, and the Lord alone can know how grateful I am 
 to you." 
 
 The two mothers listened to Conscience with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Mariette, however, said to them in a low tone, 
 
 " Father Cadet tried to sell the field to procure a 
 substitute for Conscience : M. Niguet told us." 
 
 The women clapped their hands, and knelt by the 
 bed of the old man. 
 
 The field of Father Cadet was his heart, and more 
 than his heart. 
 
 The old man wished to give more than his heart for 
 Conscience. 
 
 This spectacle seemed to surpass Catharine's imagin- 
 ation, for all at once she exclaimed,
 
 144 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " On my word ! and he is not the only one." 
 
 " "What do you mean, my child ?" asked Madeleine. 
 
 " I wished to say, that people who are not relations 
 even, were willing to do as much as Father Cadet, who 
 is his grandfather, and who having no land to offer, 
 offered themselves." 
 
 Madeleine, Dame Marie, and Mariette looked at Ca- 
 tharine with amazement. 
 
 Conscience, with his head hanging over the old man, 
 seemed to pray. 
 
 " Yes," said Catharine, " I can mention a brave lad 
 who is not far from here, who went to Soissons to offer 
 himself in Conscience's place and if the Sub-Prefect 
 had not excused him on account of his hand, at this 
 time you need only to have been anxious about that old 
 man." 
 
 " Bastien !" exclaimed all. 
 
 " Hem ! What is the matter ? Who called Baa- 
 tien ?" 4 
 
 " Bastien !" exclaimed Dame Marie, Mariette, and 
 Madeleine, " did you do that?" 
 
 They all burst into sobs. 
 
 " Well," said Bastien, " Catharine has been talking. 
 That is the way with these damned women ; they never 
 can hold their tongues." 
 
 " Well," said Catharine, " I could not, and told why 
 you had gone to Soissons." 
 
 " Not true" 
 
 " That you saw the Sub-Prefect ?" 
 
 " Not true" 
 
 " That he refused you on account of your hand?" 
 
 "Not_true! not true!" 
 Madeleine seized the mutilated hand and kissed it
 
 UNDERSTANDINGS. 145 
 
 Darae Marie put the other on her heart, and Mariette 
 gliding between the two women, presented the other 
 brow to the Hussar to kiss. 
 
 " What is all this ?'' said Bastien in surprise. 
 
 " Do you not see ?" said Catharine. "You fool, Ma- 
 riette presents her brow to you to kiss. Ah ! I see you 
 are not used to kiss the brow." 
 
 " Mariette," said Bastien, " you too !' 
 
 " Bastien," said Mariette, " did you do that ?" 
 
 "It is not tr . . . It is strange, Mariette, that I 
 cannot lie to you. I can lie well enough to Catharine." 
 
 " Just hear !" said Catharine. 
 
 " Well ! it would be no great matter if it were true. 
 Did not Conscience save my life ? Was it not my life 
 he saved 1 Does it not therefore belong to him 1 Or 
 was it after all any great matter for me to go back to 
 fire 1 I am used to it. For seven or eight years I ate 
 it morning and evening every day, and not unfrequent- 
 ly during the night. But then they refused me. It is 
 not ray fault, but that of my hand. Let us say no 
 more. Come, Catharine. You were wrong to talk of 
 this before the women or rather, you were right, as it 
 procured me the honor of a kiss from Mariette." 
 
 " Just listen to the mad Hussar !" said Catharine. 
 
 " Come, come, I feel that I am giving way, and I al- 
 ways look like a fool when I weep. Come, Catharine, 
 come." 
 
 He hurried Catharine out of the cottage, but at the 
 door he met Conscience. 
 
 " Ah ! you are waiting for me," said Bastien. " It 
 is your turn now." 
 
 " No," said Conscience. " I know what you have 
 done, and I wished to speak to you." 
 
 "To me?"
 
 146 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " To you" 
 
 ' Alone?" 
 
 " Alone." 
 
 " Now ?" 
 
 No to-morrow, while Mariette is at the city, and 
 when Doctor Lacosse is with my grand -father." 
 
 " Very well, when I take Matthew's horses to water 
 I will wait for you at the three oaks behind the house." 
 
 "Thanks, Bastien." 
 
 " Ah," said Catharine, " he is not wise." 
 
 " Catharine," said Bastien, " that may be the case, 
 but in two cases he has taught me that those who 
 make the most noise do not do the most work." 
 
 The family passed the day in the usual mode, except 
 that additional cares and tears were produced by the 
 illness of old Cadet. As Conscience understood the 
 language of animals, it seemed that heaven had- given 
 him the power of comprehending the mutterings of his 
 grandfather. As soon as Father Cadet wished for any 
 thing, it was given him : as soon as his glassy eye was 
 looking at any object, Conscience had it in his hands, 
 and used it as the old man wished he should. 
 
 The next day, Conscience, instead of going with 
 Mariette to Villers-Cotterets, told her to go alone, and 
 begin with the house of Doctor Lacosse, and to ask 
 him, if he were not already gone to come as soon as 
 possible to Haramont. 
 
 Mariette never asked Conscience for his reasons ; she 
 knew that by means of that internal illumination, the 
 rays of which animated his glance, Conscience had a 
 reason for what he did. She therefore set out with 
 Bernard, whom Conscience's thrice reiterated Orders 
 could scarcely induce to set out with Mariette.
 
 UNDERSTANDINGS. 147 
 
 -It usually was nine o'clock in the morning when 
 Bastien took Matthew's horses to water. On this oc- 
 casion, however, in his anxiety to comply with Con- 
 science's wishes, he had set out at ten minutes before 
 nine, and was almost immediately at the three oaks. 
 
 Conscience sate at the foot of one of them. 
 
 When he saw Bastien, he arose. 
 
 Bastien pushed forward his horses, and when at the 
 three oaks, sprang on the ground, and sought to tie 
 his horses to the branch of a tree. 
 
 " It is not worth while," said Conscience, " I have 
 but one \hing to say to you." 
 
 " More than that, my dear boy. It has been so long 
 since I could talk to you." 
 
 He moved towards his horses. 
 
 " I wished you to tell . me what took place between 
 you and the Sub-Prefect." 
 
 " Ah, did you stop me for that ? On my word, it 
 was not worth while. 5 ' 
 
 " Yes," said Conscience, " it is, for I wish to know 
 all that passed." 
 
 Conscience spoke so gravely, that Bastien found him- 
 self overpowered by the gentle and firm voice, which at 
 at the same time besought and commanded. 
 
 " Indeed, you wish to know ?" 
 
 " Yes, Bastien." 
 
 " Well you understand I ask your pardon, I saw 
 you had no great vocation for the military profession." 
 
 " That is true !" said Conscience. 
 
 " Though I declare, for I have seen you act, that in 
 the whole army, not even among the old growlers, is 
 there a braver man than yourself." 
 
 " It is not bravery, Bastien, but the confidence I put 
 in God." 
 10
 
 148 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Well, be that as it may, seeing, I say, that you bad 
 little vocation for the profession of arms, I conceived, 
 from what I heard Julienne say, when she placed her 
 child at your feet, and when I saw the tears of every- 
 body, the idea of going in your place." 
 
 Kind Bastien !" 
 
 " Yes, I argued thus. I like the military profession, 
 and am fit for nothing else. Besides you see the pro- 
 fession is not always unpleasant. There are'some good 
 days, and some nights that are not bad. You know 
 nothing of that though, and have no vocation for the 
 profession. I said plainly to the 8ub-Prefeet, ' You 
 Bee we should help each other in this world. Conscience 
 has been drawn, he does not wish to go, and here I am 
 in his place.'" 
 
 " Give me your hand, Bastien." 
 
 " Yes, this cursed hand has spoiled all. All had 
 been arranged ; he had written a letter for the Doctor, 
 he handed it to me, and I was about to receive it, when 
 he asked me, ' what is the matter with your hand ?' 
 You see, I could not deny it, so I said, ' ah, a trifle, a 
 scratch, two fingers shot off by an Austrian ball at Wa- 
 gram ! That is nothing, though give me the letter.' 
 ' No, no !' said he, ' the loss of one finger is a case of 
 maim, and two lost, in a yet greater degree. His Ma- 
 jesty the Emperor and King wants no crippled sol- 
 diers.' 
 
 " And why," said Conscience, " is the loss of a finger 
 so important ?" 
 
 " The loss of a finger," said Bastien with an impor- 
 tant air, " is to be considered, because you see, if you 
 be in the foot, you cannot lose your gun. If the index 
 be gone, you cannot fire, because you have lost the trig- 
 ger finger ; on the other hand if you have lost the
 
 UNDERSTAND: NGS. 149 
 
 same finger, and go into the cavalry, the Hussars, for 
 instance, and I think if you were permitted to choose 
 your corps, you would go nowhere else, the loss of that 
 finger would prevent your using your sword properly. 
 That is the reason why the loss of a finger is so impor- 
 tant." 
 
 "Thank you, Bastien, that is what I wished to 
 know." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Because you see, if you need any other information, 
 with the same pleasure . . . . " 
 
 " Now, your hand, Bastien." 
 
 " With pleasure. But you are not going at once." 
 
 No." 
 
 " We will meet again ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Bastien untied his horses and mounted one of them. 
 
 " But," said he, putting his hand over his eyes, " who 
 is that riding from Villers-Cotterets ? Oh ! Doctor La- 
 cosse. 5 ' 
 
 " Yes," said Conscience. *' It is he. He promised to 
 visit Father Cadet, and he is come. Go water your 
 horses, Bastien." 
 
 Conscience spoke so seriously that Bastien looked at 
 him with surprise : he said with uneasiness, 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Conscience ?" 
 
 " That perhaps there is a way to keep Madeleine 
 from dying of grief, and Father Cadet of hunger." 
 
 Bastien reflected for an instant. But seeing that he 
 could not penetrate into Conscience's thought, be said : 
 
 " One should never despair. Forward Squadron. 
 Ah ! at the Regiment, it was pleasant to hear that."
 
 150 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 He rode at full trot towards the village square, where 
 the water-box was. Conscience returned slowly, by 
 the back door to Cadet's cottage.
 
 XVIII. 
 
 T.H E F I N G E B. 
 
 DOCTOR Lacosse bad ridden his mare to visit 
 Father Cadet at Haramont. He had not seen the 
 old man for twenty-four hours. 
 
 The Doctor was awaited with great impatience by 
 all the family. The patient had passed a bad night, and at 
 seven o'clock on the previous evening, the fever had 
 increased, and scarcely had left the old man, who laid 
 in an alcove, which the daylight scarcely penetrated. 
 
 The Doctor had a lamp lighted that he might exam- 
 ine him with more ease. His patient was pale, his eyes 
 were sunken, and his pulse, it was true, was a little high, 
 but his trembling tongue uttered but indistinct sounds, 
 and could scarcely be put from the mouth. The pa- 
 tient could scarcely move the left arm, and the left leg 
 was powerless. 
 
 In spite of all this however, he was much better : as 
 on the previous day he had taken from him nearly six 
 ounces of blood, a second venesection the Doctor 
 thought dangerous, especially to a peasant, the blood 
 of whom is always thin, in consequence of insufficient 
 food. He therefore recommended Mustard Cataplasms, 
 and for tfye head, which was to be kept high, Compres- 
 
 151
 
 152 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 sea steeped in spring water, renewed freqently enough 
 to be always fresh and cool. 
 
 Cadet's life was saved, but it was probable that he 
 would never be able to use his arm, and that he would 
 ' walk with difficulty. 
 
 Yet even this was much to the unfortunate family, 
 of which Conscience was the soul, but Cadet the head, 
 to Know, that weakened as it was, it yet would be pre- 
 served to it. 
 
 The Doctor, therefore, left the house with the bless- 
 ings of the women. Pierre held his mare by the bridle, 
 and having mounted her, he began to go towards Vil- 
 lers Cotterets. 
 
 About a hundred yards off, he saw Consc'ence. 
 
 The young man was very pale, and had his right 
 hand wrapped in a blood-stained cloth. 
 
 " My God !" said Doctor Lacosse stopping his horse, 
 " what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Doctor," said Conscience, with a mild but calm 
 voice, " I have met with a great misfortune." 
 
 " What, my child ?" 
 
 " While cutting wood in Father Cadet's yard, I cut 
 off the finger of my right hand." 
 
 As he spoke, Conscience unfolded the cloth, and 
 showed the Doctor his mutilated hand." 
 
 The index was cut off below the second joint, and 
 the flow of blood was so great as to induce apprehen- 
 sions of a hemorhage of the little artery. 
 
 " How long since this happened ?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 " About ten minutes." 
 
 " And why did you not come to me at once ?" 
 
 " I feared lest I should frighten Mariette and my 
 mother too much, so I waited for you here "
 
 THE FINGER. 153 
 
 " But do you know I have a very painful opera- 
 tion to perform on you ?" 
 
 " Yes, Doctor," said Conscience calmly. 
 
 The Doctor looked at the injury carefully, and as if 
 he would test Conscience's courage, said : 
 
 "Do you know, I will have to dearticulate the 
 finger ?" 
 
 " Do so, Doctor," said Conscience, as if he had not 
 heard, or did not understand the terrible signification 
 of the term. 
 
 " Where ?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 " How, where ?" said Conscience. 
 
 " Where shall I perform the operation ?'' 
 
 " Under these trees. Can you not ?" 
 
 The Doctor looked at the young man in amazement 
 
 " Well, who will aid me?" 
 
 " I will, Doctor," said Conscience. 
 
 You ?" 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 " And if your strength gives way if you faint ?" 
 
 " There is no danger, Doctor, of that." 
 
 " There must be some one, if not for you, Conscience, 
 for rne. I shall have the digital artery to take up, and 
 while I do so, astrong man must press on the palmar arch. 
 Wait here, and press your thumb thus in the hollow of 
 your hand, so as to lose as little blood as possible, while 
 I go to the village to find some one." 
 
 The Doctor did set out, at a trot. 
 
 " Doctor, you need not go," said Conscience, " here is 
 exactly the man we need." 
 
 He nodded towards Bastien who was rapidly riding 
 back the horses, a little delayed by the fact that he had 
 stopped to drink himself.
 
 154 THE Co N s c R i P x . . 
 
 " Ah, yes !" said the Doctor. " Bastien, an old soldier 
 he is just the man we need." 
 
 He called to him 
 
 Bastieu stopped his ' Bivouac of the Hussars,' a song 
 he was thundering, and soon galloped to the place where 
 Conscience and the Doctor were. 
 
 " Heh ! what is this," said he, as he saw the bloody 
 napkin on the ground, and Conscience compressing his 
 hand. 
 
 " The Doctor, my dear Bastien, wishes you to aid 
 him in an operation." 
 
 The eyes of Bastien and Conscience met; at this mo- 
 ment, the latter remembered the conversation he had 
 previously held with Conscience. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" murmured he. 
 
 " Well, Bastien," said the Doctor, " you will aid us ? 
 There is no time to be lost." 
 
 Bastien sprang to the ground, tied his horses to one 
 of the three oaks, while the Doctor let his mare, a very 
 gentle animal, browse in the tufts of grass on the ditch- 
 side. 
 
 " Oh !" said Bastien, approaching the Doctor, who 
 had opened his instrument case, and chosen, his best 
 bistory, while Conscience looked on " the case is seri- 
 ous ?" 
 
 " A surgical operation always is, my dear Bastien ; 
 this, though, you can understand, having undergone one 
 like it yourself." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know." 
 
 " And being a soldier, you must have witnessed ma- 
 ny others." 
 
 " Certainly I have. So Doctor, I am now at your 
 service, and will not budge. Conscience, my friend, take 
 courage. Come, come."
 
 THE FINGER. 155 
 
 It was easy enough to see that Bastien, who was 
 very sensitive, was seeking himself to acquire the cou- 
 rage he recommended to Conscience. The latter smiled 
 with his usual gentleness, and said 
 
 " I am ready." 
 
 One might have fancied that his serene soul soared 
 above the things of this world, and that pain did not af- 
 fect him. 
 
 Fearing however that Conscience's strength would 
 give way during the operation, the Doctor told Bastien 
 to hold the hand on which he was about to operate, and 
 to compress the artery, as Conscience did. 
 
 The Doctor took- his history, and prepared his 
 bands. All was ready. 
 
 He approached the patient. 
 
 " Come, my lad,'' said he, " sit down on the back of 
 this ditch." 
 
 " Why so, doctor?" said Conscience, " it seems to me, 
 you will be more at ease if I stand." 
 
 " True but you have not strength to keep yourself 
 erect." 
 
 " I told you to be at ease, Doctor." 
 
 " Well, at least rest against this tree." 
 
 " Oh ! willingly." 
 
 " True 1" said Bastien, " that will be more convenient 
 for me also." 
 
 Conscience leaned against the trunk, and Bastien put 
 his left arm around it, while with the right he sustained 
 that of the patient. ; , 
 
 ' Come, Doctor, go on," said Conscience. 
 
 " It is an affair of two minutes," said the Doctor. 
 
 " And two minutes soon pass," said Conscience. 
 
 The Doctor took off his coat, folded up his sleeves, 
 and with a steadiness of hand which denoted the old
 
 156 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Regimental Surgeon, made first a single circular inci- 
 sion a few lines above the palmar articulation, drew the 
 skin towards the wrist to make the muscle prominent, 
 and then with the same steadiness, divided the flesh, the 
 ligaments and the synovial membrane, Conscience all 
 the while not moving or complaining. 
 
 The poor lad seemed supported by some superhuman 
 power. 
 
 We must say, however, that in spite of the promises 
 he had made, Bastien, who, as he said, had seen arms 
 and legs cut off in battle, coughed, uttered exclama- 
 tions, and in fine, Bastien held Conscience's hand with 
 convulsive force, which resulted less from muscular ten- 
 sion than nervous excitement. 
 
 About the end of the second minute and when the 
 joint was about to be ddarticulated, Bastien's power 
 was gone, he grew very pale, muttered a few indistinct 
 words, and sliding from the tree, sank on the ground. 
 
 " Doctor, Doctor !" said Conscience. " I believe poor 
 Bastien has fainted." 
 
 " Let him faint," said the Doctor, " and mind our 
 own business. Seize your hand as he did, and do not 
 move. . . all is over." 
 
 " So soon ?" said Conscience, compressing the artery 
 6gain as he had done ; " it was not long." 
 
 " Indeed," muttered the Doctor, as he finished the 
 operation, " if I had not talked with this lad as I did 
 yesterday, I should think his idiotcy amounted to insen- 
 sibility." 
 
 " IB it over, Doctor ?" asked Bastien, recovering. 
 
 " Yes in a second." 
 
 Having done cutting, the Doctor had replaced the 
 flesh, and having closed it was occupied in making
 
 THEFlNGER. 157 
 
 bandages of sticking plaster, which he took care sh6uld 
 not be too slight, and create inflammation. 
 
 This was the state of things when Bastien opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 The Doctor seemed excited, but Conscience was calm 
 and looked up. He seemed to behold things invisible 
 to common eyes, and to derive from them the supernat- 
 ural power he had exhibited. 
 
 While the Doctor was finishing with the bandages of 
 the right hand, Conscience gave the left to Bastien, 
 , enough yet weak, stood up. 
 
 " Ah !" said he, " you do not need me any more, 
 Doctor." 
 
 " No, my friend. I will even go so far as to say that 
 if I ever need any aid again in any similar operation, I 
 will not come to you for it." 
 
 " You are right, Doctor," said Bastien, " especially 
 if Conscience be the patient." 
 
 " Why so ? It seems to me that Conscience has sup- 
 ported this operation most stoically." 
 
 " That is exactly the reason. When on the field of 
 battle and in the ambulance, I have seen legs and 
 arms amputated, the sufferers howled, cried, and 
 cursed so that one could say, ' Shut up ! you rob- 
 ber !' Conscience though, you see, with his gentle 
 glance and his eternal smile, overcame me, my head 
 swam, and good night. . . . Now though it is over, 
 I will take back Matthew's horses." 
 
 He remounted, and left at a long trot, saying, 
 
 " It is all the same. I like people not to hallo, though 
 in the Regiment it was the case . . ." 
 
 " Kind Bastien," said Conscience as he saw him go. 
 
 Bastien had not gone fifty paces, when a piteous cry 
 was heard from Cadet's cottage.
 
 158 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " What is that ?" said the Doctor, trembling involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " Nothing," said Conscience ; " but Bernard, who is 
 back from the city with Mariette, and knowing that 1 
 have met with an accident, he pities me." 
 
 " What ! He know that you have met with an acci- 
 dent ?" said Doctor Lacosse, as the last bandage was 
 put around the wrist. " How does he know ?" 
 
 " Ah, you ask a question I cannot answer. I only 
 know that he knows, and here is proof " 
 
 A second and more piteous cry than the first was 
 heard. 
 
 " Why, then," said the Doctor, " does he not come ?" 
 
 Conscience smiled. 
 
 " Be easy, he will come as soon as he is untied. I 
 am afraid, though, that he will bring my mother with 
 him. Did I not say so ?" 
 
 At that very moment Bernard appeared at the cor- 
 ner of Cadet's cottage, and without either smelling or 
 taking the direction, he rushed directly to the three 
 oaks. 
 
 " Wonderful !" said Doctor Lacosse, looking with 
 curiosity at the dog's rapid approach. 
 
 The eye of Conscience did not move. It was plain 
 that he expected some one. 
 
 Almost immediately Madeleine and Mariette ap- 
 peared at the door of the cottage. 
 
 " You see, Doctor," said Conscience, " that I was 
 not deceived." 
 
 " Will you tell me how you knew ?" 
 
 " Nothing is plainer. My mother, as usual, thought 
 I had gone to Villers-Cotterets with Mariette. Seeing 
 her return alone, she became uneasy. Then the dog 
 knew an accident had befallen me. He howled first
 
 THE FINGER. 159 
 
 that aroused my mother : he howled again, and my 
 mother said ' He has come back without Conscience.' 
 Then when unharnessed from the cart, Bernard howled 
 again and came towards me, followed by Mariette and 
 my mother." 
 
 While Conscience was giving this explanation, Ber- 
 nard had joined him, and sprang up half-delighted, 
 half sad feeling for his right hand to lick it gently; 
 while he had raised his left above his head, and waved 
 it gently to trauquilize his mother and Mariette. 
 
 In spite of these signs, the poor mother approached 
 pale and languid, for she saw the bloody bandages, and 
 on the reverse of the ditch the instrument case of the 
 Doctor was still open. 
 
 The Doctor advanced some twenty paces towards 
 her. 
 
 " My God ! my God ! Doctor," said she, " what has 
 happened to poor Conscience ?" 
 
 Mariette, who did not speak, looked anxiously 
 around her. 
 
 " Nothing," said the Doctor, " or rather an accident 
 of no importance." 
 
 " An accident ? Conscience, Conscience " 
 
 " Mother, it is nothing. You see here I am." 
 
 " An accident, my God 1" exclaimed the poor wo- 
 man " an accident !" 
 
 And she sought to see the hand which Conscience 
 kept behind his back. 
 
 Mariette saw what Madeleine could not. 
 
 " Mother, Conscience has but four fingers on his 
 hand." 
 
 " And that is a great blessing," said Doctor La- 
 cosse, " for thanks to it and it is not dangerous 
 Conscience is sure to be refused."
 
 100 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " You understand, mother, I will not leave you I 
 will not leave Mariette." 
 
 Madeleine fell on her knees, and lifting her hands to 
 heaven, clasped them and said, 
 
 " My God, thy will be done. Hallowed be thy name 
 on earth as it is in heaven." 
 
 " Conscience," said Mariette, " was it to do this, that 
 you sent me alone to the city ?" 
 
 " Be silent," said the young man. 
 
 Just then Bastien was seen behind a little eminence. 
 He had taken his horses to the stable and had returned 
 to meet his friend. 
 
 " Come," said Doctor Lacosse, mounting his mare 
 " be calm ; I will return to-morrow, and as you are all 
 good people, I hope that all will be for the best."
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE EEVISION. 
 
 ALL was going on for the better. As is almost al- 
 ways the case in paralytic attacks, the .mind of 
 Cadet for a few days was beclouded, so that it was 
 impossible to explain to him the accident Conscience 
 had met with. He did not even perceive it. 
 
 Doctor Lacosse returned the next day, as he had 
 promised. The two patients were doing well. Con- 
 science suffered much and had a violent fever, but bore 
 his suffering with so much tranquility, and but fur his 
 eyes, which shone with unaccustomed lustre, it was im- 
 possible to see that he was ill. 
 
 Amid all this misfortune, however, had risen the hope 
 awakened by a word of the Doctor, that become unfit 
 for military service, Conscience would be rejected by 
 the Council of Revision. 
 
 The meeting of the Council was fixed for the next 
 Sunday, the fifth day after the accident. 
 
 The Sub-Prefecture was seven leagues from Hara- 
 mont. All the other. Conscripts to be at Soissons at 
 ten o'clock in the morning, had set out at night. 
 Though Conscience, however, said he was well enough 
 to walk as his comrades did, at the instance of Doctor 
 
 161
 
 1G2 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Lacosse, Bastien would not hear of it, but at six in the 
 morning came to the door of the cottage of Cadet, with 
 a carriole borrowed from Father Matthew. 
 
 The women were unwilling to leave Conscience. In 
 the first place, Mariette had her milk to carry to Villers- 
 Cotterets : this was an opportunity to travel a league 
 and to remain an hour longer with her lover; then 
 Madeleine as a mother, asked leave to take advantage 
 of the opportunity ; Dame Marie, being last of kin, and 
 only a foster-mother, remained alone with Cadet. 
 
 Bernard with the little carriage, was to follow the 
 equipage. 
 
 As he suffered himself to be harnessed, Bernard op- 
 posed great objections. He understood that a journey 
 without him was projected, and experience having 
 taught him that when he left his master for merely two 
 hours misfortun'e had befallen him, he doubtless feared 
 that if he left him for a longer time a greater misfortune 
 would occur. 
 
 Father Cadet saw all the preparations with an unob 
 eervant eye, as men see in sleep, that is, without lucid- 
 ness or sleep. They told him Conscience was about to 
 leave for a short time, and that sufficed. 
 
 The two women having kissed Dame Marie, got into 
 the carriole. Conscience sate on the second seat. 
 Bastien by his side, whipped up the horse, and they set 
 out. 
 
 Bernard with a long, sad howl acccompanied them. 
 
 The village on that day had arisen at an earlier 
 hour than usual. The Conscripts who had to walk 
 seven leagues to reach Soissons by nine o'clock, had 
 set out at three o'clock in the morning, and as if to 
 make the grief which had entered every household 
 apparent, the doors had remained opened, and the can-
 
 THE REVISION. 163 
 
 dies lighted. Through the open doors, and by the can- 
 dies was seen either an isolated mother, motionless, and 
 wiping away her silent tears, or some group weeping, 
 united by sorrow. 
 
 Had death even, entered every door, they could not 
 be more melancholy or sad. 
 
 Those who drawn high numbers were ordered up 
 as the others were, for though there had been great 
 difficulties thrown in the way of escaping, it was still 
 necessary to reject those not tall enough, or whom any 
 infirmity made unfit for military service. Every rejec- 
 tion consequently increased the number of bad chances 
 by one. 
 
 By day they had reached Villers-Cotterets. It was 
 then seven o'clock ; at ten they had to be at Soissons. 
 They had to go six leagues, and could spare no time. 
 
 Bastien, in order to allow a few moments more to 
 his poor friend, did not stop until he had reached the 
 Soissons road at the end of the city. There they had 
 to post. 
 
 It was the first separation, for never during his life 
 had Conscience left his mother for a day. 
 
 Who knew for what time he was now to leave her ? 
 
 The hope with which they had lived, that they had 
 nourished and fed so long as the day of separation was 
 not come, the hope they had looked on as a reality, 
 now when they invoked and called on it, escaped from 
 the arms which wished to seize it, like a vapor, a cloud, 
 a chimera. 
 
 The embraces were long and painful. Conscience 
 could not embrace Mariette as he did his mother : 
 .therefore clasping Madeleine to his bosom with his mu- 
 tilated hand, he gave the other to Mariette, who leaned 
 over it and bedewed it with her tears. 
 11
 
 1G4 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 As if he comprehended his humility, Bernard, with 
 his eye fixed on the desolate group, did not seem even 
 to solicit attention ; but it was easy to see how deep his 
 grief was. 
 
 Half-after seven struck, and they had but two hours 
 and a half to travel six leagues. Wiping away a tear 
 with the corner of his cuff, Bastien began to crack his 
 whip in order to tell his sad companions that the part- 
 ing hour was come. Then the silent tears became sobs 
 broken words escaped amid kisses from the lips, and 
 even while saying to Bastien, "a few minutes more, be- 
 fore we separate," they separated. 
 
 A cry, however, which seemed the expression of hu- 
 man grief, struck Conscience's ear as he prepared to 
 get into the carriole again. 
 
 " Oh ! Bastien," said he, " I forgot poor Bernard." 
 
 He ran towards Bernard, who had modestly remain- 
 ed twenty paces in the rear, and who saw that Con- 
 science remembered him, and came to him and the 
 dog approached so rapidly that he spilled half of the 
 milk from the tin vessels in which it was. 
 
 Let none laugh at what we say. The parting of the 
 dog and his master was tender. Conscience said in a 
 low tone a few words, to which the dog replied by 
 barkings which were unintelligible to all others : a pro- 
 mise, however, was exchanged between the two friends 
 Conscience gave Bernard to Mariette as long as he 
 should be absent, and Bernard promised to serve and 
 protect her. 
 
 A last kiss, rapid as a spring breeze, bedewed by 
 tears, was deposited on Madeleine's cheek, and Mari- 
 ette's whole face. Then Conscience was again called 
 by Bastien into the carriole. 
 
 It was driven on, but by leaning back Conscience
 
 THE REVISION. 165 
 
 could still with his hand and head reply to signs made 
 by his mother and Mariette, and not till the road 
 turned did they disappear. 
 
 Then Madeleine sate on the back of a ditch and suf- 
 fered her head to sink in her hands. Mariette looked 
 long at her as she sate with drooping head, tearful 
 eyes, and hanging arms. Then in respect for the great 
 grief of a mother, which compared with others always 
 seems an abyss, she went into the city with Bernard, 
 being confident that on her return she would find Ma- 
 riette where she left her. 
 
 Bastien and Conscience advanced rapidly towards 
 Soissons. 
 
 At ten o'clock precisely, it stopped at the door of 
 the Sub-Prefecture. As the revision as well as the 
 drawing was by the alphabetical order of the places, 
 the canton of Villers-Cotterets would not be called 
 until about four o'clock. 
 
 Conscience would therefore have been able to pass 
 at least five hours with Madeleine and Mariette, which 
 he whiled away on the door-steps with Bastien. 
 
 Slow as they seemed, the hours were buried one after 
 the other in that abyss of time we call the past. The 
 turn of Haramont came, and the five young men who 
 had been drawn were introduced, followed by four 
 others, who hoped in consequence of high numbers, to 
 escape. 
 
 The room presented a stern aspect enough. On an 
 elevation sat the Sub-Prefect, the Maire, and the muni- 
 cipal authorities. Two physicians of the city, and two 
 army surgeons, stood in a kind of semicircle in which 
 the Conscripts were introduced. A dozen gens-d'armea 
 stood against the wall. 
 
 The order of revision observed for the city was in-
 
 160 THE CONSCR IPT. 
 
 verted for the villages. The young men were collected 
 in a large hall, whence they were called according to 
 their number that is to say, he who had drawn one 
 was called first, and so on, until the whole contingent 
 was supplied. 
 
 Conscience was then to appear before them, the nine- 
 teenth, that being his number. 
 
 Those who were rejected, were permitted to leave 
 and return home at once. Those who were thought 
 good were sent into another room, enrolled, and assign- 
 ed to a regiment. Thence they proceeded to a barrack, 
 and in two or three days marched for their respective 
 regiments. 
 
 Of the first eighteen, three only were rejected by the 
 board one because he was not tall enough ; another 
 because he bad broken his knee in a fall from a roof 
 he was a thatcher, and limped and the third because 
 he was far gone in a phthisis. 
 
 Then came Conscience's turn. 
 
 His name was called, the door opened, and he ap- 
 peared. 
 
 It was about to be closed when Bastien's head ap- 
 peared. 
 
 The gen-d'armes wished to make the head disappear ; 
 but seeing a soldier, and a soldier with a cross, he 
 treated him more respectfully than he would another. 
 
 " Comrade,'' said he, " the orders are positively no 
 admission except to the constituted authorities, physi- 
 cians, surgeons, conscripts or gens-d'armes." 
 
 " Diable ! so those are the orders ?" 
 
 " You know I would not speak falsely to an old sol- 
 dier," said the gen-d'armes. 
 
 " Then I cannot enter 1" 
 
 " You cannot."
 
 THE RKVISION. 167 
 
 " It will not even permit me to put my head, thus, in 
 the door ?" 
 
 " Not even that." 
 
 The gen-d'armes was about to close the door. 
 
 " Wait a moment," said Bastien, " if I cannot enter 
 or put my head in ... 
 
 " You cannot." 
 
 " Well ... it does not prevent, that by mistake, and 
 from inattention, to do a favor to an old soldier, you can 
 leave the door pushed to, thus . . so that I can alter- 
 nately apply my eye and ear, as I would look or listen . . 
 You see, gen-d'armes, I am anxious to see and hear parti- 
 cularly, all that relates to the lad now being examined." 
 
 The gen-d'armes looked at his companion, and said, 
 
 " Comrade, do you hear ?" 
 
 Yes, well ?" 
 
 " What think you ?" 
 
 " That it will be no great crime to do what he wishes." 
 
 " Very well, comrade," said the gen-d'armes to Bas- 
 tien, " we are not Turks." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " Look, hear, but do not say a word, else I will catch 
 either your ear or your nose in the door." 
 
 " Be at ease, for," said Bastien, " I will be quiet." 
 
 " Ch The authorities speak . . hush," said the gen- 
 d'armes. 
 
 " True," said Bastien. 
 
 He listened 
 
 During this dialogue, Conscience had been called in 
 front of the gallery on which the Sub-Prefect sate. His 
 name and surname were asked, as also the reasons why 
 he wished to be exempt. 
 
 He took his mutilated hand from the handkerchief 
 which supported it.
 
 168 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Two surgeons approached, and having removed the 
 bandages, laid bare the wound which had already be- 
 gun to cicatrise. 
 
 At the sight of the wound, which was so peculiar, 
 the surgeons glanced at the Sub-Prefect, and then 
 exchanged smiles. 
 
 " My lad," said one of the medical men, in a slightly 
 discontented air, " when did this accident, on account 
 of which you expect to be rejected, happen ?" 
 
 " On last Tuesday, sir," said Conscience. 
 
 " Two days after the drawing ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Well ?" asked the Sub-Prefect. 
 
 " M. Sub-Prefect," said the surgeon who had spoken, 
 " this is not a new case : the Romans sometimes acted 
 as this boy has done, except that as the gun was not 
 invented in their time, they cut off the thumb. Pollex 
 truncatus was a common enough term with them, and 
 expressed what we call a Poltroon." 
 
 Having given this proof of erudition, the Doctor 
 bowed gracefully to the Sub-Prefect, who with equal 
 politeness returned his salute. 
 
 " The devil 1" said Bastien. This looks badly." 
 
 " Silence !" said both gens-d'armes. 
 
 " 5Tou hear, young man, what the Doctor says?" 
 asked the Sub-Prefect. 
 
 " Yes sir," said Conscience naively, " but I do not 
 understand." 
 
 " You do not understand that you are a poltroon ?" 
 
 " I think, Monsieur Sub-Prefect," said Conscience, 
 with the same calmness, " you are wrong, I am not a 
 poltroon." 
 
 " Why then, did you cut off not the thumb but your
 
 THE REVISION. 1C9 
 
 finger ? For you cut it off yourself, and did so inten- 
 tionally beyond doubt." 
 
 " Yes sir, I did cut it off myself, and purposely, as 
 you say. 1 ' 
 
 " He does not lie, at least," said the Sub Prefect. 
 
 " I never lie," said Conscience : " why should I, for 
 God would not be deceived though you were." 
 
 " Why then did you cut off your finger 1 As you 
 never lie, tell us that." 
 
 " In order that I might be rejected." 
 
 The ofiicials were in a good humor just then, and 
 laughed. 
 
 " This looks badly. This looks badly :" said Bastion 
 shaking his head. " The fool ! Could he not say, it 
 was an accident ? I would blarney them, if I were in 
 his place." 
 
 " Silence !" said the gens-d'armes, " or we will close 
 the door." 
 
 " Yes, gens-d'armes. You are right. I will hush." 
 
 " Then," said the Sub-Prefect, "you were unwilling 
 to go?" 
 
 1 1 wished not to." 
 
 " And not from poltroonery." 
 
 " No sir." 
 
 " Why then ?" 
 
 " Because if I go," said Conscience, in his calm 
 and mild voice, " I have an old grandfather, who will 
 be in danger of death from hunger, and a weeping 
 mother in danger of dying of grief." 
 
 The accent of Conscience, as he spoke thus was so 
 touching, that the officials stopped laughing. 
 
 " Ah !" murmured Bastien. " A good answer." 
 
 " Will you hush ?" muttered the gens d armes.
 
 170 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " I ? !' did not speak," said Bastien. 
 
 The municipal officers exchanged glances. 
 
 The Sub-Prefect continued his questions, which Ltd 
 assumed the form of an interrogation. 
 
 " And who inspired you with the idea of thus cutting 
 off your finger ?" 
 
 " You did, M. Sub-Prefect," said Conscience. 
 
 "What! I? Why, I never saw you before in my 
 life," said the magistrate. 
 
 " True. But one of my friends came to Soissons 
 last Monday, and had the honor to see you." 
 
 " Me ? One of your friends ?" 
 
 Bastien pushed his head through the folding door. 
 
 " It was I," said he, " do you not remember me, M. 
 Sub-Prefect?" 
 
 The two gens-d'armes at once seized Bastien by the 
 neck. 
 
 " Ah !" said Bastien, " mind what you are about, or 
 you will strangle me." 
 
 Opening the door with violence, he pushed the gens- 
 d'armes aside, and entered the room. 
 
 The first idea of the Sub-Prefect was to have Bastien 
 put out. His uniform and decoration, however, had 
 their effect. With a nod the public functionary inti- 
 mated permission for him to remain. 
 
 Bastien understood this as an intimation that he 
 might speak and make the desired explanation. 
 
 Conscience turned towaids him, and smiled grate- 
 fully. 
 
 . Bastien felt the influence of the smile, and was 
 encouraged. 
 
 " Thus it is, M. Sub-Prefect. I camo as you know 
 from the name and place of Conscience." 
 
 " Yes, I remember you."
 
 THE REVISION. 171 
 
 " Whether you did or not, it would be not the less 
 true, because you refused me in consequence of the loss 
 of two fingers. You see, gentlemen,' 7 said he, lifting up 
 his hand, " the fingers are gone." 
 
 " Well ! what has this coincidence to do with the 
 Conscript ?" 
 
 " Co-in-ci-dence," said Bastien, evidently offended 
 at the word. " It matters not, though. This is the 
 coincidence. Conscience you see, heard from a wo- 
 man women, M. Sub-Prefect, you know, have always 
 found it absolutely impossible to hold their tongues 
 he heard from a woman Catherine, daughter of 
 Father Pinot, the sabot-maker, he heard why I went 
 to Soissons, I was stupid enough to tfell her I had gone 
 to Soissons, had seen you, and offered to go in Con- 
 science's place, and that you had told me, ' My dear 
 M. Bastien, I am sorry to refuse you, but you cannot 
 replace Conscience, because you have lost two fingers. 
 You even added, you remember, M. Sub-Prefect, that 
 ' one would be too great a loss.' " 
 
 " Certainly, I said so." 
 
 " Well ! that was a great piece of imprudence. As 
 I had the honor to tell you, Conscience became aware 
 of it. On Tuesday morning, just as I was taking my 
 horses to water, he began to question, to pull worms 
 out of my nose, as the proverb says. I suspected 
 something, but he had such an innocent air, that joker 
 there, that the devil himself would be deceived. I told 
 him that the Emperor wanted men who had lost neither 
 two nor one finger. He said ' Adieu ! thank you, Bas- 
 tien,' without any more excitement than I show now 
 and having gone home, cut off his finger. Is not that 
 Conscience, exactly the way the thing happened ?' 
 
 " Exactly so," said Conscience.
 
 172 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " A quarter of an hour after, I saw him, and the am- 
 putation was made. I am ashamed to say so, as an old 
 soldier, but truth before all things, as Conscience says, 
 I grew sick. Up to that time I had thought I was a 
 man I was mistaken, I was but a child, a puling 
 girl ... a .. I do not know what. It is however true, 
 that if there be any fault, either you or I must take it 
 on ourselves. Come, Conscience, M, the Sub-Prefect 
 sees his error. Let us go home, for the 'Emperor wishes 
 no crippled soldiers. M. Sub-Prefect, your servant" 
 
 " One moment," said the magistrate, extending his 
 hand. 
 
 " How, why ?" 
 
 " Gen-d'armes, keep silence." 
 
 " But" said Bastien. 
 
 " Silence," said the gen-d'arrnes, drawing Bastien 
 back. 
 
 Bastien in a moment saw he was hurting Conscience's 
 case and was silent. 
 
 " Conscript," said the Sub-Prefect, " what you have 
 done, is an offence against the military law, according 
 to which you might be punished. This would not be 
 severity, but justice." 
 
 " How so, how so ?" said Bastien, " since Con- 
 science " 
 
 " Silence there !" said the two gens-d'armes. 
 
 " But since," said the Sub-Prefect, " the simplicity of 
 your avowal disarms your judges . . your surgeons de- 
 clare in what arm, in spite of his mutilation, the Con- 
 script can serve." 
 
 " In what arm ?" said Bastien. " In mine I hope , if 
 so, I will go for him." 
 
 " Put that Hussar out," said the Sub-Prefect with im 
 patience.
 
 THE REVISION. 173 
 
 " Not a bit of it, M. Sub-Prefect on my word, I will 
 not open my lips; just let me remain." 
 
 The surgeons said after an examination, " the Con- 
 script, in spite of his mutilation, will make an excellent 
 pioneer or artillery-man." 
 
 " Very well ! pass him to the right, and have him en- 
 rolled in the train of the army." 
 
 At this decision, Conscience grew very pale, for he 
 thought of the grief of his two mothers and his be- 
 trothed. 
 
 He was not the less obedient, casting on Bastien a 
 look of farewell and of thanks. 
 
 ''Ahl my poor Conscience," said Bastien, reaching 
 forth his arms, and bathing his face in tears " Buried 
 in the Koyal Wagon train, as they said at the Regi- 
 ment . . . What a humiliation !" 
 
 He left in despair, not because Conscience had not 
 been sent home, but because he had been put in the 
 train.
 
 PART SECOND 
 I. 
 
 "WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE FKOM Nov. 10, 1813, 
 TO JAN. 25, 1814. 
 
 IT was not without reason that the Sub-Prefect of 
 Soissons, desiring to become Prefect, was so anx- 
 ious to obtain soldiers for Napoleon : Napoleon was 
 really in want of them. 
 
 There was no exaggeration in the words he had 
 uttered in the Senate Nov. 10, 1813 
 
 " A year ago, all Europe was with us ; now, all Eu- 
 rope is against us." 
 He should have said, 
 
 " A year ago, all Europe was with me; now, all Eu- 
 rope is against me." 
 
 The slight substitution of a personal for a collective 
 pronoun would have much cleared up and explained 
 the question. 
 
 For the second time Europe was mistaken about 
 France : the first time was in 1792, when instead of 
 
 174
 
 WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE. 175 
 
 suffering the revolution to be concentrated in the great 
 centre called Paris, it forced Paris to diffuse through 
 the world the revolutionary lava which had em- 
 braced it. 
 
 The second time was in 1813, when instead of grant- 
 ing Napoleon the peace he desired, or confining him in 
 our ancient limits, it reduced him like a wild boar to 
 stand at bay, put him on the island of Elba, and ena- 
 bled him to effect the most brilliant return, illumining 
 history with a blaze of fire, and by crucifying him at St. 
 Helena, terminated his life by a magnificent Calvary, 
 and made him a god, not only to France, but to the 
 whole world. 
 
 In fine, as we must be just even to men of genius 
 an example we give, and would like to see followed by 
 our cotemporaries we will confess that he could not 
 accept the peace offered to him. 
 
 On the fifth of November, the Prince Regent of Eng- 
 land declared to Parliament that it was neither the in- 
 tention of England nor of the Allied Powers, to demand 
 any sacrifice of France incompatible with her honor or 
 her just rights. 
 
 This was perfectly played, for if war continued after 
 such a declaration it could only be attributed to per- 
 sistence in the bloody passion for destruction of the 
 Emperor. 
 
 We repeat that England plays perfectly well, only 
 that she is sometimes tricky. 
 
 On the 14th of November M. de Saint- Aignan came 
 to Paris. 
 
 M. de Saint- Aignan was a man of wealth and in high 
 favor with Napoleon, which he had won by an admira- 
 ble apropos of flattery. 
 
 When he was Prefect at the Upper Alps, the Em-
 
 176 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 peror one day visited his department, and in a brusque 
 and dry manner questioned him. 
 
 Bonaparte loved quick answers. It was necessary 
 to answer quickly and to stammer to him. 
 
 Many questions had been put to M. de St. Aignan, 
 each of which had been answered instantly. 
 
 " How many men, Prefect ?" 
 
 " So many, sire." 
 
 " How many arpents of forest ?" 
 
 " So many." 
 
 " How much land ?" 
 
 " So much." 
 
 " What birds of passage ?" 
 
 " But one, sire the eagle." 
 
 The Emperor annoyed at last by the quick replies he 
 usually loved so much, wished to embarrass M. de Saint 
 Aignan who had replied by this splendid flattery. 
 
 Napoleon looked on himself as beaten, and rewarded 
 his victor by making him a member of the privy coun- 
 cil, appointing him his Equerry, and finally by sending 
 him to Wemar, as his minister resident. 
 
 The occupation of Germany forced M. de Saint Aig- 
 nan to return to France. M. Metternich resolved to 
 take advantage of the circumstance' to transmit new pro- 
 positions to the Emperor. 
 
 On the 9th November, on the very day of the return 
 of Napoleon to the Tuilleries, so fatal to kings, and when 
 we left him asking for three hundred thousand Con- 
 cripts, of whom poor Conscience was to be one, M. de 
 Saint Aignan at Frankfort received from M. deMetter- 
 nicb, M. de Nesselrode the Russian, and from Lord 
 Aberdeen the English Ambassador, the following ulti- 
 matum. 
 
 " The allies offer peace on condition .that France will
 
 WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE. 177 
 
 relinquish Holland, Spain, Germany, and Italy, retiring 
 behind its natural frontiers, the Alps, Pyranees, and 
 the Ebine. 
 
 " A city on the banks of the Rhine, will be selected 
 for the Congress : the negociations will however in no 
 manner interrupt military operations." 
 
 The conditions were hard, especially to a man accus- 
 tomed to impose instead of submitting to conditions. 
 
 The abandonment of Germany was necessary as 
 the allies already had possession of it. 
 
 To abandon Spain he was already determined on. 
 The obstinate resistance of the Spaniards sustained by 
 the gold and steel of England, had wearied Napoleon. 
 
 To abandon Holland, entirely ours, so rich in resour- 
 ces to France, and menaces to England ; to abandon 
 Italy untouched, and occupied by Murat and Eugene, 
 were terrible sacrifices to be made only for a prompt 
 peace, and in the hope of an absolute cure. 
 
 Besides nothing was positive, inasmuch as in r'te 
 of negociation military operations were to continue. 
 
 These unacceptable overtures W 7 ere not however abso^ 
 lutely rejected. Napoleon, however, resolved to push 
 matters to extremities, and to make his fortune, the for- 
 tune of France. 
 
 This accounts for the rigorous orders given to the Sub- 
 Prefects about Conscription. 
 
 Every preparation was made to repel the war of 
 invasion, with which France was menaced, and which 
 was far more threatening than in 1792. 
 
 In 1792, the struggle was for liberty, in 1813 it was 
 to maintain despotism. 
 
 In 1792 the question was, "To be or not to be.' 
 la 1813 it was simply, should Napoleon remain or not.
 
 178 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 The question had therefore diminished from the fate 
 of a nation to that of a man. 
 
 Instead of national enthusiam, individual genius was 
 the inspiring principle. 
 
 In a few words, let us see what genius abandoned to 
 its own resources, exhausted by the blood it has lost in 
 victory or defeat, is about to accomplish. 
 
 Alas ! we repeat for the second time, the history of 
 the great of this world is so mingled with that of the 
 lowly, that we are forced to busy ourselves with the 
 lofty, when we would attend to the humble. 
 
 The propositions sent on by M. de Saint Aignan had 
 been communicated to the Corps Legislatif, Napoleon 
 declaring himself ready, disagreeable as they were, to 
 accept them if they would restore peace 
 
 Unfortunately, Napoleon consulted the Corps Lesis- 
 latif when it was in a bad humor. Napoleon had, 
 during his last visit to Paris, imposed a President on 
 it, who had not been nominated as a candidate. 
 
 We do not profess any profound admiration for M. 
 Baour-Dormian, yet as we pride ourselves 1n our im- 
 partiality, we will confess that in his tragedy of Ma- 
 homet there are two very fine verses. 
 
 He speaks of the Janizaries, a corps much des- 
 pised by the Sultans : 
 
 Qu'il nousfau payer, cher les mepris, quails endurent, 
 Si le trone c/tancelle a Vinstant Us murmur -ent, 
 
 says Mahomet II. 
 
 The corps legislatif was like the Janizaries, it mur- 
 mured. 
 
 A committee of five, composed of M. M. Laine, Gal- 
 lois, Flungergues, Keynouarcl, and Maine de Biran, all
 
 WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE. 179 
 
 hostile to the Imperial system, was appointed, and drew 
 up an address, in which timidly glided the word liberty, 
 which for, some years had been forgotten. 
 
 Small as the place the poor word occupied in the ad- 
 dress was, Napoleon observed it. To him, the word 
 liberty was Medusa's head. He tore up the address, 
 and adjourned the corps legislatif. 
 
 On the 2nd of December, the Due de Vicence, who 
 replaced the Due de Bassano in Foreign affairs wrote 
 to Monsieur de Metternich that Napoleon consented to 
 the two general bases proposed by Monsieur de Saint 
 Aignan. 
 
 December 10th they received from M. de Metternich 
 the unexpected news, that the allies could come to no 
 definative conclusion without^ the consent of England ; 
 having written the cabinet of St. James, they waited its 
 answer. 
 
 All hope of a frank and honest peace then had 
 disappeared, and Napoleon, as a last means of safety, 
 prepared for war. 
 
 During all these illusory propositions, the allies had 
 continued their march, and now appeared on the North, 
 South and East. 
 
 The English have passed the Bidasoa and are about 
 to ascend the Pyrannees. 
 
 Swartzemburg, with the grand army of a hundred 
 and fifty thousand men, is about to violate the neu- 
 trality of Switzerland. 
 
 Blucher, another violation, has entered Frankfort 
 with a hundred and thirty thousand Prussians. 
 
 Bernadotte occupies Holland, with a hundred thou- 
 sand Swedes and Saxons. 
 
 Seven hundred thousand men, educated by their 
 defeat in the great school of Napoleonic war, prepared 
 12
 
 180 THK CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to cross the frontiers of France, neglecting all the 
 strong places and answering each other by the words 
 Paris, Paris, Paris." 
 
 December 21, the allied sovereigns published to 
 the world the proclamations which were a signal for 
 hostilities. 
 
 Henceforth France can only be saved by submission, 
 or by energy. 
 
 Napoleon, in favor of energy, and for that reason, the 
 corps legislatif advocates submission. Having ad- 
 journed, Napoleon dissolves it. 
 
 Coups cPetat signalise the commencement and point 
 out the end of monarchical powers. 
 
 The news seems each day more disastrous. 
 
 On the 28th December, General Bubna occupies 
 Geneva. 
 
 On the 30th, Swartzemburg directs his columns on 
 Epinal, Vesoul and Besancon. 
 
 On the 14th of January, the enemy enters Vesoul. 
 
 On the 9th, Besangon is invested. 
 
 That is the condition of the grand army, composed 
 of Austrians, Bavarians and Wurtemburgers, with 
 which is the Russian Imperial Guard. 
 
 Blucher having paused for some time on the Ehine, 
 as if from an irresistible dread of touching the soil of 
 France, at last, on the night of the 1st of January, 
 crosses the river at three different points. 
 
 In the centre, the corps of General d'York and of 
 Langeron cross at Caul. 
 
 On the right wing, the army of Saint Priest 'crossed 
 at Neuwied, where we had ourselves crossed twice or 
 thrice in the days of the old French Victories. 
 
 The left wing under Sacken and de Kleist crossed at 
 ICaoheim.
 
 
 WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE. 181 
 
 "We have already mentioned the Anglo-Spanish army 
 commanded by Wellington. 
 
 There will' however be a halt for a moment. 
 
 The Due de Bellune evacuates Strasburg, with an 
 army of not more than ten thousand men. He, 
 however, receives an order from Napoleon to dispute 
 the passage of the Vosges, foot by foot. The Due de 
 Trevise comes by the road to Langres, with a division 
 of the guard to sustain him. 
 
 The Due de Kagusa, with twenty thousand men, 
 compelled to defend his retreat, will take advantage as 
 much as possible of the glacis of the numerous fortress- 
 es of Lorraine. 
 
 The Due de Castiglione will defend Lyons, whither 
 he hurries in all haste, to organize the resistance of the 
 second city of the kingdom. He will be aided by General 
 Deschamps who provides for the safety of Chamberg 
 and by General Derais who organizes the levy en masse 
 of Dauphiny. 
 
 The Due of Tarante is at Liege, providing for the 
 safety of the places on the Rhine, and Meuse with or- 
 ders to re-enter old France through the forest of Ar- 
 dennes. 
 
 The Due of Dalmatia after a battle of four days, in 
 spite of the desertion of the German troops, who, on the 
 evening of the llth of December, passed over to the 
 Spanish camp in one mass, halted on the glacis of Bay- 
 onne. 
 
 The Duo of Albufera, who retreated from the heart 
 of Spain, halted at the Llobnegat, and fixed his head- 
 quarters in Catalvonia. 
 
 Eugene, in Italy, defends the passage of the Adige 
 so well that the Austrians cannot force it. 
 
 This halt commanded by Napoleon, was executed in
 
 182 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 an instant on all the line which surrounded France be- 
 tween the mouth of the Eschelles and the Garonne. 
 
 A moment only, by the times, was allowed Napoleon 
 to look over his chess-board. 
 
 The enemy advances with seven hundred thousand men 
 it is true, but the enemy which in three months will have 
 five hundred thousand men in the heart of France, will 
 be able to commence operations only with two hun- 
 ded and fifty thousand. 
 
 He can also hope, that the enemy will amuse himself 
 by blockading strong places, and that by this blockade 
 his armies will be much diminished. 
 
 Napoleon can yet rely on two hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand men, 'but this force, which, if united, would make 
 him master of events, is thus divided. 
 
 Fifty thousand are on the Elbe. 
 
 A hundred thousand at the foot of the Pyranees. 
 
 An hundred and fifty thousand beyond the Alps. 
 
 The other fifty thousand are in the hands of Ka- 
 guse, Caslighore and Tarante, not in his own. 
 
 j.n reality then, only on fifty thousand of his old 
 troops and his new levies can he rely. 
 
 Let his activity too, be ever so great, he cannot begin 
 the campaign before the end of January. 
 
 This delay will also give him time to draw troops 
 from his army in Spain and in Italy. 
 
 To do that, he is about to sacrifice the claims which 
 for four years have been the cause of his quarrel with 
 Spain and Rome. 
 
 Early in December, Prince Ferdinand of Spain was 
 set at liberty, and on the 1 1 th, a treaty was signed with 
 him. 
 
 On the 15th of the same month, the Pope was re-
 
 WHAT PASSED IN FRANCE. 183 
 
 stored to Italy, and early in January, set out to re- 
 ascend the throne of Kome. 
 
 His return to the eternal city Napoleon hopes so at 
 least will protect Italy from Austrian occupation, and 
 the restoration of Ferdinand will destroy Wellington's 
 influence at Madrid. 
 
 But this halt, which enabled Napoleon to restore his 
 plan of campaign, had been short. All of our lines of 
 defence, which were too feeble to resist, were forced. 
 
 Bubna intercepted the Limpton road, and the Valais 
 was torn from France. 
 
 Swartzemburgh forced the Vosges. Blucher is in the 
 heart of Loraine, and Yorck before Metz. 
 
 Since January 1 3th, France, the France of Louis 
 XIV, has been occupied. 
 
 On the 14th, the Prince of the Moskowa evacuated 
 Nancy. 
 
 On the 16th, the Due de Trevise left Langres. 
 On the 19th the Due of Baguse retreated on Verdun. 
 Napoleon has not a moment to lose. 
 Since the commencement of the month, he had com- 
 missaries in the provinces with extraordinary powers, 
 charged with the levying of men and with provisions for 
 defence. 
 
 " Frenchmen," said he, in the proclamation, " they 
 love one last if I call on the people of Paris, of Bre- 
 tagne, of Normandy, Champagne, Burgundy, or in the 
 other departments to succor their brethren m Lorraine 
 and Alsace. When all of them are in arms, the stran- 
 ger will fly or make peace." 
 
 At the same time, all the troops received orders to 
 retreat on Champaigne. On Champaigne they were to 
 march both troops from the frontier and the last con- 
 scription.
 
 184 THK CONSCRIPT. 
 
 January 20th, the Prince of Neuchatel left Paris, and 
 informed the troops of the speedy arrival of the Em- 
 peror. 
 
 On the 23d, the Emperor signed letters patent, ma- 
 king Marie Louise Regent. 
 
 On the 24th, he made his brother Joseph a partici- 
 pant in the regency, with the title of Lieutenant-General 
 of the Empire. 
 
 On the 25th, at two in the morning, he burned his pri- 
 vate papers ; at three, he kissed his wife and son, and ten 
 minutes after, with Count "Bertrand, got into his carriage. 
 
 Let us now see what became of Conscience, a poor 
 atom lost in the convulsion which agitated the woild.
 
 II. 
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE 
 
 WHILE Bastion bore to Huramont the news which 
 was to fill the hearts of three unfortunate women 
 with despair, Conscience, attached to the artillery of the 
 Young Guard, was sent to Fesnes, where a considera- 
 ble park taken from the arsenal of La Fere and the city 
 of Soissons had been collected. 
 
 The military education of Conscience was effected 
 with the rapidity peculiar to an age when practice was 
 altogether paramount to theory. Eight hours' drill a 
 day taught him in less than a month his double duty 
 as conductor and defender of the caisson to which he 
 was attached. .His instructor was an old soldier, who 
 suffering none either of the good or bad qualities of his 
 pupils to escape him, did not fail to perceive the affinity 
 between the mind of the Conscript and the animals 
 with whom he had to do. 
 
 To Conscience then was assigned the special direc- 
 tion of the horses of the battery, who soon discovered 
 him to be a friend to whom they were an object of care, 
 and who, in gratitude for this amelioration of their lot, 
 redoubled their vigor and docility. 
 
 185
 
 186 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Not only among animals, however, did Conscience 
 acquire friends. His companions were young men like 
 himself, with sad hearts and tearful eyes, who had 
 come from all parts of France, and who had little en- 
 thusiasm for the profession they had been snatched 
 from their mothers' arms to embrace : in spite of eight 
 hours' drill a day, they made by no means a satisfactory 
 progress. 
 
 Conscience became their consoler ; he sustained, he 
 encouraged them, and after a month's association, just 
 as his influence had been felt by the animals, the vigor 
 of which it had doubled, it was felt by men who derived 
 resignation if not courage from it. 
 
 On the 20th of January, the Prince of Neuchatel 
 passed, and ordered all the forces to be concentrated at 
 Chalons. 
 
 Two hours after, the battery to which Conscience 
 belonged set out. The same evening it halted at 
 Keims, and at night, after four hours' rest, set out for 
 Chalons, where it arrived on the evening of the 21st. 
 
 There the approach of the evening was perceptible, 
 and the spectacle of the horrors of an invasion for the 
 first time struck the eyes of Conscience. Poor peasants 
 from the environs of Bar-le-Duc, Vissy, and Saint Di- 
 dier, were seen, some with all their movables in cars 
 and wagons, drawn either by their own arms or by 
 oxen and asses. Sometimes on the top of one of these 
 wagons, a mother sate on a bed, bending forward as if 
 to protect the better a child she nursed, singing it 
 asleep in so sad and monotonous a voice, that it seemed 
 rather a lamentation than a song. This mournful 
 procession, which went it knew not whitl er, which fled 
 for flight's sake, stopped in the public square it was 
 too poor to visit an inn. It lived the: e on public cha-
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE. 187 
 
 rity, on" wine brought to its kind-hearted women, on 
 bread which the soldiers gave, on alms from the cha- 
 ritable, who said, " May God guide you." 
 
 Conscience, who ate little, and who yet suffered with 
 his wound, gave away all his wine and three quarters 
 of his bread, and as the recipients clasped their hands 
 and blessed him, said, 
 
 " If you owe me thanks, make your children pray 
 for three pious women, Madeleine, Marie, and Mari- 
 eite: the Lord knows them, I trust, and will know you: 
 pray for them." 
 
 If asked why he wished children to pray for the 
 three women, he would say, 
 
 " Because the prayers of children are purer and more 
 agreeable to the Lord." 
 
 Then he thought with terror that if the enemy con- 
 tinued to advance, and if Napoleon, of whom he heard 
 much, but whom he had not seen, did not contrive to 
 check him, the time might come when the three women 
 of his heart would fly in a car drawn by Pierrot, like 
 those unfortunates with whom he had shared his bread 
 and wine ; he then hoped that others like him would on 
 the journey supply them with bread and wine. 1 
 
 The fugitives became more numerous every hour, 
 for every hour the enemy drew nearer. 
 
 The enemy was but fifteen leagues distant. His out- 
 posts had been seen from Bar-le-Duc. 
 
 On the 22d he was ten leagues. Russian and Prus- 
 sian parties had been seen at Vitry-la-Francjais. 
 
 This was the great Russian, Austrian and Bavarian 
 army commanded by Swartzemburg. The Prussians 
 under Blucher were also advancing. 
 
 The first had descended the Vosges by many routes, 
 and directed the strongest of its columns on Troyes.
 
 188 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 The Old Guard, commanded by the Due de Trevise, is 
 thrown forward to meet it, and though disputing every 
 foot of ground, its retreat begins to encumber the streets 
 of Vitry le Francais, and to fill with its first waves the 
 Faubourgs of Chalons. 
 
 The second has passed Loraine, and occupied Saint 
 Dizier. It advances diagonally on the Aube. 
 
 If Napoleon does not arrive in two days, his troops 
 at Chalons, having no orders, will be obliged to fall 
 back on Paris. 
 
 On the 25th, the fugitives began to appear in the 
 streets of Chalons, rolling forward before them a crowd 
 of peasants, who left their houses on fire, and who, see- 
 ing that God, in spite of their prayers, has not come to 
 their aid, invoke Napoleon, who has for twelve years 
 seemed to them another God. 
 
 In the very streets, however, the fugitives mingle 
 with the first columns of troops that come from Paris, 
 and announce the Emperor. Three days before, they 
 had passed in review in the court-yard of the Tuille- 
 ries, and Napoleon had said, " Go ! I follow you." 
 
 At last, about five o'clock in the afternoon, while the 
 sound of approaching cannon is listened to with anxie- 
 ty, cries of Vive PEmpereur are heard in the Faubourg 
 towards Paris. Five carriages, the first of which has 
 six and the other four horses, cross the city, and stop 
 at the door of the Prefecture. Napoleon gets out first. 
 
 He is calm and cold as usual, that marble man ; his 
 brow though is slightly contracted, and his head hangs 
 not on his shoulders, like that of Alexander, but on his 
 breast, like that of Frederic, as if indicating that the 
 weight of the globe he bears fatigued his shoulders. 
 
 In one second an immense acclamation bursts from
 
 B E K o K E THE BATTLE. 189 
 
 the whole city. One might say that the swift-winged 
 Eagle had itself diffused the news of his arrival. 
 
 He leaves the coach, and with a gesture replies to 
 the countless repetitions of Vive FEmpereur, ascends 
 the steps of the Palace of the Prefecture, and enters 
 the room previously prepared for him. 
 
 " Send," said he, " for the Prince of Neuchatel, the 
 due of Valmy, and the due of Reggio." 
 
 He threw himself into an arm-chair, and awaited the 
 coming of the men with the sonorous titles he had sent 
 for. 
 
 The Prince of Neuchatel came first. He came from 
 the advanced posts, and has had four days to acquire 
 information. 
 
 The Due de Bellune and the Prince of the Moskowa 
 having evacuated Nancy, have retired by Vard, Ligny, 
 and Bar on Vitry le Francais. The Due de Ruguse is 
 behind the Meuse, between St. Michel and Troyes, dis- 
 puting every inch of ground with the enemy, stopping 
 him when pressed too closely. The cannon heard two 
 evenings before was his, and his are now heard. He 
 has been heard all day. These two fiery halts will 
 be called the battles of Columber-les-deux-Eglises and 
 Bar-sur-1'Aube. History will tell that the Old Guard 
 there preserved the glory of its reputation. 
 
 The Due de Valmy is announced. 
 
 " Come, come, Kellerman," said Napoleon, " twenty 
 years ago you gained the title by which you were an- 
 nounced in the very plains in which we are about to 
 drill our Prussians. You know what is to be done to 
 conquer them, and will aid me with your advice." 
 
 KelLerman bowed, but did not answer. 
 
 What could he have said? 
 
 "True, 1 sire, twenty years ago I defeated the Prus-
 
 190 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 sians, but then under my simple name Kellermun I re- 
 presented revolutionary France. Now as Duke of 
 Valmy I am but the representative of a man command- 
 ing France, exhausted of blood and enthusiasm, asking 
 for repose, calmness and peace, even at the price of 
 shame." 
 
 Turning to Oudinot, Napoleon said 
 
 " Are you there ? I waited impatiently for you. 
 You are of this country, are you not?" 
 
 " I am from Bar-sur-Ornain, Sire." 
 
 " Very well. We will study out the map for our 
 evening's work." 
 
 Turning to his orderly officers Gourgaud and Morte- 
 mont, he said, 
 
 " Admit all those who can give me any information.'' 
 
 During the whole evening Napoleon leaned over a 
 map of the departments of Aube, Marne, and Upper 
 Marne, marked with red-headed pins, the probable po- 
 sitions of the enemy, whom he hoped to surprise by the 
 rapidity of his course and the vigor of his movements. 
 
 During this time, by the light of a fire in the public 
 place, about twenty paces from a park of artillery 
 guarded from this fire by numerous sentinels, a young 
 man in the artillery uniform, wrote on his knees with a 
 pencil the following letter : 
 
 " My good and dear Mother 
 
 " You must have received my letter from Fismes, 
 where I was in depot. "We were but sixteen leagues 
 apart, yet except in heart were separated as completely 
 as if you were on one side of the world and I on ano- 
 ther. 
 
 " You have suffered much, my good Mother, you 
 have wept but I hope that the receipt of the first let-
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE. 191 
 
 ter I wrote you, which I did as soon as my hand per- 
 mitted me, God gave you strength not only to bear 
 your own troubles, but to console others. 
 
 " I write now from Chalons, which is eighteen 
 leagues farther. I write by the bivouac fire, just as 
 the clock of a little church which recalls that of Hara- 
 mont, strikes ten, and when all in the village sleep, ex- 
 cept you, who watch under the care of the Lord, at-, 
 the foot of my grandfather's bed. He grows better, 
 does he not 1 absorbed by the recollection of your son, 
 who watches and prays for you. 
 
 " Far different from Haramont, every door is open 
 here, every house is lighted up, all are awake, for the 
 Emperor arrived at five o'clock. 
 
 " I have, my good and kind Mother, seen this man 
 who separates us, and who has cost us so many tears. 
 I would have expected him to have had a stern and re- 
 pulsive face. Alas ! he has a sad, melancholy face like 
 other men, and they say here, what none at Haramont 
 I think, or at any other place will believe, that he re- 
 grets to make war, and did not leave Paris until he had 
 exhausted every means to obtain peace. 
 
 " When he came, the cry of Vive TEmp&reur was 
 loud. Was it though because of love of him, or of ha- 
 tred of the Russians and Prussians ? The Lord, from 
 whom nothing is hidden, will easily distinguish. 
 
 " I write you ja long letter, not knowing whence and 
 how I may write you again, for to night we will doubt- 
 less advance either towards Saint Merchand or Vitry- 
 de Frangais. The Emperor with his marshals decides 
 that. From where I sit, I can, by lifting up my head, 
 see the windows of the Prefecture light as if it were on 
 fire, and from time to time his shadow is seen on the
 
 192 T HE CONSCR IPX. 
 
 curtains. He does not sleep, you see, and is like his 
 army, which has not slept for a week. 
 
 " It seems we are to go to Vitry, for an orderly offi- 
 cer from the door of the Prefecture has just ordered 
 the Emperor's personal baggage to go to Vitry, follow- 
 ed by the Imperial Guard. If we follow them, there 
 will be six more leagues interposed between us, my 
 kind and dear Mother. 
 
 " Tell Bastien, if he be yet at Haramont, which I 
 doubt for I think from the last accounts, that the sol- 
 diers on leave, must either have joined their regiments, 
 or been incorporated with others of the same arm that 
 I thank him for all his kindness. I am growing used 
 to the service of the train, and do not think it disagree- 
 able as he said. I have made two good friends, whom 
 I rarely leave the horses that draw my caisson. 
 Though we have been but a fortnight together, we un- 
 derstand each other almost as well as Pierrot and Tar- 
 dif, who two, ten years old friends whom I have not 
 forgotten, and the black cow, who though old, yet 
 gives good milk, I hope. 
 
 " My kind and good mother, tell Mariette that next 
 to you, I regret her more than anything in the world, 
 and that next to you I respect Dame Marie most. Tell 
 Mariette that while at Fismes, I was not more than 
 twelve leagues from our Lady of Liesse, who is more 
 famous than she is in our part of the country. I know 
 the poor child made a vow to go thither if I was not 
 drawn ; I wished to go thither in her name to accom- 
 plish her vow, and to ask the good Virgin to make 
 Mariette always love me. If, God grant it, though I 
 return we will go thither to give thanks not only for 
 this last favor bestowed on us, but for all I have
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE. 193 
 
 received since my birth, and being an object of love to 
 three as hbly women as you are. 
 
 " Adieu, my dear mother, we have but this moment 
 received the order to march, and aides-de-camp have 
 been sent to announce the arrival of Napoleon to the 
 Due de Trevise, and to tell him to keep before the ene- 
 my. We are then about* to meet what is called the 
 grand army, and I will with my own eyes see that ter- 
 rible thing called War. 
 
 " A child of ten or twelve years of age who escaped 
 from his village, and whom I found weeping for his 
 parents whom he had lost, promises to put this letter 
 in the office, which I have not time to do myself, as I 
 am just ready to mount. I have given him half of my 
 ration of bread for his service. 
 
 " Eemember to pray to God that the morsel I have 
 given this child may last him till he finds his parents. 
 
 " I embrace you tenderly and respectfully, my dear 
 mother, and also Dame Marie and Mariette. 
 
 " Your son, 
 
 " CONSCIENCE. 
 
 " My respects to grand father, who must be very un- 
 happy at not seeing his farm." 
 
 In fact, as the young soldier was giving his letter, 
 from want of time unsealed to the child, the trumpet 
 sounded FORWARD. Conscience, a feeble unity of the 
 force of fifty thousand men, with which Napoleon 
 marched to oppose the Austrian, Russian, Bavarian 
 and Prussian masses took he was on the second one, 
 his caisson filled with powder, .the road to Vitry-le- 
 Francais.
 
 III. 
 
 THE VILLAGE 
 
 WE need pot, our characters being so well 
 known, to attempt to describe the grief that 
 awaited the return of Bastien, bringing the bad news 
 that Conscience, in spite of the accident which had 
 befallen him, was judged fit for military service.^ The 
 humiliating arm in which he was to serve, was not, as 
 was the case with Bastien, what distressed the poor 
 family. So long as Conscience left the village, what 
 mattered it what arm he served in ? As soon as ho 
 became a soldier, all arms, during the period of destruc- 
 tion, were equally dangerous. 
 
 Strange thing ! Madeleine the poor creature to whom 
 the blow was most cruel, was sustained by another mis- 
 fortune. She felt that he did not belong entirely to 
 herself, but also to the poor grand-father, whom the 
 blow had stricken so severely. 
 
 "What especially tormented Father Cadet, was, as 
 Conscience said, the idea that he would be forced to 
 give up his favorite field. Bastien, who had much 
 spare time, placed himself at Father Cadet's disposal, 
 but he was a poor agriculturalist, and he would not 
 
 194
 
 THE VILLAGE. 195 
 
 trust his beloved land in such inexperienced hands. 
 The field, too, was so well drained and cared for, that 
 it would itself perceive the difference between his rude 
 touch, and the gentle hand which had hitherto man- 
 aged it. 
 
 Fortunately, Matthew was there. Father Matthew, 
 cultivating on a large scale, one hundred and fifty acres, 
 certainly, had not the delicacy of touch, and the little 
 personal cares of Father Cadet. But he knew his busi- 
 ness. He was a rude antagonist, who had more than 
 once encountered intractable land, which by strong 
 will, by force, we may almost say, he had subdued. 
 
 For this year, what the land of Father Cadet did not 
 yield to persuasion, would be wrested by force, and he 
 need be under no anxiety except that of sorrow, at the 
 idea of its being brutally treated. 
 
 In the meantime days had rolled by, and the muti- 
 lated hand of Conscience,, had, as he had stated, been 
 able to write a letter at Fismes, which had been receiv- 
 ed. Madeleine not having heard from her child, fan- 
 cied he was already dead, was rejoiced when his letter 
 came. Then, as if she understood that Conscience's 
 love for her was so great that it overflowed on others, 
 and that she had no right to keep it to herself before 
 she unsealed the letter having informed Father Cadet 
 from the door of the cottage she called to Marie, and 
 Mariette, holding up the letter that they might under- 
 stand why they were convoked. 
 
 They came, followed by Bernard, who seemed to 
 understand that he had been consigned to Mariette, 
 and to know that he, too, had a right to participate in 
 the news of his old master. 
 
 From the second letter which we have communicated 
 
 13
 
 196 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to the reader, it may nearly be understood what was 
 the tenor of the first. 
 
 They sent for .Bastien, who knew everything, and 
 asked if he knew where Fisraes was. They wished to 
 form some idea of the region in which Conscience was 
 living. 
 
 The geographical knowledge of the three women on 
 the west extended no farther than the farm of Vez ; on 
 the east than Villers-Cotterets ; on the north than Taille- 
 fontaine, and on the south that of Boursoune. 
 
 Unfortunately, Bastien did not know where Fismes 
 was. 
 
 True, when he heard Fismes was but eighteen 
 leagues from Haramont, he offered to go at once to en- 
 quire after Conscience, so as on his return to be able to 
 describe the city to the three women. 
 
 We need not say that this very kind'offer was refused. 
 They knew that Conscience was alive; had heard in 
 what city he was, that he was well, and was mindful of 
 them ; at that time, they dared to ask nothing more of 
 God. 
 
 Besides, as Conscience had foreseen, Bastien, one fine 
 morning, received his route, all military leaves of ab- 
 scence being recalled, except those which were on ac- 
 count of infirmities which had rendered their holders 
 utterly unfitted for military service. 
 
 On the day after the departure of Bastien, Madeleine 
 received the letter Conscience had written from Chalons. 
 On this occasion joy was mingled with something of 
 terror. Conscience was well, but had been forced to em- 
 ploy another to mail his letter, ,on the eve of his own 
 departure for battle. At the time they received the let. 
 ter, the battle was over, yet none could know what had 
 happened
 
 THE VILLAGE. 197 
 
 They determined to answer his letter, and to tell him 
 of everybody. It was, however, a most important mat- 
 ter to write. 
 
 Father Cadet had never been able to do more than 
 sign his name. Dame Marie and Madeleine always 
 made their marks, and Mariette alone, as a schoolmas- 
 ter's daughter, while a child had known how to write. 
 
 She, however, from want of practice, had almost for- 
 gotten how. 
 
 It was, however, decided, that she should be secretary. 
 
 They had to write at once, and hoped that by direct- 
 ing to Vitry-le-Francais, Conscience might yet receive it. 
 
 They had received his. 
 
 Muriette went to the grocer's for some letter-paper 
 ink and a ready-made "pen. 
 
 She found Catharine making exactly the same pur 
 chase. 
 
 " For Bastien ?" asked Mariette. 
 
 " For Conscience ?" asked Catharine. 
 
 And each answered yes. 
 
 When Mariette returned, she found the table pre- 
 pared at the foot of Father Cadet's bed. The two mo- 
 thers sate, the one spinning, and the other knitting. 
 Pierre was playing in the corner, and Bernard sate with 
 his head resting on a chair, as if to keep his place. 
 
 It was the seat of Father Cadet, which it was thought, 
 would be more comfortable for her as she wrote. 
 
 As soon as she sat down, Pierre left his place of play, 
 to see what his sister was about to do, the occupation 
 being altogether novel and curious. 
 
 " Oh ! Pierre," said Mariette, " take care not to shake 
 the table. I will have difficulty enough in writing, with- 
 out your annoying me, the while." 
 
 " I do not annoy, but only look at, you," said Pierre,
 
 198 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Well ; I beg you," said Mariette, as she dipped her 
 pen in the ink, after having moistened it with her lips, in . 
 order that it might take the ink better, " to look at me 
 from a greater distance." 
 
 As he drew back, however, doubtless in a bad hu- 
 mor at his exile, Pierre gave the table so severe a 
 shock that a large drop of ink fell in the midst of the 
 sheet. 
 
 " There," said Mariette, " see what you did I" 
 
 " Bad boy !" said Marie. " "Will you never do as 
 your sister bids you ?" 
 
 Pierre pouted, shrugged his shoulders, and left. 
 
 Mariette sought to adopt the manner usual in such 
 emergencies. She sought to wipe up the ink with her 
 tongue, but the effect of this manoeuvre was to substi- 
 tute a spot of grey for one of ink the former was lar- 
 ger than the ink spot had been. 
 
 Fortunately Mariette had foreseen the possible 
 emergency, and had purchased, not one sheet, but a 
 quire. 
 
 She gave the spoiled sheet to Pierre, who took a 
 match, dipped it in ink, and going to a stool, began also 
 to write, or rather to pretend to write. 
 
 Notwithstanding what had been spilled on the sheet 
 given to little Pierre, enough ink was left in Mariette 's 
 pen for her to begin to write, a fact which distinctly 
 proves that the whole fault was not Petit Pierre's. 
 
 " Now," said she, " how must I begin the letter ?" 
 
 " "What do you think, Father ?" 
 
 Father Cadet was improving, and had begun to speak 
 again, though his tongue was yet very- thick. 
 
 Said Father Cadet, " Begin by saying we are all in 
 good health that is the way letters always begin." 
 
 " But, grandfather, 1 ' said Mariette, " how can I tell
 
 THEVILLAGE. 199 
 
 him we are all in good health, when you are yet con- 
 fined to your bed, and though you tried to get up yes- 
 terday, could not do so ?" 
 
 " You are right," said the old man sighing. " Well, 
 tell him you are all well except me, but that I will ne- 
 ver get up again." 
 
 " Grand-papa," said Mariette, " why begin the letter 
 by a thing that will give him pain ?" 
 
 " True," said Madeleine. " The poor boy already 
 has trouble enough, without adding to his burden." 
 
 " Well ! with all your talk," said Pierre, "you have 
 not begun, while I am half*down the page." 
 
 Dipping his match in the ink again, he pointed to his 
 paper, which was well marked over. 
 
 " You are right, Pierre," said Mariette. " Let us 
 now begin." 
 
 " Well," said his grandfather, " first write his name 
 at the top of the sheet." 
 " Conscience ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the old man. 
 
 " What ! just Conscience ?" asked the young girl. 
 
 " You are right," said Madeleine. " Conscience is 
 cold, very cold. Say rather, ' My dear child ! my be- 
 loved son.' " 
 
 Mariette made a face at this suggestion, by which 
 Madeleine appropriated the letter to herself, for sjie saw 
 that she could not call Conscience her child or her be- 
 loved son. 
 
 Dame Marie understood her, and said, 
 
 " Suppose we put " Dear Friend." 
 
 Madeleine again objected. "That," said she, u is 
 the way one writes to a stranger." 
 
 " Yes," said Mariette. " Suppose instead of that we 
 write " Dear Conscience."
 
 200 THECONSCKIPT- 
 
 " Do so," said in chorus, the grandfather and the two 
 mothers. 
 
 " I wrote ' Dear Conscience,' said Pierre, showing his 
 sheet filled with hieroglyphics. . 
 
 " Now," said Mariette, " keep back a little from the 
 table, and keep Pierre out of the way, that he may not 
 push me." 
 
 She wrote in a trembling but yet legible hand, " Dear 
 Conscience." 
 
 " Now " said she. 
 
 All looked at each other^; their hearts were full. 
 Had Conscience been there, the angels would have 
 smiled with joy at what the three would have said. 
 "Writing, however, was not an outpouring of the heart, 
 but an exertion of mind. 
 
 The grandfather spoke first, 
 
 " Write that you take your pen in hand to ask after 
 his health." 
 
 " As I write, he will know that I take the pen in 
 hand, for I do not write like Pierre with a stick. His 
 health, thank God, we know is good, since we reply to 
 a letter which assured us it was so." 
 
 " Then write as you please," said Cadet, visibly hum- 
 bled at having given two pieces of advice, each of which 
 had been rejected. 
 
 " I think," said Madeleine, whose mother's heart con- 
 fided in that of the young girl, " that you can do bet- 
 ter by yourself." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" said Mariette, delighted and 
 pleased that they had come to this conclusion. 
 
 " Yes/' said all the members of the epistolary coun- 
 cil at once. 
 
 " Then I will go home to write, that I may not dis- 
 turb you, as I know I will here. When the letter is
 
 THE VILLAGE. 201 
 
 done, I will come hither, and add or take away what 
 you please." 
 
 " Go," said all. 
 
 Mariette, accompanied by Bernard, went to the room 
 of the cottage on the right, whither she took pen, ink, 
 and paper. She shut the door. 
 
 After half an hour, s,he came back with four pages 
 covered. It is true this great extension of thought was 
 due somewhat to the size of certain letters, to the wide- 
 ness of the lines, and the uncertainty of their progress 
 from left to right, which increased as they advanced. 
 
 When she appeared, all arose, and ail exclaimed at 
 once, " let us see." 
 
 Mariette began to read in trembling voice, like that 
 of an author doubtful of success. 
 
 " Dear Conscience We were happy to receive your 
 letter." 
 
 " So was I," said Cadet. " Was not I happy too ? 
 And you say no more about me than if I was dead al- 
 ready." 
 
 " True, grandfather, but that is a mistake easily cor- 
 rected. Pierre, go home and bring the pen and ink." 
 
 The child at once crossed the street, and soon re- 
 turned with the articles asked for. 
 
 Mariette took the pen, and soon corrected the 
 phrase * 
 
 " Dear Conscience We were happy to receive your 
 letter ; in the first place because it told us you were in 
 good health, and in the second, that you loved us, as 
 we do you. It was the second letter we received, but 
 
 * Mariette uses the word heureuses (happy) feminine plural, 
 instead of the masculine plural heureux, which would have ex- 
 pressed both sexes The first evidently excluded Father Cadet.
 
 202 THE CON SCRIPT. 
 
 . as none in the house can write except myself, and yon 
 see how badly we did not dare to answer the first. 
 To-day, as you know that we did not reply, from indif- 
 ference, I write as well as I can, dear Conscience, to 
 say that we love you with all our hearts." 
 
 Mariette paused, deeply moved- 
 
 u Is that right ?" said she. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said all. 
 
 Pierre clapped his hands; he thought it beautiful. 
 
 " Then," said Mariette, encouraged, " I continue 
 
 " You are right, dear Conscience, in thinking that we 
 have suffered and wept much. As, however, you tell 
 us to confide in a good God, we will try to think only 
 of the happy moment of your return. 
 
 " As you thought, Bastien left yesterday for Chalons. 
 Had we known you were in that city, we would have 
 given him a letter for you, or at least sent you messa- 
 ges. We did not, however, know that city even by 
 name : could he have found you among so many thou- 
 sands ? 
 
 " You have seen the Emperor Napoleon, and say he 
 is like other men. Our good mothers cannot realize 
 that one can be like a man, who has separated so many 
 parents and children, so many husbands from wives. 
 They think he must be like that Demon beneath the 
 feet of St. Michael on the left hand side of the church 
 of Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 " I am glad that you did not go to Notre Dame de 
 Liesse alone ; it now seems to me for it to be impossi- 
 ble for us to visit the good Virgin except together. 
 We will go immediately on your happy return. 
 
 " As for what you say about praying her to grant 
 that I may love you for ever, that, dear Conscience, is 
 useless, as I will do so without that."
 
 THEVlLLAGE. 203 
 
 Mariette paused a second time, and did not dare to- 
 look up, for she thought what she had just read was 
 very bold. 
 
 She might, if she had pleased, for none present could 
 read, have skipped over this paragraph as if it had ne- 
 ver existed, but the poor child was incapable of such 
 falsehood. 
 
 All in the two cottages, however, loved Conscience, 
 and none were surprised at Mariette's speaking thus 
 of an endless love. 
 
 All applauded, therefore, the expressions of the sec- 
 ond part of the letter as they had done those of the 
 first. 
 
 Mariette continued : 
 
 " The end of your letter, you may well imagine, dis- 
 tresses us much, dear Conscience, inasmuch as it tells 
 us you too are about to fight. When, therefore, I went 
 for pen and ink, I went to the Sacristan, and without 
 telling either of our mothers, ordered a mass for to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Dear Mariette," said the two mothers, opening 
 their arms to her. 
 
 " Oh my God !" said she, " and I told Conscience 
 that I had not mentioned it." 
 
 . " It matters not ; you have," said Madeleine, " done 
 what I intended to do." 
 
 " And I also," said Dame Marie. 
 
 Mariette continued : 
 
 " We hope, however, that all will be well with you. 
 We have, however, heard from Bastien, that the sol- 
 diers of the train are not so much esteemed as the Gre- 
 nadiers and Hussars, who decide all the victories. He 
 added that they were less esteemed in the army than
 
 204 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 the Grenadiers, and especially the Hussars. All this, 
 however, dear Conscience, is unimportant, provided 
 you return safe and sound. 
 
 " This wish we form in the bottom of our hearts, 
 as we bid you adieu or rather, as we assure you 
 of our wish to meet again. 
 
 " For grandfather, our mothers, and little Pierre. 
 
 " Your loving 
 
 " MARIETTE." 
 
 " My God !" ' said Marie in tears, " where did she 
 get all that ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Madeleine, putting her hand on her 
 heart, " I know." 
 
 " Listen 1" said Mariette. " There are a few lines 
 more." 
 
 " What are they?" said all. 
 
 " Bernard is well, and lifts his head and wags his 
 tail whenever your name is pronounced a proof that 
 he knows you are spoken of. 
 
 " Pierrot and Tardif seem surprised not to see you, 
 and to have no one to talk to. The one brays, and 
 the other lows so sadly sometimes, that it almost 
 breaks my heart. 
 
 " The black cow has had a spotted calf, which has 
 been sold to M. Maupriver, the butcher from Villers- 
 Cotterets, for thirty francs. For about six weeks, 
 therefore, I have been unable to serve more than half 
 of my customers. Those, however, whom I could 
 not supply, promise to take it again as soon as we 
 have it, for they say it is the best milk to be had. 
 
 " To-morrow, when I go to Villers-Cotterets, I will 
 post this letter.
 
 THE VILLAGE. . 205 
 
 :c Again, dear Conscience, may God watch over you 
 till we meet again." 
 
 " Amen," repeated the voices of Father Cadet, Mad- 
 eleine, Marie, and little Pierre.
 
 IV. 
 
 THE INVASION 
 
 WHILE Marietta's letter mailed the day after it 
 was written was being sent to Conscience, whom 
 it was not to meet, Napoleon at day-break reached 
 Vitry-le-Francais, and began a battle between Saint 
 Dizier and that place, drove the enemy for three 
 leagues before him, and at ten in the morning, occupied 
 Saint Dizier which for two hours had been in posses- 
 sion of the enemy. 
 
 The astonishment of the inhabitants was extreme ; for 
 two days had they heard the Russians say in our 
 language that " Napoleon was lost," and that " in a 
 week the allied armies would be under the walls, of 
 Paris," that " France would be, like England of old, 
 into Saxon and Norman, divided," when all at once, 
 amid the fugitives, whose flight they did not understand, 
 in a cloud of smoke torn aside by the blaze of artillery, 
 and the rattle of musketry, calm and motionless on his 
 white horse, like the corse of the Cid pursuing these 
 routed Moors, they saw him whom they had believed a 
 prisoner, conquered, dead, exhibiting no emotion what- 
 ever. 
 
 206
 
 THE INVASION. 207 
 
 " Be calm, my children," said he, " I am here." 
 
 Then from the wearied, crushed, and trampled on 
 population, which had been driven like herds before the 
 Kossack lances, arose not only exclamations of joy, but 
 cries of enthusiasm. 
 
 Then Conscience, who followed the Saviour, alas, 
 the false Christ was so called, then Conscience himself, 
 great as was the purity of his mind, felt the influence 
 of that admiration which forced even the enemies of the 
 man to humble themselves before him. 
 
 Between Vitry-le-Francais, and Saint Didier, Con- 
 science first heard the whistling of the balls. At the 
 first burst of the iron storm, he had made a sign of the 
 cross, and uttered a prayer, two things which excited 
 the mirth of his companion, who was mounted on one 
 of the leading horses of the caisson. While he laughed 
 however, a bullet had cut him in two, and another 
 soldier who saw him fall, took his place. He had no 
 disposition to laugh. 
 r Conscience merely said, " My God, take his soul.' 1 
 
 Similar accidents soon initiated Conscience into 
 military life, and were so rapid and numerous that he 
 had time to say nothing, and looked at the fall of the 
 dead and wounded with a kind of stupor so great that 
 it did not seem to him even likely that such an accident 
 might befall him. 
 
 "What, however, he first owed to stupor, he sub- 
 sequently owed to his courage, or rather to his confi- 
 dence in God. 
 
 In the meantime, the whole day was passed by Na- 
 poleon in gathering more precise information than he 
 could at Chalons. The corps of the enemy he had met 
 belonged to the Prussian army commanded by Blucher. 
 The Russians who had preceded it, must at that time
 
 208 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 have been at Brienne, and marching on Troyes to sus- 
 tain the Austrians. 
 
 Napoleon began to distrust fortune, and to have- no 
 faith in his own genius. He took refuge in fatalism. 
 
 The name of Brienne, had a promising sound in his 
 ears : there his youth had passed unnoticed, arid there 
 he had commenced his studies. Whence the eglet had 
 winged its flight, the eagle was about to fall. After 
 so many reverses destiny owed him revenge. He will 
 date from Brienne the first victory of the campaign of 
 1814. 
 
 Napoleon ordered a march on Brienne, through the 
 forest of Montier en Der. 
 
 He hoped to surprise the enemy at Brienne. 
 
 Unfortunately an officer Napoleon sent to Marshal 
 Mortier, to order him to approach,, falls into the hands 
 of the Prussians, and his dispatches announce Napo- 
 leon's arrival to Blucher. 
 
 The enemy he expected to surprise, faces about, and 
 awaits him. The battle lasts two days, the first of 
 which put to rest three thousand men-of each army. On 
 the second day Napoleon is obliged to retreat, leaving 
 four thousand more on the plain which was the horizon 
 of his youth, and on which deceived by fatality, as he 
 had been been by fortune and genius, he abandoned 
 three thousand prisoners, and fifty -four guns. 
 
 Thanks, however, to the influence our young soldier 
 had acquired over his horses, those Conscience drove 
 were indefatigable, and the battery to which he be- 
 longed was one of those which accompanied the retreat 
 to Troyes. 
 
 Then Conscience entered the whirlpool which bears 
 him along. From time to time Napoleon disappears- 
 and seems lost, then, all at once in some unexpected
 
 
 
 THE INVASION, 209 
 
 direction, the roar of artillery, and the cry of victory is 
 heard. 
 
 At Champaubert, Montmirail, Chateau Thierry, 
 Montereau, in ten days Napoleon slew ninety thousand 
 of the enemy. * 
 
 Where ever though, Napoleon is absent, fortune 
 fails, the enemy forms behind him, and though beaten, 
 advances. The English have entered Bourdeaux ; the 
 Austrians occupy Lyons, the wrecks of the armies he 
 has defeated re unite, and thrice as numerous as his 
 own. His "Marshals, all in a bad humor, sluggish, 
 fatigued, decked with orders, overwhelmed with titles, 
 gorged with gold, are unwilling to fight. Thrice the 
 Prussians, whom he fancied he held in his hand, are 
 permitted to escape, first along the left bank of the 
 Marre, by a sudden freeze, which congeals the mud in 
 which they were sinking, the second time by Aisne, by 
 the surrender of Soissons, which opens them a passage 
 at the moment he thought them pursued to its walls, 
 the third time at Monterau by the delay of Victor, who is 
 by an hour too late, and suffers them to seize a bridge, 
 he should have occupied. All of these presages do not 
 escape Napoleon. He feels that is spite of his efforts 
 France glides from beneath his hands. Entertaining 
 !no hope to preserve his throne, he yet hopes to find a 
 tomb. At Montereau, he becomes a simple artillery- 
 man, points the pieces, remains among the whistling 
 balls, and hopes, but in vain, that there will be one for 
 him as there had been for Lannes, Duroc, and Bessi- 
 eres. At Arcis-sur-1'Aube a shell fell at his feet, he forces 
 his quivering horse above it ; the shell bursts, disem- 
 bowels his horse, but does not injure him. At last at 
 Laon, where with thirty-threee thousand men he 
 attacks an army a hundred thousand strong, ho
 
 210 THE CON SCRIPT. 
 
 advances within half point blank of the enemy's guns 
 with a light battery, and as he moves to speak to a 
 young soldier, whom he has before seen calm and smiling 
 amid danger, a shell falls into the caisson the young man 
 had just opened, and sets fire to it. It explodes, and 
 enwraps Napoleon and his horse in a crater of flame and 
 smoke, which devours all that surrounds him, except 
 himself. 
 
 Death wishes to have nothing to do with him. 
 
 The most minute details of this campaign are known, 
 which is always read with the strange hope that history 
 may, by Divine permission, change the denouement. 
 
 Finally, having, by lion-like bounds sprang from the 
 banks of the Seine, to Craone, to Rheims, to Saint Didier, 
 he hears at Troyes, whither he has pursued Winzinge- 
 rode, that the Russians and Prussians no longer paying 
 any attention to him march in close columns on Paris. 
 
 He sets out, and on the 1st of April he arrives at 
 Fontainebleau, hurries on, and while relaying at Fro- 
 menteau, hears that during the morning, the enemy oc- 
 cupied the capital. 
 
 He had his choice of three expedients. 
 
 He yet had fifty thousand of the bravest soldiers of 
 the universe closely collected around him. To enable 
 their courage and devotion to have its effects, it was ne- 
 cessary to replace the old generals, who had all to lose, 
 or had not all to gain. At his yet powerful voice, the 
 population would rise. But then Paris was sacrificed, 
 for the allies, in all probability, would, on retiring, burn 
 Paris, the great centre of intelligence, light and civiliza- 
 tion. This would be to decapitate France, to throw 
 Europe into durkuess, like that of an eclipse, and who 
 knew, short as that eclipse was, what might happen. 
 
 Only the Russian people could be saved by such a re-
 
 THE INVASION. 211 
 
 medy. Moscow had been burned without inconvenience, 
 for what was Moscow but wood and stones ? 
 
 The second was, with the fifty thousand men he yet 
 possessed to reach Italy, the land of the old Eepublican 
 victories, rallying beneath his flag, Angerean's twenty 
 five thousand men, the eighteen thousand of Grenier, 
 the fifteen thousand of Suchet and the eighty thousand 
 of Soult. There he would find Eugene at the head of fifty 
 thousand men. Napoleon yet commanded two hundred 
 thousand men. During that time France would be oc. 
 cupied, new interests would be created, old ones would 
 disappear it was equal to three months' work, and he 
 bad no more time to effect this almost conquest. 
 
 Perhaps too, he feared that the famous battle-fields of 
 Lodi, Arcola and Eivoli would, as he passed, cry aloud 
 for vengeance for the Republic he had murdered on the 
 18th Brumaire. 
 
 He would retreat behind the Loire, and wage a par- 
 tisan war, like Charrette, Stoffler and La Kochejaque- 
 Mne; an imperial la Vendee. 
 
 This seeme.d a poor sequel to the campaigns in Prus- 
 sia and Austria. 
 
 The declaration of the allies appeared, announcing 
 that the Emperor Napoleon was the only obstacle to 
 peace. 
 
 This declaration left the man at whom it was directed, 
 Dut two resources. 
 
 To act as Hannibal did. 
 
 To descend the throne as Sylla did. 
 
 He decided on the first 
 
 The poison of Cabanis was powerless. This was the 
 last treachery he was the victim of. Death betrayed 
 him as one of his diplomates or marshals might have 
 done. 
 
 14
 
 212 . THE CON SCRIPT. 
 
 Then he had recourse to the second, and on a scrap 
 of paper, now lost, he wrote the following lines, the 
 most important perhaps ever traced by hand of man. 
 
 " The allied powers having proclaimed, that, the Em- 
 peror Napoleon is the only obstacle to the peace of 
 Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath, de- 
 clares, that for himself and his heirs, he renounces the 
 throne of France and Italy, because there is no personal 
 sacrifice, even of life, he is unwilling to make to France." 
 
 There was much grandeur in this renunciation it 
 may be there was merely fatigue. 
 
 The rumor of all these events which had real impor- 
 tance to the inhabitants of the two cottages, merely from 
 the influence they might exert on Conscience, reached 
 them, weakened by distance, and disfigured by trans- 
 mission. On one occasion, however, they heard the 
 guns at Neuilly-Saint-Frout, and afterwards, at Chateau 
 Thierry and Ferte-Sous-Jonarre. Lastly, they heard 
 them at Meux as the enemy drew nearer to Paris. 
 
 Each of the reports found an echo in their hearts, for 
 each one might be the death-knell of their, beloved Con- 
 science. 
 
 Once, they saw the routed army of the Due of Tre- 
 vise pass by. 
 
 They heard that the marshal had suffered his park 
 of artillery to be taken at Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 His park of artillery perhaps Conscience had been 
 for a moment only a league from Haramont. Perhaps 
 he had fallen in the hands of the enemy. 
 
 They had received news twice from Conscience. Once 
 after the battle of Montereau. He had been one of the 
 intrepid artillerists, who had served the pieces, with 
 which the Emperor, returning in person to his original
 
 THE INVASION. 213 
 
 arm of service, had crushed the Wurtemburgers at the 
 bridge, and in the streets of Monterau. 
 
 There lie had himself heard the great Captain mutter 
 the characteristic words, as he pointed the guns, whose 
 shot destroyed the enemy, 
 
 " Come Bonaparte, save Napoleon." 
 
 But Bonaparte, who could save France in 1796, was 
 powerless for Napoleon in 1814. 
 
 Another letter had reached them from Chateau 
 Thierry. Conscience had by a miracle so far been 
 preserved. All his companions had been killed and 
 wounded ; three horses had fallen under him. Napo- 
 leon had observed him, and said, 
 
 " Twice I have seen you under fire, calm and tran- 
 quil as a veteran. The third time we meet, remind me 
 that I owe you the Cross." 
 
 This was a great promise, and Conscience was proud 
 of it. That night he had written, and had transmitted 
 it to his two parents. All in the two cottages rejoiced 
 at the idea that Conscience might return with the Cross 
 if he met the Emperor again. Madeleine's maternal 
 heart, however, was filled with presentiments, and sha- 
 king her head, sighed, 
 
 " Alas ! amid those balls and battles, what may hap- 
 pen before they meet a third time ?" 
 
 Since then, they had not heard of Conscience. 
 
 But, three days after the letter dated Chateau 
 Thierry received by Madeleine for Conscience always 
 wrote to his mother Catharine had heard from Bas- 
 tien, (the letter was written by a comrade, for under 
 the pretext of the loss of his fingers, Bastien never 
 wrote himself, though if one believed him, he wrote 
 after Wagram beautifully,) not only to Maitre Pierre,
 
 214 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Ihe schoolmaster at Haramont, but to M. Qblet, at the 
 'ime schoolmaster of Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 Bastien had met Conscience twice ; once at Troyes 
 n Champagne, and again at Craone. The two friends 
 tad embraced with tenderness, but as the Hussars and 
 he Artillery rarely marched together, they had to se- 
 parate. 
 
 They expected, however, on the next day, to be to- 
 gether on the battle-field of Laon. 
 
 The letter of Bastien was dated evening of the 7th 
 of March. 
 
 Since then, nothing had been heard either of Con- 
 science or of Bastien. 
 
 They had intended to write a second letter to Con- 
 science, but he had probably not received that address- 
 ed to him at Vitry-le-Frangais, and their great labor of 
 heart and mind they looked on as thrown away. 
 
 Then, as we have said, they had all heard the ar- 
 tillery nearer Paris. 
 
 They had seen all the corps d'armee of Marshal 
 Mortier pass Villers-Cotterets perfectly routed. 
 
 Then they had seen strange uniforms, and hea/d fo- 
 reign tongues. 
 
 Once they heard artillery to the west. 
 
 The next day, with a joyful tone, the enemy shouted 
 "Paris! Paris! Paris!" 
 
 Then the papers announced that the Corsican Ogre 
 had been precipitated from the throne, that his name 
 never had been Napoleon, but was Nicolas, and that 
 as a special favor the little island of Elba in the Medi- 
 terranean was assigned him as a residence'. 
 
 The Bourbons succeeded him on the throne, and our
 
 THE INVASION. 215 
 
 good friends, the Kussians, Prussians, Saxons, Austri- 
 ans, and Wurtemburgers, remained three months in 
 France. That is as long as was thought necessary to 
 give strength to the new, or rather to the old throne.
 
 V. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED WHEN CONSCIENCE MET THK 
 EMPEEOK THE THIRD TIME. 
 
 ALL we have told was vague enough to the inhab- 
 itants of the two cottages. 
 
 They did not care whether the Emperor's 'name had 
 been Napoleon or Nicolas, the Lion of the Desert or the 
 Conqueror of Nations. 
 
 They did not even know what Elba was. 
 
 Nor even, what the Bourbons were. 
 
 Father Cadet, however, knew the Eussians had en- 
 camped on his land, which had been so well fenced in, 
 and planted and harrowed by Matthew, and that he 
 could not rely on the produce of the growing crop, 
 which was crushed by the horses' feet. 
 
 Madeleine, Dame Marie, and Mariette knew they 
 had received no letters from Conscience, and that he 
 had not written for a month. 
 
 Bastien too was silent. 
 
 The post also had been interrupted for a fortnight, 
 and had just begun to pass again. The roads, every 
 where crowded by the hostile army, gradually began 
 to admit of free circulation. The tranquility of Paris, 
 the establishment of the new government, made this 
 amelioration every day more apparent. 
 
 216
 
 THE EMPEROR. 217 
 
 Mariette, however, had not yet dared to resume the 
 daily service of her customers at Villers-Cotterets. It 
 was not proper for a young and pretty girl like her to 
 venture amid the bivouacs which covered the plain, 
 and a garrison which filled the city. Yet the most se- 
 vere orders had been issued by General Sacken, who 
 commanded the immense army of Russians, extending 
 from Laon to the extremity of the department of PAisne. 
 
 In Bernard they had remarked one thing : during the 
 morning of the 8th of March he had been most uneasy. 
 About one o'clock he seemed to scent something on the 
 wind, had turned to the east, and uttered three howls, 
 which had recalled to the poor mother his terrible cry 
 when Conscience had cut off his fingers. 
 
 Tardif, Pierrot, and the black cow, had each echoed 
 the cry in their peculiar manner and tongue. 
 
 All day they were very uneasy ; Bernard during 
 that and the following days had been sad but calm. 
 From time to time, however, he complained, as if ho 
 replied to some one far away. 
 
 Madeleine shook her head sadly. 
 
 " Something," said she, " has happened to Con- 
 science. Hear Bernard complaining." 
 
 The two women sought to soothe her, but their con- 
 solations were the less efficacious because of the doubts 
 that lingered in the bottom of their hearts. 
 
 On the morning of the 3d of May, Mariette stood 
 pensively at the door, when almost at the extremity of 
 the village she saw the letter-carrier advancing toward 
 the two cottages. 
 
 Was he coming to the cottages, or to the Chateau 
 des Fosses ? 
 
 The heart of the young girl beat violently.
 
 218 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 Her doubt was however soon removed, for the car- 
 rier saw her, and raised a letter in the air. 
 
 Mariette uttered a joyful cry, which was heard in 
 Madeleine's cottage, and she rushed to see the carrier. 
 
 The carrier also doubled his pace. 
 
 In a second, Mariette reached him. 
 
 " A letter ? It is from Conscience, is it not ?" 
 
 " I do not know if it be from Conscience, but it is 
 from Laon," said he. 
 
 " Give it me." 
 
 Mariette searched her pockets, and pulled out ten 
 sous, which the carrier said was the charge. 
 
 She looked at the address, which was in an unknown 
 hand. 
 
 As, however, this letter contained another, and as the 
 young girl alone knew how to read, and probably 
 would have to read it, she broke the seal. 
 
 The first letter contained another, with the super- 
 scription " For Mariette only." 
 
 These three words were in Conscience's hand, but 
 they were strangely put together, and so crooked that 
 instead of calming, they frightened Mariette. 
 
 Just then Madeleine appeared at the door. 
 
 " A letter ? a letter ?" said the poor mother. 
 
 Mariette hid the piece of paper intended for her in 
 her bosom, and drew near, trembling at the idea of be- 
 ing thus isolated from the family, by the one she loved. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " but I do not know if it be from 
 Conscience." 
 
 " Is it sealed with black ?" asked she. 
 
 " No with red," said Mariette. 
 
 " Thank heaven !" said Madeleine, " for then it does 
 not say that my son is dead."
 
 THEEMPEROR. 219 
 
 She went into the cottage, and found her father had 
 ieaned so far out of bed that he had nearly fallen. 
 
 He also said, " A letter ? a letter ?" 
 
 Dame Marie also had heard in the garden, where 
 she was gathering vegetables and she with little 
 Pierre, then came ; all the family was collected to hear 
 the letter read. 
 
 Mariette began " Very dear and honored mother." 
 
 " Why," said she, " as it is from him, why did he not 
 write himself ?" 
 
 " We will learn," said Mariette. 
 
 She read again " Very dear and honored mother." 
 
 " Do not be too anxious when you first see this let- 
 ter, which though not in my writing is from myself. I 
 borrow the hand of a friend to give you news of myself 
 and to say, that at the battle of Laon, while recognising 
 me, and doubtless at the moment that the Emperor was 
 about to fulfil the promise he made me when he met 
 me the third time, a shell blew up the caisson I served, 
 enwrapped rne in a cloud of flame and smoke, and 
 stunned me as completely as if I were dead. At once 
 I lost consciousness, and saw and heard nothing." 
 
 " My God ! my God ! my God !" murmured Made- 
 leine. 
 
 " Poor Conscience !" said Mariette, wiping away the 
 tears which blinded her eyes. 
 
 " Go on," said Father Cadet. 
 
 Mariette resumed 
 
 " The freshness of evening revived me. They were 
 burying the dead ; and carrying away the wounded. 
 By my complaints they saw that I was no); dead, and 
 took me to the hospital. There, only, I discovered 
 that the action of fire had robbed me of my sight, and 
 that I am in danger of being blind. "
 
 220 THK Co NSCR i PT. * 
 
 " Blind ! my poor child !" said Madeleine. 
 
 " Wait a moment, you hear that he does not say 
 that he is, but is in danger of being blind." 
 
 " You are right. Eead on," said Madeleine, 
 " read on." 
 
 " Since that time my eyes have been bandaged, the 
 surgeon of the hospital saying that it is necessary for 
 my cure. In spite, however, of his encouragements I 
 fear I will never see as I did." 
 
 " Blind, blind, my poor child blind !" said Madeleine, 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 " For the love of God, Mother Madeleine, take cou- 
 rage," said Mariette. " You hear he says that he will 
 never see as he did, but he does not say blind." 
 
 While thus trying to console Madeleine, Mariette 
 herself burst into sobs. 
 
 Dame Marie had sunken back in her chair, and Lit- 
 tle Pierre who had slowly approached her, said : 
 
 " Mother, if Conscience be blind, he will be like the 
 poor man who asks alms at the church door." 
 
 Mariette continued : 
 
 " Yet my dear and honored mother, do not despair, 
 for it seems to me I get better, and thanks to your 
 prayers, those of Mother Marie and of Mariette, if it 
 please God, I will recover. 
 
 " I wish I could tell you good news of Bastien, but 
 those which have reached me are sad. An Hussar who 
 is in the hospital with me, and who belonged to his 
 regiment, saw him fall during a charge, having received 
 a sabre -cut on the head. From the quantity of blood 
 which ran from his forehead, they fear his skull has 
 been cut through. 
 
 " I have not seen him since, and none know what is 
 become of him.
 
 THE EMPEROR. 221 
 
 " If dead, there is a brave soldier, and an honest fel- 
 low gone, and as he has done us real services, I trust, 
 dear mother, you will not forget him in your prayers. 
 
 " Adieu, my dear and honored mother, and make 
 Mariette write to me at the Hospital of Laon. The 
 letter there will reach me, and will delight me in spite 
 of my distress at being unable to read it. 
 
 " I embrace you tenderly and respectfully, and beg 
 you to embrace for me Dame Marie, Mariette and little 
 Pierre, and to ask grand-father to grant me his blessing. 
 
 " Your son, 
 
 " CONSCIENCE." 
 
 After the name of the young man, evidently writterfby 
 himself, came two lines in the hand-writing of the 
 rest of the letter. 
 
 " You see, my dear and honored mother, that as I 
 can sign my name, my sight is not altogether gone." 
 
 The letter began in apprehension, and ended in tears. 
 The three women wept, the child did so, at the sight 
 of their tears. The old man sank back in his bed. 
 
 She who wept most painfully, though by a greater 
 effort she repressed her tears, was Mariette ; she 
 thought with terror of the second letter she had con- 
 cealed, against which her heart beat, and which con- 
 tained in all probability, the truth Conscience had not 
 dared to tell her mother. 
 
 She hastened to find out that truth, whatever it 
 might be. 
 
 " Come, mother," said she to Madeleine, " take cou- 
 rage. Since Conscience signed his name, he is evi- 
 dently not totally blind, and as he is not, he will not
 
 222 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 be. I," added she, with a forced smile, " have Lopes 
 and prove them." 
 
 She sought a pretext to leave, and seeing the reapers' 
 hook hang on the wall, said : 
 
 " Now, to show it, instead of being distressed, as you 
 are, I will cut some grass for the poor black cow, which 
 used to give us such good milk when Conscience went 
 with me to Villers Cotterets. Do you pray for him 
 while I work, for the Cure says work is prayer." 
 
 Affecting a gayety, she was far from feeling, Marietta 
 took the reap-hook from its nail, kissed the two women 
 and went to the nearest part of the forest, where she 
 was in the habit of cutting grass, pushing her barrow 
 before her with a vigor to be attributed to nervous ex- 
 citement. 
 
 Scarcely had she passed the village, and gotten 
 among the trees, than she sate on her barrow, took the 
 letter with a trembling hand from beneath her cape, and 
 read as follows : 
 
 " I wished to write this letter entirely with my 
 hand, my dear Mariette, painful as it might be for you 
 to read it, for there are things I have to tell you, which 
 should not pass through the pen of another." 
 
 These few lines were almost illegible, the lines run- 
 ning into each other, and mingling in the strangest 
 manner. 
 
 " Poor Conscience !" said Mariette, who, at the sight 
 of this disorder, divined all. 
 
 Sighing, she read on : 
 
 " Mariette, I dared not write to my mother, and *tell 
 her the too frightful fact that I am blind." 
 
 jvlariette uttered a cry, tears burst from her eyes, and
 
 THE EMPEROR. 223 
 
 though she wiped them away with a mad resolution to 
 reach the end, they flowed so abundantly that the poor 
 girl could not read amid the humid veil, which perpet- 
 ually renewed itself before her eyes. 
 
 Thanks, however, to the power of her will, she was 
 able, if not to dry, at least to restrain her tears, and 
 continued : 
 
 " Mariette, the explosion has burned my eyes : I am 
 blind for life ; I shall never again see you with the cor- 
 poreal eye, nor my mother, nor Dame Marie, nor my 
 grand-father, nor the child, nor any who love me. 
 
 " Mariette, Mariette, I shall certainly die." 
 
 Mariette did not know that she was reading aloucji 
 and sobbing audibly. 
 
 " In vain do I seek to recall the resignation I expect- 
 ed to find in my soul, in great misfortunes. It is impos- 
 sible I repeat ceaselessly, ' Wretched man, you are 
 blind, and never will see HER again never, never.' " 
 
 " Do not think, however, from what I have said, that 
 I am selfish enough to think that you will yet consider 
 yourself bound to me. No, Mariette, Spring is return 
 ing, though I do not see the young leaves on the trees, 
 the light, rose-hued clouds of heaven. 1 feel that the 
 wind is milder, that the air is soft and perfumed, and 
 sometimes comes to me laden with the odors of the fields 
 as it used to, when you approached me with a boquet 
 from the meadows or woodland. 
 
 " With the young leaves, roseate clouds with the mild- 
 er wind, our viHage festivals return the festivals of 
 Longpre, Taille-Fontaine, Largny and Vivieres. Mari- 
 ette, they yet await you, and you will yet dance joyfully 
 .at them. You will go to them, Mariette, and will take 
 advantage of your youth, for were you to suffer and rob
 
 224 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 yourself on my account, I would prefer a ball had 
 stretched me in that great ditch in which, as I lay half- 
 conscious, I heard so many of my comrades thrown. 
 
 " But Mariette I have a request to make you, and on 
 that account principally, and not to give you pain, do I 
 write ; Mariette, prepare my poor mother gradually for 
 what has befallen me, and watch my beloved Mariette, 
 lest she sink into despair. 
 
 " Your poor 
 
 " CONSCIENCE, 
 
 "Who restores you your love, but will preserve his 
 till death. 
 
 " P. 8. If you can send me Bernard, he will be very 
 useful to me when I begin to go out." 
 
 " My God ! this is too much," said the young girl 
 " Lord have pity on us." 
 
 She tried to fall on her knees, bnt her strength failed 
 her, and with her arms dropping over the barrow, she 
 Bank on the ground. 
 
 She remained for an instant unconscious, and then 
 fainted away. 
 
 The warm and caressing air of Spring, the rays of a 
 morning sun, revived her. The blood again circulated 
 in her veins, she lifted up her head, sought to collect her 
 ideas, recollected her horrible misfortune, picked up the 
 'letter which had fallen near her, folded it up, and hav- 
 ing kissed it, replaced it in her bosom. Then rising as 
 if by force, she took the reaping hook, and in less than 
 ten minutes, had filled the' barrow with grass. 
 
 She then returned home rapidly. Her eye was fixed, 
 her brow half-bent and her lips half-opened. She divi-
 
 THE EMPEROR. 225 
 
 ded the grass into two rations, throwing one into the 
 rack of the black cow, and going around Cadet's house, 
 gave the other to Tardif. 
 
 Then she entered the cottage on the left through the 
 door of the yard. 
 
 All sate exactly where she had left them, except little 
 Pierre, who had already forgotten the sorrows of others 
 and of himself in some more childish game. 
 
 " Mother," said Mariette, as she entered, " to-morrow 
 I set out to join Conscience," 
 
 Dame Marie trembled. 
 
 " What do you say, my child ?" as^ed Madeleine, who 
 feared she had heard indistinctly. 
 Father Cadet appeared beside himself. 
 
 " I say, mother," resumed Mariette, with firmness, 
 " that to-morrow morning, I will set out to go to Con- 
 science." 
 
 " But my child he is very far : he is at Laon, which, 
 they say, is the other side of the department." 
 
 " Mother, if it were on the other side of the world." 
 
 " But you do not know the way." 
 
 " I will tell any one I meet on the road, that ' I am 
 going to the hospital of Laon, to see a poor blind sol- 
 dier : tell the way ;' and they will do so." 
 
 " Is he then blind ?" asked Madeleine in despair. 
 
 " Yes," said Mariette, almost beside herself, " he is." 
 
 Madeleine knelt before the young girl and clasping 
 her hands said, 
 
 " Mariette, if you do so, for my child's sake, I will 
 remember you on my death-bed. 
 
 " If I do so," said Mariette. " If I do so, I swear be- 
 fore God I will, and I will bring him back, or die." 
 
 " And you will bear him my blessing, which the good
 
 226 THE CONS:* RIFT. 
 
 lad asked for," said Cadet, extending his arms towards 
 Mariette. 
 
 It was the first time since he had been stricken with 
 paralysis, that the left arm of Father Cadet had re- 
 gained life and motion.
 
 VI. 
 
 THE PASS. 
 
 np|HE journey of Mariette being decided on and it 
 was the first thing to be obtained was a Russian 
 Pass. 
 
 The roads were filled with allied soldiers, and even 
 with a Pass, a girl young and beautiful, as Marie was, 
 ran great danger. 
 
 True, she had with her a defender who would suffer 
 no one to touch her with even the end of the finger. 
 
 This was Bernard. 
 
 But Bernard, who could do much against one or 
 even two men on a high road, in a by-path, against a 
 sentinel, against the orders at the door of a city, against 
 walls, or against a regiment in battle array, was pow- 
 erless. 
 
 What could overcome such obstacles was, as we say, 
 a Russian Pass. 
 
 Fortunately Sacken, the Russian General-in-Chief, 
 was at Villers-Cotterets, where a great review had ta- 
 ken place, and was at the house of the Inspector of Fo- 
 rests, one of Mariette's best customers. 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon, Mariette bid Ber- 
 nard follow her, and set out for Villers-Cotterets. 
 1 * 227
 
 228 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Three quarters of an hour afterwards, Mariette rang 
 the bell of the Inspector's door. 
 
 All knew and loved the pretty milkmaid, and as they 
 had not seen her for more than a month, she and her 
 dog were kindly received. 
 
 Having however repliol to all civilities by a sad 
 smile, and by shaking her head, Mariette expressed her 
 wish to speak to the Russian General in -Chief. 
 
 The thing seemed so strange, that the servants look- 
 ed at each other and began to laugh, asking her what 
 she could have to say to the Russian General. 
 
 " Something on which my life depends," said Mari- 
 ette in so sad a tone that all laughter ceased, and one 
 of the servants said, 
 
 " "Well, I will speak to Madame " 
 
 " But," said the cook, " she is at table with the 
 Russian General and with the general staff, and she 
 certainly will not leave the table to speak to the young 
 lady." 
 
 The cook was in a bad humor. She had been re- 
 proached by a servant who waited at table, with hay- 
 ing sent up a stewed bare with a very bad sauce. 
 
 " Yes," said the servant, " Madame will leave the 
 table when told that she is asked for. She is very fond 
 of her pretty milkmaid, and yesterday asked about her." 
 
 " Then I beg you, sir," .said Mariette. 
 
 " I will do so, my child. It shall not be said that for 
 fear of a rebuff I dared not say that a pretty mouth 
 uttered a generous sentiment." 
 
 " Flatterer !" said the cook, turning on her heel to 
 watch an omelette soufflee. 
 
 Without paying any attention to the apostrophe, the 
 servant went into the dining room, and whispered to 
 the lady of the house, who arose and left the table.
 
 T H E P A 8 8 . 229 
 
 " "What !" said she to Mariette, " is it you ? v as she 
 saw the young girl ; " for a month you have forgotten 
 us." 
 
 " You see, Madame, that I have not forgotten you 
 far otherwise, for in our great sorrow I come to you." 
 
 " What great sorrow is this ?" 
 
 " Madame, it would be long to tell, for I must set 
 out this evening on a journey to the other end of the 
 department. If, however, you would enable me to 
 speak to the Russian General, as I shall be forced to 
 tell him all, having a favor to ask him, you will learn 
 how unhappy we are ..." 
 
 " You speak to the Russian General, my child !" said 
 the lady with surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Madame," said Mariette, " and if I cannot 
 speak to him now, permit me to wait in the kitchen, the 
 yard, or at the gate, until I can." 
 
 " No, my child," said the wife of the Inspector, sur- 
 prised at Mariette's sadness ; " if the affair of which 
 you wish to speak is so important, do so at once." 
 
 " Madame, you are very kind, and I thank you," 
 said Mariette, following closely in the lady's steps. 
 
 The latter advanced and opened a door of a roomin 
 which perhaps ten foreign officers sate at S, table. 
 
 Mariette followed her : devotion had conquered 
 timidity. 
 
 " General," said the mistress of the house to the offi- 
 cer who sate at the centre of the table, " permit me to 
 recommend this young girl, who has a favor to ask, to 
 your Excellency." 
 
 " Eecommended by you," said the officer spoken to, 
 , with the slight accent which marks & Russian's Frepch, 
 " she is welcome."
 
 230 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Then seating himself in his chair, he turned it so as 
 to isolate himself from his neighbors. 
 
 " Come hither, my child," said he. 
 
 Mariette drew near with downcast eyes, excited at 
 the idea of appearing before one who to her was Prov- 
 idence, as he could enable her to speak with Con- 
 science. 
 
 " I am here, sir," said she. 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 " Mariette, sir." 
 
 " Eeally, this is charming," said the General, ca- 
 ressing her cheek. 
 
 Mariette with incredible dignity, took the too familiar 
 hand in her own, and kissed it respectfully, as an hum- 
 ble girl, resolved to be such, kisses, the hand of powerful 
 man. 
 
 The General perceived her meaning, and withdrew 
 his hand. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said he, " what do you wish ?" 
 
 " A Pass, sir, to Laon." 
 
 What, alone ?" 
 
 " No, sir, not entirely Bernard will go with me." 
 
 " What is this Bernard ?" asked the General. 
 
 At that moment Bernard, who had respectfully 
 stopped outside the door, hearing his name repeated 
 twice in rapid succession, thought it would not be in- 
 discreet in him to appear and throwing his weight 
 against the door, pushed it open, and drew up beside 
 Mariette. 
 
 " That is what Bernard is," said Mariette. 
 
 The General looked at the magnificent animal, who 
 fixed his burning eyes on him, as if at a word from his. 
 mistress he were ready to spring in a second over all
 
 T H E P A S S . 231 
 
 intermediate shades of emotion between gentleness and 
 wrath. 
 
 " Peste !" said he, " a good companion. But why 
 do you go to Laon ?" 
 
 " To find a poor soldier who is in the hospital." 
 
 ' Wounded in battle ? 
 
 " Blinded by the explosion of a caisson." 
 
 " This soldier is your brother or cousin " 
 
 " This soldier is Conscience." 
 
 " Ah ! Conscience is your lover, as he is neither bro- 
 ther nor cousin, but simply Conscience." 
 
 " This soldier is one I love, and am to marry." 
 
 " What ! you so young and pretty, marry a blind, in- 
 firm and disabled soldier ? Do not do so." 
 
 " I thought, however, I said that I loved him." 
 
 " Yes, but that was before his accident." 
 
 " Monsieur, since that, I love him still more." 
 
 " Keally," said the General, half-laughing, half-sym- 
 pathetically, " this is interesting as an idyl of Kirloff. 
 I have a mind to give this pretty girl not only a Pass, 
 but my carriage and an escort of Kossacks." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mariette, " do not laugh at me. I 
 spoke to you in the name of the Lord, who bade me 
 leave my village and my mother to find Conscience. I 
 do not need a carriage, for I walk well and do not need 
 an escort, for Bernard is with me. I only need a Pass, 
 that none I meet may molest or impede me." 
 
 " Very well, my child," said the General, moved by 
 her simplicity " I will not take a particle of merit from 
 your devotion ; I will therefore do neither more nor 
 less than you ask." 
 
 Then turning to a young man who was his aid, he 
 said:
 
 232 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Elim, prepare a Pass for this girl in three lan- 
 guages, Russian, German and French ; affix my seal, 
 and bring it to me to sign." 
 
 " Thanks, sir ; I trust God will reward you for your 
 kindness," said Mariette, drawing back to the wall, to 
 await the return of the aide-de camp. 
 
 After the lapse of five minutes, he returned with the 
 Pass written, and with a pen, ready dipped in ink, so 
 that General Sacken had only to affix his name. 
 
 Sacken took the pen in his right hand, and the paper 
 in his left, and read 
 
 " Russian, Prussian, and French officers, soldiers, 
 and the civil authorities, are ordered to permit the 
 bearer, a young girl, to pass freely throughout the 
 extent of the department of Aisne, and also, if necessa- 
 ry, to aid and protect her." 
 
 Having signed it, the General nodded in approbation 
 and wrote beneath the triglott Pass, 
 
 " The General commanding in chief the department 
 of 1'Aisne, 
 
 " SACKEN." 
 
 Then he handed the young girl the paper. 
 
 She wished to kiss his hand again, but rising and 
 drawing her to him, the Russian General paternally 
 kissed her brow. 
 
 " Go," said he, " my child Saint Alexander Newski 
 protect you." 
 
 Mariette blushed, though she understood the purity 
 of the kiss she had received. 
 
 Then Mariette seized the hand of the Inspector's 
 lady, and kissed it, in spite of her exertions. 
 
 " Madame, Madame," said she, " I thank you from 
 the bottom of my heart." 
 . She rushed from the room.
 
 T H E P A s s . 233 
 
 The guests resumed their seats, the conversation 
 until the conclusion of dinner, being engrossed by the 
 explanations made by the lady of the house about Con- 
 ecience, Mariette, Cadet and the rest of the family, so 
 vivid was the impression Mariette had made on the 
 Russian General and his officers. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour after, preceded by Ber- 
 nard who announced her triumphal return, Mariette 
 entered the cottage on the left, with her passport in her 
 hand. 
 
 There was no farther obstacle in the way of her 
 departure. 
 
 Father Cadet turned over and took the leathern bag 
 from its hiding-place. 
 
 Alas ! it contained but a single gold coin. 
 
 " Here, my child," said he, " take this, and bring 
 Conscience back with you." 
 
 Mariette was nofuaaware of the difficulty in which 
 Father Cadet had fallen, since his own illness and Con- 
 science's departure, shook her head and said, " No, 
 grand-father, keep the money." 
 
 Turning to Mother Marie, she continued in a low 
 tone, 
 
 " As I pass through Villers-Cotterets to-morrow, mny 
 I not get the thirty francs which the butcher owes for 
 the calf we sold two months ago ?" 
 
 " Do what you wish, my daughter," said Dame 
 Marie, " for the Lord inspires you. To oppose you 
 would displease God."
 
 VII. 
 THE DBIVEK AND HIS CAB, 
 
 ON the next day at dawn, Mariette having taken 
 leave of all, sad and rejoicing at once, began her 
 journey. 
 
 She was sad on account of Conscience's misfortune. 
 
 She rejoiced because she was about to see him. 
 
 The sky was clearly bright, and promised a fair day. 
 
 The last stars sparkled in the west, and seemed 
 brighter than ever amid the darkness around them. 
 On the other extremity of the horizon, the firmament 
 began to take the colors of the sun's first rays, and to 
 pass from the palest tints of rose to the richest purple. 
 The lark rose vertically, for the birds awake with the 
 day, towards the sky, welcoming the morning rays with 
 his clear and joyful song. The grasshoppers were in 
 the turf, and the red-throats warbled in the bushes; 
 the squirrel hung on the branches of the trees, and 
 only a few tardy bats protested, having taken refuge 
 in the darkest recesses of the forest, against the inva- 
 sion of light, and progress of clearness. 
 
 It was evident that one of the first days of spring, 
 which, with its feet bathed in dew, coming from the 
 mountain tops, advances to awaken Nature by blowing 
 on it with its warm and perfumed breath. 
 
 234
 
 THE DRIVER AND HIS CAR. 235 
 
 Mariette, though used to cross the forest at dawn, 
 was not insensible to the changes being wrought around 
 her. The young girl had, on this occasion, a lighter 
 heart than usual, and therefore remarked all these out- 
 bursts of Nature : doubtless the good action she was 
 about to accomplish at once made her mind and brow 
 more serene. 
 
 Her heart was light, and her little feet yet lighter. 
 In less than a quarter of an hour she crossed the forest, 
 entered the park, and paused no longer in the city than 
 was necessary to get from the butcher the thirty 
 francs which were to suffice for her journey, and took 
 the Soissons road. 
 
 In two days she expected to reach Laon : she had 
 ascertained that she had fourteen or fifteen leagues to 
 travel, which would give her seven leagues a-day. She 
 had settled things so completely that she did not doubt 
 but that on reaching Laon in the evening, she would 
 not be able to see Conscience until the next day, and 
 that it would be better to sleep in the neighborhood 
 than in the city itself. 
 
 She could not go wrong, as the road from Villers 
 Cotterets was a highway. 
 
 At about seven o'clock Mariette left Villers-Cotterets 
 by Soissons street. 'The Spring sun of the previous 
 days had dried the ground and she walked on the lower 
 side of the road, where there was a pathway like that 
 of a park, prepared for pedestrians. Bernard bounded 
 before her, and returned from time to time, like a scout, 
 the duty of whom it was to visit every tree and rock. 
 
 From his joy and activity, one might have fancied that 
 he knew the young girl was on the way to see Con- 
 science. Perhaps he did, or he would not have been 
 so joyous.
 
 236 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 Manette had not progressed more than half a league, 
 and nothing seemed easier than to walk thus, when a 
 voice behind her exclaimed", 
 
 " Eh ! Mariette." 
 
 She turned around and saw a car, the wheels of 
 which had for some time been rolling behind her. It 
 was the voice of the driver of the car, who at the day 
 when diligences were rare, travelled between Villers- 
 Cotterets and Soissons. 
 
 " Ah ! is it you, M. Martineau ?" said Mariette. 
 
 " Yes it is I, and whither go you, my child ?" 
 
 Mariette approached the car, and put her hand on 
 the side, telling the driver and his four passengers why 
 she was thus en route, 
 
 At first they listened with impatience to the young 
 girl who had interrupted their journey, but by degrees 
 interest gave place to impatience. 
 
 Besides, Martineau on his box was as absolute as . 
 a captain on his quarter deck : it was of no use for 
 them to murmur, for Martineau travelled at his horse's 
 gait, allowing the animal to halt to rest when he 
 pleased, and consumed four hours in travelling the six 
 leagues between Villers-Cotterets and Soissons. 
 
 The story of Mariette was, it seems, more .interesting 
 to the driver than to the passengers, for, as soon as she 
 had done, he said : 
 
 " Well, it is vain to fatigue yourself as you do, by 
 walking." 
 
 " But M. Martineau," said Mariette, with a smile, 
 " I must walk, as I have no way to ride." 
 
 " Pardon you have a way." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " My car" 
 
 Mariette drew back. "M. Martineau," said she,
 
 THE DRIVER AND HIS CAR. 237 
 
 "you laugh at me, for you know perfectly well, that I 
 am not rich enough to travel thus. You charge forty 
 sous a seat, and I have but thirty francs to go with to 
 find Conscience and to bring him home. He will prob- 
 ably need a conveyance more than I do. Besides, your 
 car is full." 
 
 " Who said anything about money to you, my lass ? 
 Thank God, that is not the question, and if there be a 
 trouble about room, you must sit closer together. Be- 
 sides there is nothing disagreeable in being squeezed by 
 a pretty woman." 
 
 " Thank you, M. Martineau," said Mariette, drawing 
 back. 
 
 " Come get in. You wish to see Conscience as soon 
 as possible ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the young girl. 
 
 " Well, thanks to the car, you will reach Soissons at 
 eleven o'clock at farthest, and will not be fatigued. You 
 can stop a while at Soissons, and having eaten a morsel 
 with me, who knows ? you may sleep at .Chavignon, or 
 even at Etouville, so that to-morrow morning, you will 
 see your friend instead of the day after. What say you 
 to that ?" 
 
 " Accept," said the travellers, half from interest in her 
 story, and half because when Mariette was once seated, 
 the car would probably continue its journey. 
 
 " On my word, M. Martineau," said Mariette, u your 
 offer is very tempting, and I have a great disposition to 
 accede to it." 
 
 " Very well !" said the driver, taking hold of her 
 hand. " Houp here you are," and in spite of a brief 
 resistance he pulled her up on the seat. 
 
 " Now ou you sluggard," said Martineau to his horse, 
 whom he whipped up.
 
 238 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 As the programme announced, he was at the gates of 
 Soissons, at eleven. Russian soldiers were on guard, 
 but Martineau, as an authorised carrier, had a pass, per- 
 fectly in form, and Mariette had not to show hers. 
 
 The poor child had never seen so large a city. The 
 closed gates, the hanging portcullis, the guns on the 
 ramparts, the sentinels, all at first terrified her. She 
 thought how difficult it would have been for her to ex- 
 perience all these difficulties alone, and rejoiced at hav- 
 ing accepted M. Martineau's offer. 
 
 The driver stopped at the trois pucettes The hour of 
 his arrival, which was never later than half-after eleven, 
 was known, and his breakfast was ready. 
 
 An old gastronomic proverb, which, however, is con- 
 tradicted by true gastronomers, says : 
 
 ' That enough for one, suffices for two.' 
 
 The driver was so well provided for at the inn, that 
 his breakfast sufficed for two, and even for three. He 
 led Mariette, who at first refused to accept this second 
 offer, to the table. Finally, however, she sate down, and 
 ate heartily, as also did Bernard, to his praise be it said. 
 
 When breakfast was over, the driver said, 
 
 " Wait here, my child, I am going to see after your 
 affairs " 
 
 With a nod he left. 
 
 What was he about to do ? Mariette did not know 
 herself. 
 
 A quarter of an hour after she did. 
 
 Martienau came back delighted. 
 
 " Come," said he, " the matter is settled, and you will 
 see Conscience to-morrow." 
 
 " How so ?" said Mariette, joyous. 
 
 " Simply enough. I met with a friend of mine, a wag- 
 oner from Chavignon, come to sell his vegetables at the
 
 THE DRIVER AND HIS CAR. 239 
 
 Soissons market, and going back empty. He will put 
 two or three trusses of straw in to make a seat, and will 
 take you with him. At three o'clock, you will be at 
 Chavignon, and will sleep in a good bed, which his wife 
 will give you, so that you will be able to start bright 
 and early at dawn to-morrow. So that out of fifteen 
 leagues, you will have to walk but four or five.*' 
 
 " Ah ! M. Martineau," said Marietta, " how grateful 
 I am." 
 
 There were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Bah," said the good man. " There is nothing to 
 cry for. If there be no God for good folk like you, for 
 whom is there one ?" 
 
 " And when do we start ?" asked she. 
 
 "At once. He is not ten paces from. us, at the 
 Boule-rouge, where he is having bay put in his car- 
 riage, to enable you, as I said, to travel more conve- 
 niently." 
 
 " Let us go, then," said Mariette. 
 
 With Bernard before them, they set out. The dog 
 had rested, and seemed fully prepared to resume the 
 journey. 
 
 Martineau's friend was a fat dealer in artichokes in 
 summer, and in cabbages and carrots in winter. 
 
 He received Mariette, as if he expected her, and was 
 as anxious to get home as she was to go four or five 
 leagues farther. 
 
 The drivers exchanged a few words, and then the 
 market-man, who was called Bound Charles from the 
 shape of his cheeks, asked Mariette to get in, as Javotte 
 was waiting for him, and he would not keep her wait- 
 ing for the handsomest girl in the country. 
 
 Mariette did not wait to be asked twice, but gave 
 her hand to Martineau, and sprang lightly into the car,
 
 240 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 while Bernard drew up beside, and looked in to see if 
 his mistress was comfortable. 
 
 He seemed satisfied, for getting down again he 
 barked joyfully. 
 
 " On my word, you have a travelling companion that 
 would be difficult to manage if you were spoken rude- 
 ly to." 
 
 " Bah 1 "Who would insult a poor girl like me ?" 
 
 " Hm !" said the market-man, looking at her. " Yet 
 one should not be too bold on the high road, crowded 
 as it is with people from every land." 
 
 " Think you, M. Charles, we have any thing to 
 fear ?" 
 
 " No. Because we will get in early. But at night, 
 in the everting, and very early in the morning, I would 
 not be too confident." 
 
 "But," said Mariette, " I have a Pass in three lan- 
 guages, French, German and Russian, given me by the 
 Russian General at Villers-Cotterets." 
 
 " That," said Charles with a laugh, " is very good, 
 for those who know how to read; what though for 
 those who cannot ?" 
 
 " Really, you terrify me," said Mariette. 
 
 " Bah ! I did but laugh. Come. Adieu, Martineau. 
 I thank you for the pleasant companion you have given 
 me. Are you comfortable, my lass ?" 
 
 "Yes, M. Charles." 
 
 " Weil ! Get up, Blucher." 
 
 This was the baptismal name of the horse. 
 
 It was a profession of the political faith of the owner, 
 who thus manifested his aversion to the condition of 
 things around him. 
 
 The words ' Get up, Blucher,' were accompanied by 
 two sound whacks, which the robust and patriotic
 
 THE DRIVER AND HIS CAR. 241 
 
 Charles would bave given Blucher himself, had he 
 found him anywhere alone, without any other witness 
 than the winds and clouds. 
 
 At the gate they opposed the same difficulties to 
 Charles' exit they had to Martineau's entrance, but he 
 took from his pocket book a paper slightly soiled, on 
 which were written a few lines above a seal which re- 
 moved all obstacles. Ten minutes afterwards she left 
 the Boule-Kouge, and as the Cathedral clock struck 
 one, Mariette was outside of Soissons, borne onward at 
 a gait which was a credit to Blucher's legs, and a proof 
 of Fat Charles' fondness for Javotte.
 
 . 
 
 VIII. 
 
 CHARLES AND HIS WIFE, 
 
 DURING the whole journey, Charles entertained 
 Mariette with his conjugal happiness. 
 
 Before they reached three quarters of a league from 
 Soissons, Mariette knew that two years 'before Charles 
 had married Javotte, and had three children a thing 
 that proved they had lost no time, and that the children 
 were two boys and a girl. 
 
 In her own mind Mariette did not see how one wo- 
 man in two years could have three children but her 
 womanly instinct taught her not to probe the matter 
 too closely with questions. 
 
 She knew that Javotte was short, fat, blonde, and- 
 jealous ; that her hand was quick, and that when in a 
 bad humor, she thought no more of striking her hus- 
 band than she did of whacking Blucher. 
 
 When about half a league from Chavignon, Charles 
 had already pointed out to Mariette the roof and smoke 
 of his house, and the roofs and smokes of all the other 
 houses of the village. 
 
 Mariette listened with apparent attention to Charles, 
 though in fact she was thinking of other matters. She 
 thought that Laon was but four leagues from Cham-
 
 CHARLES AND HIS WIFE. ^ 243 
 
 pignon, and that in the same day, almost without fa- 
 tigue, and without expense, she had come twelve 
 leagues. 
 
 She also said that as Blucher shared Charles' impa- 
 tience, and had come the distance home in two hours, 
 it might happen that by seven or eight o'clock the next 
 day, she would be at Laon. 
 
 It must be confessed that this idea took such posses- 
 sion of her, that it completely engrossed her, when 
 Charles, by a concerto on the whip, announced his arri- 
 val, and pulled up at the door. 
 
 At the noise Javotte appeared at the door with the 
 second child in her arms, followed by the eldest. The 
 youngest was asleep. 
 
 Of all that Charles had said of his wife's qualities, as 
 he drove home, his comments on her jealousy seemed 
 most true. 
 
 " Ah ha !" said she, " please to tell me where you 
 fished up that young girl ?" 
 
 The reception was not grateful, and Mariette 
 blushed. Charles, however, touched her with, his knee 
 and bade her listen. 
 
 " Where did I fish her up ? I will tell you, Madame 
 Javotte, as soon as you let me get out and kiss you." 
 
 " We have always time enough to kiss." 
 
 " Not so," said Charles " not half enough." 
 
 Springing down, he advanced with open arms to Ja- 
 votte, who gently pulled him in doors, while Mariette 
 sate in the car caressing Bernard's black muzzle, which 
 was pressed between the spokes of the wheel close to 
 her. 
 
 It seems that Eound Charles' reasons satisfied Ja- 
 votte, for in about ten minutes she re-appeared, and 
 said 
 
 16
 
 244 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 " Come, my lass, get out, you are welcome." 
 
 Now as there was no mistaking Javotte's benevo- 
 lence, Mariette did not wait to be asked twice, but got 
 out smiling. 
 
 " Ah," said Round Charles, re-appearing and wink- 
 ing, ' ; you see my mode of contriving to have my own 
 way. Well ! we will put the General-in-chief in hia 
 stable, and dine, for I am fearfully hungry. Come, 
 Blucher, come, my fine fellow." 
 
 Swinging open the great gate, he took the horse 
 and wagon into the yard, and left Javotte and Mariette 
 to mature the acquaintance they had begun. 
 
 This was not difficult, for Javofcte was a kind enough 
 woman in the main, and at once comprehended Mari- 
 ette's devotion, and as the matter she was engaged in 
 reflected honor on the whole eex, Javotte was glad to 
 participate in it, even in the smallest way. 
 
 True, Mariette in the kindness of her heart had alrea- 
 dy taken possession of one of the children, while Ber- 
 nard lay at the feet of the other, suffering his ears to be 
 pulled, and his throat to be searched by the child's 
 hand, like a good dog as he was. 
 
 Taking advantage of this relief, Javotte had gone in- 
 to the cellar, and returned with a bottle in each hand 
 a thing that seemed to delight Round Charles, who just 
 then re-appeared at the yard door. 
 
 In five minutes they were at the table, and Charles 
 proved that he had not exaggerated when he said he 
 was fearfully hungry. 
 
 It was so serious, that he was long in satisfying it. 
 
 Mariette had dined at noon with M. Martineau, and 
 did not eat, thinking the while of how she should ap- 
 proach the question on her at onco continuing her 
 journey.
 
 CHARLES AND HIS WIFE. 245 
 
 A good angel, however, really seemed to watch over 
 her, and inspired all she met. 
 
 Towards the end of dinner, Charles winked to Mari- 
 ette, as if to say that she would hear something worthy 
 of her attention. 
 
 Javotte caught him. 
 
 " Well ! said she. 
 
 " By and by ? Well I wished to know what ass 
 that is I found in the stable, eating up all the leavings 
 of the General-in-chief." 
 
 " What ! did you not know it, you fool ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Bound Charles, " and that is exactly 
 why I ask. It is the ass of mother Sabot." 
 
 " She is not" 
 
 " Do not mind her : we call her mother Sabot," said 
 Charles to Mariette, "because she is the wife of Wil- 
 liam the sabot-maker. Now though we have to do 
 neither with William nor with his wife, but with their 
 ass. How came it here, Javotte ?" 
 
 " Because mother Sabot lent it to the nurse who 
 lives at Pargny, that her milk should not be heated by 
 too long a journey. She passed to-day with the child, 
 and left the ass here, saying that it was arranged be- 
 tween mother Sabot and herself that it should be sent 
 back by the first opportunity." 
 
 " Very well," said Charles. " I knew . . ." 
 
 " That you recognised the animal ?" 
 
 " I knew that our guest would find a way to COTI- 
 tinue her journey without fatiguing her little feet. Did 
 you ever see such feet, Javotte ? To say that she has 
 thus far come thirteen leagues without doing so, is to 
 say a great deal." 
 
 " Very well, very well !" said Javotte, who did not
 
 24C THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 like to hear her husband so expansive about the attrac- 
 tions of other women, " What then?" 
 
 " Well then, you have already found an opportunity ; 
 for to-morrow morning, we will put the child on the ass 
 of mother Sabot, turn its head towards Chroy, say Hu! 
 and it will go straight thither without stopping until it 
 reaches the door, as Blucher came without being 
 flogged to mine." 
 
 " Well !" said Javotte, " that is really an idea ; you 
 are not such a fool, my good man, as you seem to be." 
 
 A glance of Javotte's eye told Charles, there were 
 moments when she did not think him a fool at all. 
 
 During this spoken and pantomimic dialogue, the 
 imagination of poor Mariette yet reached the end of her 
 journey. 
 
 " My God, Madame Charles," said she timidly, " a 
 thing occurs to me." 
 
 " What is it, my child ?" 
 
 " That it is not now later than four o'clock, and that 
 we have still three hours and a half of daylight, so that 
 if the ass of mother Sabot be not too weary, instead of 
 taking it back to morrow, I will do so this evening." 
 
 " This evening, you are very anxious to leave us, my 
 child ?" 
 
 " Not at all, M. Charles, but quite the contrary. 
 When, however, I think of the poor blind one, grateful 
 as I am to you, I am anxious to rejoin him." 
 
 u That is natural enough," said Javotte. 
 
 " There is danger," said Charles. 
 
 "Danger?" 
 
 " Yes, for a girl." 
 
 What ?" 
 
 " In crossing the wood of Etouville, where one might 
 meet with an accident."
 
 CHARLES AND HIS WIFE. 247 
 
 " Ah," said Marietta, " there is no danger. Who 
 would injure a poor girl ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Round Charles, with his jovial laugh, 
 " I did not say any one would injure you." 
 
 " Will you hush ?" said Javotte. 
 
 " I will, wife, I will. Own though, that I was not 
 very wrong." 
 
 " The fact is," said Javotte, " that it would be better 
 to wait till to-morrow." 
 
 " Possibly," said Mariette, " bat I would lose two 
 hours, if it were convenient for me to go this evening." 
 
 " Well ! I tell you it is," said Charles. 
 . " Madame Charles," said Mariette, clasping her 
 nands, " think of the poor blind one ; remember 
 that hours to him are centuries, and that by going this 
 evening, I shall at least be two hours nearer him to-, 
 morrow." 
 
 " Well," said Javotte, " if you think of that, you must 
 make up your mind at once." 
 
 " Madame Charles, if you excuse me, it is already 
 made up, and if it depends on me . ..." 
 
 " Go, Charles," said Javotte, " and put the pad on the 
 ass : the poor child is dying to be at Laon." 
 
 " It is not the less true that I had rather she should 
 not cross the wood of Etouville until to-morrow." 
 
 " Why ?" said Javotte, " you will go with her as far 
 as Chivy. You are, perhaps, too delicate to take so 
 long a walk." 
 
 " No," said Charles, taking Javotte in his arms, " I 
 am not, and the proof of it is, I will run all the way 
 back, so as to be sooner with you. Ah ! you are a 
 good woman, though you do not look like it." 
 
 Charles folded Javotte in his arms, kissed her twice, 
 and rushed into the yard.
 
 248 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Madame Charles," said Mariette, " you seem to me 
 very happy." 
 
 " Yes," said she, re-adjusting the economy of her 
 toilette, which was somewhat deranged by her hus- 
 band's fervor, " God has ordained that we love each 
 other." 
 
 Mariette said " that is the greatest favor he could 
 bestow." 
 
 Two large tears streamed down her cheeks, for she 
 thought of Conscience, and that their love would be as 
 true, though not so boisterous as that of these good 
 people. 
 
 Madame Charles read what was passing in her mind, 
 and with a delicacy of feeling of which she might have 
 been thought incapable, kissed her. 
 
 " Bah !" said she. " God is great : confide in him." 
 
 " Hear me, my child," said she, " when at Laon you 
 will be but a few leagues from our Lady of Liesse ; 
 she is a Holy Virgin, and very miraculous. Every day 
 invalids who have been cured come this way. Once 
 there, who knows what may happen ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Mariette, " I have thought of it, for by 
 doing so, I will fulfil a promise." 
 
 " Good," said Madame Charles. Then all will be 
 well." 
 
 Her husband appeared at the door leading the ass. 
 She then kissed the young girl, and wished her a plea- 
 sant journey. 
 
 Mariette then left not on foot but riding; Bernard ran 
 before, while Charles walked by her side. Thus the 
 procession left the house, at the door of which stood 
 Javotte, making gestures of farewell until disappearing 
 at the extremity of the village, it advanced towarda 
 Chivy, and consequently Luou.
 
 IX. 
 
 IN WHICH IT APPEARS THAT IT IS SOMETIMES MOKE 
 
 DIFFICULT TO GO "FIFTEEN PACES THAN AS 
 
 MANT LEAGUES. 
 
 ass travelled neither as fast as the horse of Mar- 
 _|_ tineau, nor of Round Charles, and Margot, such was 
 the animal's name, was two and a half good hours in 
 crossing the famous wood of Etouville, of which her 
 host was so much afraid. 
 
 Let us say that this danger had been much over-esti- 
 mated by the honest market-man. He wished to com- 
 plete bis good action by accompanying Mariette as far 
 as possible, but dared not do so without Javotte's per- 
 mission, to obtain which, he had either created a danger 
 which did not exist, or had made a slight one seem 
 more redoubtable. 
 
 As Mariette had the inestimable privilege of attract- 
 ing hearts to her, Javotte had even gone farther than 
 her husband wished. 
 
 The wood of Etouville might have excited some ap- 
 prehension in Mariette's mind, had she passed it alone. 
 She met a kind of Kossack patrol there, composed of 
 eight men, who terrified her much by their Russian 
 beards, long lances, pistols in their belts, and rope stir- 
 rups ; then she met soldiers isolated and in groups ; one 
 
 of the latter iust as the little caravan was leaving the 
 
 249
 
 250 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 / 
 wood, so arranged the three men that composed it, as 
 
 to close the road. They had doubtless prepared to do 
 so, but Bernard also halted and growled so angrily, 
 showing his lion teeth, and Charles at the same moment 
 executed so superb a nourish with his iron-shod staff, 
 that the two demonstrations, sustained by the appear- 
 ance of a young officer, who came from the wood, 
 whence he had seen all, fastened their menacers to the 
 ground. 
 
 At the sight of their superior the three Russian Gren- 
 adiers stood motionless as ancient statues, with the little 
 finger of the left hand on the seams of their pantaloons, 
 and the right as high as the gold band of their 'caps. 
 
 Not only was this officer young, but he was almost a 
 child, for this other Emperor he of the North who 
 had come to oppress us, had been forced to strip his 
 sterile and icy realm of men. Yet the young officer, 
 blonde as was his hair, rosy his complexion, youthful his 
 face, had in his manner something of a varnish of bar- 
 barism, which made him more terrible than any virile 
 or rude face Mariette had seen since she commenced 
 her journey. 
 
 He made & gesture with his hand to the young girl, 
 who seeing that he wished to speak to her, checked the 
 ass. 
 
 Charles was not satisfied, but Mariette with a smile, 
 pointed to Bernard, who advanced towards the young 
 man. 
 
 The latter advanced and said in a half-familiar, half- 
 polite manner, 
 
 " Well 1 my child ; what is the matter." 
 
 Mariette trembling, replied, " Nothing, Mr. Officer 
 but I am afraid."
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 251 
 
 " Of wnat ?" 
 
 " Of those three soldiers who seem disposed to stop 
 me." 
 
 " Of them ?" said the young man, with an expression 
 of menace and contempt which nothing can give an idea 
 of. 
 
 "But," said Charles, executing another flourish, "we 
 were ready." 
 
 " You," said the officer, with an expression like the 
 first. 
 
 " Especially," said Mariette, " as I have a Pass from 
 the General-in-chief." 
 
 " Ah !" said the young Eussian. 
 
 She. gave him the paper. 
 
 He unfolded it slowly, keeping his eye fixed on the 
 three men, who were motionless, as if they had been 
 made of stone, and with some surprise read the ordera 
 of his General. 
 
 Taking it in his left hand, he read it to the three sol- 
 diers, giving each of them a violent blow with the right, 
 from which they did not swerve their Sclavic faces. 
 Then coming to Mariette, 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said he, " whither do you go ?" 
 
 " To-day, sir, I go as far as Chivy, which is nearly a 
 league distant." 
 
 " Very well," said the officer, restoring the Pass, 
 " you can not only continue your journey, but will do 
 so under an escort." 
 
 Turning to the soldiers, he gave them in a clear and 
 distinct tone, in the Eussian tongue, an order, which 
 though Mariette and Charles did not understand a word 
 of, they saw obeyed. 
 
 Having returned the officer's salute and made the ass 
 resume its pace, Mariette and Charles saw the Eussian
 
 JJ52 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Grenadiers face about, and follow them at the distance 
 of twenty paces like automata, the left hand being close 
 to the seams of their pantaloons, and the right as high 
 as the cap. 
 
 Thus they marched a league, and returned to the 
 quarters of the young officer, waiting until he 
 chanced to return, under the penalty of twenty stripes 
 each. 
 
 The young officer quietly returned to Etouville bid- 
 ding Mariette adieu. 
 
 He was sure his order would be obeyed to the letter. 
 
 Mariette's heart was distressed at the blows inflicted 
 on the three men. On the other hand, however, we 
 must say that Charles not only felt much pleasure at 
 the fact, but expressed it, whenever he looked back 
 and saw the men in the same attitude, and at precisely 
 the same distance, marching like windmills with their 
 arms lifted. 
 
 Thus they reached Chivy. The Russians, so proba- 
 bly were they ordered, halted at the entrance of the 
 village, faced about as they had done, and retraced 
 their steps in the same order and attitude to Etouville. 
 
 Chivy is a little village of about seventy houses, and 
 that of Mother Sabot was almost at the other end of it, 
 towards the city of Laon. 
 
 The old woman had gone frequently to the door, to 
 see if the ass was coming back, for a trip her husband 
 had to make early the next morning, rendered the want 
 pressing. 
 
 Mariette therefore partook of the animal's welcome: 
 accompanied and recommended by Round Charles- too, 
 aL progressed as well as possible. 
 
 He told Mariette's story, which always made a deep
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 253 
 
 impression on women, and supper and lodging were 
 offered cheerfully, both by Mother Sabot and her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Charles delighted at his good action, with active lega 
 and merry heart, as be had promised Javotte, fairly ran 
 home. 
 
 As he passed through Etouville, however, he saw 
 before a house which doubtless was that of the officer, 
 the three Grenadiers, still motionless, with their hands 
 fixed to their positions on the seams of their pantaloons 
 and on their caps. 
 
 In all probability the young officer had not yet re- 
 turned. 
 
 Mariette slept little. How could she ? being so near 
 Conscience. The first ray of the sun found her up 
 and when Father Sabot was about to set out and tap- 
 ped at her door expecting to awaken her, she met him, 
 all dressed. 
 
 He went with her to the heights ,of Clacy, that is, a 
 full league from Laon, where he left the high, and took 
 a cross road. 
 
 Mariette went on ; she had now nothing to fear ' 
 Laon was before her, rising on the height, crowning 
 that table land which in his despair the Titan had 
 sought to scale, and on which he had left in vain four 
 thousand dead and three thousand wounded. 
 
 She found a Russian guard at the gate of the city 
 but it did not even ask the young and graceful girl for 
 her Pass. She entered, and was soon on the square 
 where the old Merovingian tower of Louis Outremer 
 once stood. 
 
 Not knowing the city, she had to ask her way, and 
 approached a sentinel who walked up and down doubt-
 
 254 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 less before the quarters of some officer of rank, and 
 asked where was the hospital. 
 
 The sentinel shook his head to express that he did 
 not understand. 
 
 Mariette showed her Pass. 
 
 The sentinel could not read, but when he saw the 
 impression of the seal, he knew at. once that the paper 
 \\as an order or a requisition, and called to a non- 
 commissioned officer to approach. 
 
 Mariette saluted him with more politeness than she 
 had the soldier, and showed him the Pass. 
 
 The non-commissioned officer thought the matter 
 grave enough to be referred to an officer, and having: 
 respectfully returned the paper to Mariette, went for 
 one. 
 
 The latter soon came, stroking his moustache. Ma- 
 riette's appearance produced its usual effect, for he ad- 
 vanced with a smile, and said in French, with a strong 
 German accent, 
 
 " Good morning, my pretty girl ! How can I serve 
 you ? 
 
 " Sir, can you," said Mariette, " show me the way to 
 the hospital ?" 
 
 " There are two. "Which would you go to ?" 
 
 " The one in which Conscience is, sir." 
 
 " Who is he, Mademoiselle ?" 
 
 " Conscience is a poor French soldier, who during 
 the battle lost his eyes." 
 
 " Was he a horseman or a footman ?" 
 
 " He was in the Artillery, and drove a caisson." 
 
 " Ah, I understand he was a Hussar, a garde roue, 
 as we say. Then he is in the Cavalry Hospital." 
 
 Turning to a soldier, he spoke a few words in Ger-
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 255 
 
 man, which the latter heard respectfully with his hand 
 to his cap. 
 
 He then said to Mariette, 
 
 " Follow this man he will show you the way." 
 
 Mariette made a courtesy at the officer, who in re- 
 turn waved his hand kindly to her and said, 
 
 " DER TEUFEL ! SEHR SCHONE ! SEHR SCHONE !" 
 
 Mariette would have blushed had she known what 
 the compliment was. ..-,,- 
 
 x Light as a gazelle, she was at some distance follow- 
 ing the soldier, who it seemed to her walked very 
 slowly indeed. 
 
 After about five minutes, the Prussian soldier point- 
 ed out a great door surmounted by a stone cross, be- 
 fore which walked, with his left arm in a scarf and his 
 sabre on his right shoulder, a sentinel who by the frag- 
 ments of his uniform was recognised as having belong- 
 ed to the Cuirassiers. 
 
 The sentinel looked at the Prussian. 
 
 HIER !" said the latter. 
 
 " Hier ?" repeated Mariette. 
 
 " JA, HIER !" said the Prussian. 
 
 Mariette understood. 
 
 " That means," said she, " that he is here that we 
 are come." 
 
 " JA," said the Prussian. 
 
 "Thank you," said Mariette, and she hurried to- 
 wards the great door which 'was surmounted by the 
 cross, the entrance of which the cuirassier barred. 
 
 " No admission," said he frowning, and in an angry 
 tone. , . 
 
 11 What ! no admission ?" said she, shrinking. 
 
 c None. Do you not understand French ?"
 
 256 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Yes and because I do speak French and address 
 a countryman, I hoped I could enter." 
 
 " You are wrong ; there is no admission." 
 
 "My God! Why?" 
 
 Orders." 
 
 " Sir, for heaven's sake let me beg " 
 
 " Back !" said the cuirassier. 
 
 " But I am come so far," said the young girl. 
 
 He made a gesture of brutal menace to her. 
 
 " Sir," said Mariette trembling, " I have a Pass.'* 
 
 " From whom ?" 
 
 ' From the Russian General-in-chief." 
 
 " Do not know the Russian General-m-chief," said 
 the cuirassier, with increased agitation. 
 
 " My God," said Mariette, lifting her hands to heaven, 
 " what shall I do, and what will become of me ?" 
 
 " Do what you please, become anything you please, 
 provided you clear out at once." 
 
 " It seems to me, comrade," said a voice behind Ma- 
 riette, " that you treat the poor girl rather sternly." 
 
 " I know no girls that come escorted by Prussians, 
 and with a Pass from Russians." 
 
 " The fact is, my child," said the third speaker, " that 
 the Pass is perfectly good for a Prussian or a Russian, 
 but to a Frenchman it would be better to come empty- 
 handed, and say, ' I have business with,' or ' wish to 
 see such a one ; let me pass.' " 
 
 Mariette had turned around, and recognized a uniform 
 which was not unfamiliar to her. Then amid the ban- 
 dages across the soldier's brow, which covered an eye, 
 and a part of the cheek, she recognised a face she 
 knew. 
 
 11 My God !" said Mariette, " am I not mistaken ? am 
 I BO fortunate as to have met you ?"
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 257 
 
 " Mariette !" said the Hussar. 
 
 " Bastien !" said Mariette ; " my friend, my protec- 
 tor, I am come from Haramont to see Conscience, who, 
 perhaps will never see me. I shall die ; Bastien, you 
 understand, I shall die if I do not see him." 
 
 She had nearly knelt with arms outstretched towards 
 the Hussar. 
 
 " Be easy, Mariette, you shall see him," said Bas- 
 tien ; " I promise you, or I will lose my name." 
 
 Approaching the cuirassier, he said, 
 
 " Comrade, this is a country-woman from the same 
 village with me, who has come to see her lover, poor 
 Conscience, the one, you know, who had his eyes 
 burned." 
 
 " Yes," said the cuirassier. " I know all that.'' 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " Well, the orders say no admission : and she shall 
 not pass." 
 
 " Ah yes," said Mariette. " It shall not be told that 
 I came from home to see Conscience, that I promised 
 Madeleine to bring him back, and that having under- 
 gone so many dangers, I returned as I came. If I 
 have to force the doors I will try it, even though the 
 sabre of that wicked soldier pierce me." 
 
 She moved forward, but Bastien checked her. 
 
 Placing himself between her and the cuirassier, he 
 riaid, 
 
 " You heard, did you not ?" 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " What the poor girl said, that she would pass the 
 door, if your sabre pierced her heart." 
 
 " Ah, I know all those farces." 
 
 " It is no farce," said Bastien, who began to bite hia 
 moustache, (a very bad sign with him,) " but true grief
 
 258 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 and real tears, a brave soldier like you, comrade, 
 should be able to see man's blood flow, but not 
 women's tears." 
 
 The cuirassier saw a slight accent of menace in the 
 words of the Hussar, and winked his eye. It was his 
 method of expressing dissatisfaction : he said, 
 
 " And do you think for your peasant girl's tears, I 
 am going to violate orders, and run the risk of twenty- 
 four hours under guard? Thank you." 
 
 " Since when would a soldier refuse to run that risk 
 to serve a comrade." 
 
 " For another I willingly would, provided that other 
 asked me in a suitable manner." 
 
 " Why for another, and not for this girl ?" 
 
 " Because she is too intimate with Russians and 
 Prussians to be French at heart." 
 
 " Cuirassier, my friend, you should know that she is 
 French at heart, being the betrothed of Conscience, and 
 the friend of Bastien." 
 
 " It matters not, I am not sure enough to run the 
 risk of the guard-house." 
 
 Bastion's upper lip was almost hidden by the lower 
 one. 
 
 " Cuirassier, my friend, when I tell you a thing you 
 should be sure of it." 
 
 The cuirassier winked so as almost to seem one eyed. 
 
 " And if your word did not suffice, what then ?" 
 
 " That as I told Mariette she should go in the hos- 
 pital, or I would lose my name, she must go in, will 
 or will you not, inasmuch as I do not mean to lose my 
 name." 
 
 " Your name ? tell it me, so that at five this evening, 
 I may call it aloud somewhere beneath the rampart."
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 259 
 
 " Very well," said Bastien. " Do so at five o'clock, 
 on the side towards Saint Marcel. You need not 
 shout very loud, for I will be there, though both my 
 legs and sabre are shorter than yours." 
 
 " My God," said Mariette trembling. " Bastien 
 Bastien, I understand you. On my account you 
 have engaged in a duel." 
 
 " "What of it, Mariette ? Many a man has fought 
 for an uglier face than yours." 
 
 " I will not have it, Bastien. I will ask pardon of 
 that ugly cuirassier, and beg him so that he will suffer 
 me to pass." 
 
 "Bah, Mariette. That soils one's sleeves, as we 
 Hussars say. The affair is begun, and must be ended." 
 
 " But if aught befell you on my account, Bastien, 
 I never would forgive myself." 
 
 " Ah ; do not be uneasy, Mariette No, this is mere 
 sport, for the heavies are not as ill-natured as they 
 eeem, and all may be ended yet by a bottle to the 
 health of the father of all, who is below there, and 
 whom the fools call Nicholas. Well, let Jean Camp- 
 kettle march and counter-march before the door of the 
 hospital, and come with me." 
 * " Why ? Must I then go away ?" 
 
 " Certainly, for the present." 
 
 " But Bastien, I cannot without seeing Conscience ; 
 you told me just now I should." 
 
 " Yes ; I say so again." 
 
 He looked at the church clock. 
 
 " Well ?" asked Mariette. 
 
 " Well ! it will be in less than a half an hour." 
 
 "Before I see him?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Bastien, dear Bastien." 
 IT
 
 260 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " But you must go away, sit down on that stone 
 bench and chat awhile." 
 
 " Ah ! as long as you please. You say I am to see 
 Conscience in a half an hour ?" 
 
 " Now you will see him in twenty-five minutes, as five 
 minutes have passed since I made the promise." 
 
 " I will see him in spite of the cuirassier ?" 
 
 " In spite of the cuirassier." 
 
 11 How, Bastien ? 
 
 " Easily. He will not be forever in front of that door." 
 
 " Ah ! I see, at nine, in twenty minutes, another will 
 replace him." 
 
 " Exactly, Mariette, and as the next probably will not 
 be a hound like him, what this one refused, will be 
 granted us." 
 
 " But if he too refuses." 
 
 " I have contrived a way, so that he will not." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 "You will see what." 
 
 " Soon ?" 
 
 " In a quarter of an hour." Bastien looked at the 
 clock. 
 
 " My God ! how long a quarter of an hour is !" 
 
 " True, when one neither drinks nor smokes, it is fif- 
 teen minutes." 
 
 " Bastien, you put me in mind, that perhaps you have 
 taken nothing ?" 
 
 " Twice or thrice, that is all." 
 
 " Yes, Mariette, as for two days, I shall perhaps be 
 locked up, I will not refuse." 
 
 " Well, be quick !" said Mariette, hurrying him to- 
 wards a cabaret, " for we have but ten minutes." 
 
 " Ten minutes ! Bah ! in ten minutes, one does much."
 
 A DIFFICULTY. 261 
 
 Bastien entered the cabaret, and said, " Waiter, a bofr" 
 tie, a loaf and two glasses." 
 
 " Ah ! Bastien, I never drink." 
 
 " I know how to make you." 
 
 " No, no." 
 
 " You will see." 
 
 Taking the bottle, he poured a few drops in Mari- 
 ette's glass, but filled his full. 
 
 " Those few drops." 
 
 " Not them even, I drink but water." 
 
 " To the health of Conscience," said Bastien, as he lif- 
 ted up his glass. 
 
 " Ah," said Mariette, if that be it, I will not refuse. 
 I would fear misfortune if I did." 
 
 " May you see him in five minutes !" said Bastien. 
 
 She repeated Bastien's words, and drank. 
 
 " Ah, I knew you would drink," said the hussar, bold- 
 ly attacking the bread, and the greater part of the first, 
 and the whole of the latter disappearing before five min- 
 utes had passed. 
 
 The clock struck nine.
 
 X. 
 
 How MARIETTE TOOK THE LAST FIFTEEN 
 DIFFICULT STEPS. 
 
 MAEIETTE heard every stroke of the bell as if 
 the hammer had fallen on her heart. When the 
 last had finished, Bastien said, 
 
 " Come." 
 
 <4 Ah ! the five minutes are over." 
 
 Bastien took Mariette to the door of the cabaret, 
 where they paused and looked towards the door of the 
 hospital. 
 
 A dragoon escorted by another dragoon and an hus- 
 sar, relieved the cuirassie^ who received the orders and 
 prepared to keep his post for two hours. 
 
 The wounded men did not wish to have foreign sen- 
 tinels at their door, and had obtained a guard of their 
 own, or rather of the most advanced of the convales- 
 cents. Thence came the succession of arms and uni- 
 forms. 
 
 The cuirassier and Bastien exchanged glances, which 
 meant on the cuirassier's side 
 
 " At five o'clock." 
 
 And on Bastien's, implied assent. 
 
 The cuirassier left, and disappeared at an angle of 
 
 the street. 
 
 262
 
 MARIETTE. 263 
 
 " Now," said Bastien, " wait here a minute, Mari- 
 ette, and when the dragoon shall have yielded me his 
 place and left, come " 
 
 " Have you yet hopes ?" said Mariette with a quiver- 
 ing heart. 
 
 " More than ever but attention to the command." 
 
 He advanced towards the Dragoon with the dandi- 
 fied air all soldiers, particularly Hussars, affect, and 
 which was one of Bastien's peculiar graces. 
 
 Though not intimate with the Dragoon, Bastien 
 knew him, and among all these fragments of the Napo- 
 leonic glory, there was a religious community of thought 
 the fraternity of misfortune. 
 
 The cuirassier had been so rude and so tenacious to 
 Mariette only because she came with a Prussian escort 
 and Russian Pass. 
 
 He had treated the young girl with a purely national 
 opposition. But for that, his heart, used as it was to 
 its covering, would certainly have yielded to the pray- 
 ers of Mariette and persuasion of Bastien. 
 
 Bastien had nothing of the sword to apprehend from 
 -the Dragoon,, but he resolved not to risk a refusal. 
 
 He therefore adopted another manoauvre with the 
 new sentinel, and approaching him said, 
 
 " Good day, Dragoon." 
 
 " Good day, Hussar." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Tell me, Dragoon, if you would be disposed to do 
 a favor to a comrade." 
 
 " Certainly, provided it did not affront my regiment, 
 and was not contrary to orders." 
 
 " Well," said the Hussar, did you notice that great 
 chap you relieved ?"
 
 264 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 " The cuirassier ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " Well, we had some words togethei .' 
 
 " About what ?" 
 
 " A girl who is at the door of the cabaret, at the 
 corner of the street with a dog at her feet." 
 
 " A pretty girl, and a fine dog," said the Dragoon, 
 looking up and stroking his moustache 
 
 " Yes, we had some words five minutes ago, and at 
 five o'clock are, below St. Marcel's bastion, to give 
 each other a few gashes." 
 
 " You want me as your second ?" 
 
 " No because if you do me the favor I ask, you will 
 be here while we are there." 
 
 " What ! I here ? Do you think I am posted for 
 twenty-four hours ?" 
 
 " Wait till I explain." 
 
 " Well, I hear," said the Dragoon gravely. 
 
 " Well, the cuirassier had a fancy of which I could 
 not rid him." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Not to fight before nor afteY five o'clock." 
 
 " Odd," said the Dragoon, who could not see why a 
 man should not fight all the day. 
 
 " Now," said Bastien, " I had to do exactly as he 
 pleased, since I had called him out." 
 
 Well" 
 
 "That is rather inconvenient, as at five I mount 
 post, and am on till seven." 
 
 " You should have told him." 
 
 " I did, but he would not hear me." 
 
 " He must be particularly fond of five o'clock." 
 
 " It is a mere whim, though, for he offered to stay
 
 MARIBTTE. 265 
 
 four hours, two for him and two for me on post, so as 
 to fight at five o'clock. One might think he was only 
 brave at that hour." 
 
 " The French soldier is brave at every hour," said 
 the Dragoon sententiously. 
 
 " True," said the Hussar, who did not wish to op- 
 pose a man of whom he was about to ask a favor. 
 " You see, though, Dragoon, I refused the offer." 
 
 " You were wrong, Hussar." 
 
 " No because I said, ' The Devil ! between this and 
 five o'clock, I will find some comrade, whose tour of 
 duty I will take on condition that he does mine.' When 
 I saw you take your place for the contra-dance, I said, 
 ' There is my man.' Do you understand ?" 
 ' "No." 
 
 " You do not understand that you will do me a favor 
 oy turning over the special orders I know the others 
 and give me your place in consideration of a bottle 
 of Clamecy, to be drunken after relief, and a clasp of 
 the hand to men ' Dragoon, yours for life or death.' " 
 
 " Yes, I am to mount guard at five o'clock, while you 
 are down there? Good." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " That will do," said the Dragoon, " but you will 
 owe me ten minutes by the clock " 
 
 " Very well, I will pay that over a second bottle." 
 
 " So be it The orders are, ' Carry arms to all 
 Prussian, Russian, or French officers if they wear epau- 
 lettes to suffer no women but the Sisters of Charity to 
 enter the hospital without leave, and permit none of the 
 invalids to leave it without a surgeon's Exeat" 
 
 " All right. The same for a change " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 266 THI CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Thank you then at five ?" 
 
 " I will be faithful." 
 
 " Now, Dragoon, as every service is worth its price, 
 go to the cabaret and say to that young girl who is 
 looking at us, as politely as you can, ' Mile. Mariette, 
 Bastien the Hussar wishes to speak to you and your 
 dog.' She will say, ' Thank you, Dragoon,' and that 
 will repay you for your trouble." 
 
 " Do not be uneasy, Dragoons have always been fa- 
 mous for civility to the fair sex." 
 
 " Then," said Bastien, " as Dragoons know the in- 
 fantry as well as the cavalry drill, Left HALF FACE 
 Forward MARCH !" 
 
 The Dragoon obeyed the command, and advanced, 
 cap in hand, towards Mariette, and spoke to her. 
 
 As soon as she heard him, she sprang from the wall 
 against which she leaned, and hurried to Bastien. 
 
 " Shall I see Conscience ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Bastien. 
 
 " You have permission ?" 
 
 " No, but I give you 
 
 " What ! give me permission ?" 
 
 " Certainly. I am on post." 
 
 " But the orders" 
 
 " There are no orders for you." 
 
 " Then I may go in ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but if asked for your Pass, say you left it 
 with the sentinel, who was to restore it when you left." 
 
 " Thank you, Bastien. What can I do for you?" 
 
 Bastien took hold of the young girl's arm and drew 
 her towards him. 
 
 " Mariette, tell me of Catharine, to give me some- 
 thing to think of during the two hours I am on poet." 
 
 He added in a lower tone
 
 MARIETTE. 267 
 
 "And the twenty -four, I shall be in the guard 
 house." 
 
 " Oh I" cried Mariette, who heard only the first 
 portion of his remark, " can love make us so selfish ?" 
 
 " Selfish !" said Bastien. 
 
 " I speak of myself, Bastien. I mean, make me so 
 selfish as not to remember Catharine." 
 
 " Well," said the Hussar, prepared for the tenderest 
 of catastrophes. 
 
 " Well ! she loves you, dear Bastien, and weeps for 
 you all day, for she thinks you killed." 
 
 " Ah !" said Bastien, much moved. " Catherine 
 weeps for me. What will she say when she sees me 
 with the patch over my eye ?" 
 
 " That you are welcome, Bastien, for the day she 
 sees you, will be the happiest of your life." 
 
 " Then I can write to her without fearing that 
 another will open the letter ?" 
 
 " Write to her with no fear but that tears of joy may 
 blind her, and prevent her reading your letter." 
 
 " Good girl !" said the Hussar, wiping away a tear 
 which hung in the corner of his own eye. 
 
 " Well," said Mariette, " are you satisfied ?" 
 
 " Name of Names, I should be hard to please if 1 
 were not but now it is your turn to be satisfied. 
 Go in." 
 
 " Which way ?" asked Mariette, delighted." 
 
 " Straight before you. That is all." 
 
 " But which of those doors must I open?'" 
 
 " Look, the one before which Bernard is lying." 
 
 " Poor Bernard !" said Mariette, " I had forgotten 
 him." 
 
 Thanking Bastien again, she entered the yard light
 
 268 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 as one of the deer which crossed the forest of Villers- 
 Cotterets. 
 
 Bastien saw her leave, and said IB a low tone, 
 
 " I will probably be rewarded for the service I have 
 done her, by a sabre-cut, and twenty-four hours under 
 guard. What of that though she is worthy my bear- 
 ing more than that." 
 
 He added in a kind of peroration, 
 
 " Name of names ; in the Regiment that was a 
 pleasure."
 
 XL 
 
 THE BLIND WARD. 
 
 THE hospital of Laon had a ward devoted not only 
 to blind soldiers, but to persons in the city, af- 
 flicted with ophthalmic affections, who the Senior Sur- 
 geon of the hospital, celebrated in such cases, attended. 
 
 This room intended for patients deprived of sight, in 
 danger of losing, or likely to recover it, had a strange ap- 
 pearance, the only characteristic of which was profound 
 sadness. This was enhanced by the fact that the win- 
 dows, covered with green paper, shut out every ray of 
 the sun, and prevented the entrance of clear light. To 
 strangers admitted by the authorities of the hospital, it 
 was a sad place, the feeble light of which was more un- 
 pleasant than darkness itself. It seemed a kind of 
 limbo, neither night nor day, through which dark 
 phantoms walked with silent steps and extended arms, 
 or where they leaned for hours against the wall with- 
 out speaking. 
 
 Every heart felt a secret anxiety at the entrance of 
 this dark realm of blindness. It had been said that in 
 the descent to the dark regions of the world of mystery, 
 all halt half way between life and the tomb, in a 
 
 funereal state, which was neither existence nor sepul- 
 
 269
 
 270 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ture. Before anything was distinct, the eye had to 
 grow used to this tint of green paper over the glass, the 
 effect of which was, that those of the patients who 
 began to see, were almost as much distressed at this 
 factitious light restored to them, as at the darkness 
 from which they had emerged all, whatever might be 
 the degree of their convalescence, had to wear a green 
 visor over the face, so that the very surgeon who 
 treated them, had to call them by name, to distinguish 
 the spectors from each other, and to apply the remedy 
 demanded by the seventy or the amelioration of the 
 disease. 
 
 At the moment we write of, the immense ward, 
 thirty feet square almost, had but eight or tenjpatients. 
 
 Conscience was one of the eight or ten. 
 
 In spite of his misfortune, the young man had lost 
 neither his faith nor his calmness. The invisible world 
 amid which Conscience once had lived, had not failed 
 him : since he had been deprived of his outward sight, 
 he had, so to say, plunged more deeply in the interior 
 world which the dreams of fools and extatics, twc 
 classes of invalids for the physicians, the majority of 
 whom are materialists, class together." 
 
 This was not, however, the case with the poor blind 
 companions of Conscience's obscurity and darkness. 
 To them, the lad was a great consoler, and replaced 
 the material world from which they were exiled, by 
 revelation of another, visible perhaps only to the eyes 
 of death, and into which, by a special privilege, Con- 
 science had always penetrated with the eyes of the soul, 
 and in which, as we have said, he saw more distinctly 
 still, since the eyes of his body were closed. 
 
 They then as usual, sat grouped around Conscience, 
 who, seeing that consolation dropped from bis lips
 
 THE BLIND WARD. 271 
 
 sometimes loosed the wonderful visions which illumin- 
 ated his brain. When Conscience spoke of the soft 
 light of another world, which was an eternal day, of 
 which God was the sun, and the angels the stars, where 
 all good hearts, all pure souls, were united to receive 
 their reward for the good deeds they had done in 
 the flesh in this perishable world ; as he called this new 
 world, for even in his dreams, man cannot invent, made 
 like ours, but adorned with all the charms of a youth- 
 ful imagination, this world of faith, with its shaded 
 forests, flower bordered gardens, its vast peaceful lakes, 
 its murmuring streams, its thousand colored birds, 
 speaking the languages of man, all listened to him, and 
 as they did, heard so well that for a moment the poor blind 
 regretted nothing. Conscience by a dream had restored 
 to them what they had lost, and all sighed not for what 
 was really gone, but for the future world revealed to 
 them. 
 
 A time, however, came, when the lips of the young 
 man were sealed, as the burning weather of July dries 
 up a spring which has been too much used. Then the 
 lights kindled in their imaginations by the burning dis- 
 course of the revealer, gradually became darkened, and 
 Went out one by one, as the tapers which illumine a 
 church and make glittering the white cloth and golden 
 ornaments of the altar. Then the blind patients re- 
 lapsed not merely into their simple night, but in the dou- 
 ble physical and moral obscurity, in which the absence 
 Doth of light and of his conversation plunged them. Then 
 each one silently felt his way to his accustomed place, 
 bearing a portion of that flame, that light of day, last 
 kindled at the tabernacle, which he nursed in his 
 mind with a worship similar to that of the vestal of an-
 
 272 THE CCNSCRIPT. 
 
 tiquity, thQ life or death of which was her own existence 
 or destruction. 
 
 Conscience, on the contrary, while his companions fol- 
 lowed the fluttering light of their dreams, as lost travel- 
 lers pursue the will-o-the-wisps, they see bounding over 
 the meadows, relapsed into reality, and saw the cotta- 
 ges on the two sides of the way, the one with its crown 
 of vine tendrils, the other with its robe of moss, and in 
 these two cottages having a common life, made sad by 
 his own absence, his grandfather on the bed of pain, 
 Madeleine, Dame Marie and Mariette weeping, while 
 the child, in the carelessness of his age, ran in the 
 bright May sun, he was himself never to see, after the 
 emerald flies and the painted Iris. 
 
 He sate in the most remote angle of the door, plunged 
 in all of these sombre reflections, when all at once he 
 trembled ; it seemed to him, that an imperceptible noise, 
 to which he had grown unuse.d, was heard on the steps, 
 and that he heard his name pronounced by a female 
 voice. He had perceived the low, plaintive sound a dog 
 utters, when after long absence, his master returns, he 
 felt in his heart so accessible to this intuition, that some- 
 thing mild, gentle and consoling as the breath of an an- 
 gel approached. Instinctively he advanced and walked 
 panting with outstretched hands, directly towards the 
 door, as if he had regained his sight. The door opened, 
 at that moment something like a magnetic current was 
 established between.him and the person who appeared 
 at the threshold. From each bosom there escaped one 
 exclamation, Conscience, Mariette. Before this was com- 
 pleted the two young people were locked in the arms of 
 each other. 
 
 To this cry of joy, however, followed one of pain. 
 Taking her head from Conscience's bosom, Mariette re.
 
 THE BLIND WARD. 273 
 
 gained her sight. She saw the dark ward, the spectres 
 seated against the wall slowly rising and approaching, 
 and then again she threw herself into the young man's 
 arms and gave vent to that painful accent, which con- 
 tained at once love, pity and pain 
 
 " Conscience, my poor Conscience 1" 
 
 Her arms fell inert, as if her strength had deserted 
 her, and maintained her erect position only in conse- 
 quence of the support his shoulder afforded her. 
 
 Conscience understood so perfectly what was passing 
 in her mind, that he did not even attempt to console her. 
 He folded her in his arms, and did but utter the murmur 
 of her name, twenty times, as if the echo came from his 
 heart, while Bernard, who seemed aware that his time 
 was not yet come, stood removed, nntil these outbreaks 
 of joy and agony were satisfied. 
 
 The humble animal, aware of his superiority in the 
 scale of existences, waited until Conscience's hand 
 should descend to the position Nature had assigned 
 him. 
 
 Joy however soon triumphed over grief. A painful 
 sigh escaped from Mariette's lips : her glance at the 
 young man became less painful, and in a tone already 
 full of gratefulness if not of happiness, she again re- 
 peated 
 
 " Conscience, my poor Conscience !" 
 
 During this time the poor blind men whom Mariette 
 saw move at her appearance, had slowly approached 
 and formed a half circle around her. They touched 
 her hands as if they would become acquainted with 
 the good, kind Mariette, of whom Conscience had so 
 often spoken to them, and who had penetrated their 
 hell if not like Christ to rescue all, at least to ransom 
 one of them. The touch of these kind but curious
 
 274 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 hands terrified Mariette, and roused her from the stu- 
 por in which she had fallen. 
 
 She clasped Conscience more closely, and drawing 
 him to her, said, 
 
 " Beg them not to touch me thus, for I do not know 
 their meaning, nor what they wish with me." 
 
 " Fear not, Mariette, they are all my friends and 
 consequently all love you. Alas ! you do not know 
 that the poor blind see with their fingers, and touch 
 your dress to know something of you. If they dared, 
 they would touch your face to know you entirely. Let 
 them do so, Mariette, for they have not the least evil, 
 intention." 
 
 " Ah, then, I pardon them most willingly ; but, 
 Conscience, as it seems to me this should not be, sit 
 with me on this bench, and bid them leave us for a 
 moment alone. I have much to tell, so much . . ." 
 
 She led Conscience to a bench, and sate by. him, 
 clasping his hands in hers. 
 
 We will not seek to accompany them in their first 
 interview after so long a separation. 
 
 Only a being gifted with sight lost among the blind, 
 could see the face of the young girl express all the sen- 
 timents of the heart, and pass from joy to grief 
 from tears to enthusiasm. 
 
 At intervals she pressed Conscience's hands most 
 energetically. Then her love poured the balm of hope 
 into the young man's heart ; the scarcely perceptible 
 sounds of her voice, for she spoke for her beloved 
 alone, were at that time sweet and touching as a love 
 song. 
 
 Conscience had lifted up the visor over his eyes, as 
 if to increase his chance of seeing Mariette. His sight-
 
 THE BLIND WARD. 275 
 
 less pupils, covered with a white film, were lifted to 
 heaven, and his head slightly thrown back against the 
 wall, exhibited his face marked with a dreamy at- 
 tention. 
 
 The other blind formed a wide circle around him, 
 and at a distance listened as if they could hear what 
 the- two lovers said, and looking as if they could see 
 the young man and young woman with interlocked 
 arms, with their heads together and with the dog at 
 their feet a charming group, which might seem to 
 have been arranged by the merciful eye of God. 
 
 18
 
 XII. 
 
 THE CHIEF NURSE. 
 
 WHILE this sweet and tender conversation was 
 going on between the young couple, the door 
 opened, the head-nurse entered the room. 
 
 Mariette and Conscience were so well masked by the 
 blind, that at first he did not see them. 
 
 Yet at the sound of the opening door all had faced 
 about, and though the blind could not see, they 
 guessed at his anger. 
 
 " Where is the young girl who came in this room 
 without a permit ?" 
 
 Mariette trembled, and arising, leaned against the 
 wall. She could not speak. 
 
 " Well," said the nurse, " are all blind here ? Can 
 none neither speak nor see?" said he, pushing aside 
 two or three of the patients, and coming within the 
 circle. 
 
 " What is the matter, nurse ?" asked Conscience. 
 
 " This young girl has entered this room, saying that 
 she had given her permission to the sentinel. I went 
 myself to ask for it, and he searched in vain all 
 his pockets, saying that he had lost it, after tea 
 
 276
 
 THE CHIEF NURSE. 277 
 
 minutes time. My report however is made, and the 
 Hussar when he is relieved will have his forty-eight 
 hours under guard. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mariette in her gentle voice, and 
 clasping her hands, " take pity, I beg you, on the 
 Hussar, who is from our country on Bastien. He 
 knows how I love Conscience, how anxious I was to 
 see him and as I wept when the cuirassier drove me 
 away, he sacrificed himself for me. Monsieur, do not 
 punish him for his companion." 
 
 " Then what I suspected is true ?" 
 
 " Excuse me, but what did you suspect ?" said Ma- 
 riette. 
 
 "That you had no permission." 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "How? No?" 
 
 " I have no permission, but merely a Pass." 
 
 She timidly took General Sacken's Pass from her 
 bosom. 
 
 " What is this ? "What are these words and this 
 seal ? It is a Pass for the high roads, and not to ena- 
 ble one to glide into hospital wards. I know nothing 
 of it. Come out of this as soon as possible, my beau- 
 tiful" 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mariette, " if you please " 
 
 " Heh ?" said the nurse, amazed at his wishes being 
 opposed, even by a prayer. 
 
 " One half hour, only a half hour longer. I will pray 
 God for you, and in gratitude will kiss your hands." 
 
 " Have done with this child's play," said the nurse, 
 like a man who has made up his mind and is resolved 
 not to change it. 
 
 " Oh ! I see half an hour is too long just a quar- 
 ter ?"
 
 278 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Not an instant not a second not a minute." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, sir. I am come from the otli'-r 
 end in the department. In one day I travelled, th:mks 
 to the kind hearts of those I met, fifteen leagues to see 
 Conscience. Already I have caused a duel and the 
 punishment of poor Bastien on my account. At last I 
 see Conscience, who is unable to see me again, and have 
 scarcely been able to commence to console him, when 
 you drive me away. Oh ! if you knew how much re- 
 mains to be said, I am sure you would pity us." 
 
 " "Will you go or not ?" said the nurse, stamping, 
 " or must I push you out by the shoulders ?" 
 
 " Monsieur, Monsieur, do not kill me," said the 
 young girl. " Hush, Bernard, do not growl so Mon- 
 sieur is good, and will permit me to remain yet a few 
 minutes longer : he will have pity on the poor blind 
 man, and will not tear out his heart. Monsieur, you 
 too are a man, and a similar misfortune may befal you ! 
 "Well, were you without sight, and did your sister, 
 your mother, or she you loved, come to see you, would 
 you not be in despair, if any one wished to turn them 
 away ? You will not turn me away, sir ? You will 
 suffer me to remain here to take care of Conscience 
 not for an hour, a half, a quarter, or for a few minutes, 
 but until he can leave the hospital and return to Hara- 
 mont. Sir, for the love of God, I beg you ..." 
 
 Mariette fell on her knees, controlling Bernard with 
 her little white hand, for the dog's eyes glared, his 
 breath was panting, and .lion-like he lashed his sides 
 with his tail in anxiety to spring on the man. 
 
 The patients murmured, for this cruelty seemed in 
 Conscience's cruelty to wound them all. 
 
 Conscience stood erect and silent, but with clenched
 
 THE CHIEF NURSZ 279 
 
 hands. Tb* gooi young man evidently needed all the 
 patience with whicL he was endowed to sustain him. 
 
 The nurse seized Manette's arm. 
 
 " Hush !" said he to the invalids who murmured 
 around him. " Hush and obey, or I will kill the dog 
 and send the girl to the hospital." 
 
 He had not finished this double threat which he 
 began while Mariette was kneeling and trying to 
 restrain the dog which was rea^y to strangle him, when 
 he felt, as it were, an iron ring closing around his neck. 
 It was, in fact, only Conscience, vho had joined his 
 hands, and thus, for the first time in his life, united 
 menace and action. 
 
 "Ah !" said the young man, growing pale, and fixing 
 on him those eyes, to which the loss of sight gave 
 a terrible expression. " Wretch ! bad man ! false 
 Christian ! Yo'u will kill Bernard and send Mariette 
 to the hospital. It is well for you that this ward is so 
 silent and dark that perhaps even God has not, heard 
 you." 
 
 The nurse uttered a stifled cry, and the poor invalids 
 who gathered around, seemed a storm ready to over 
 whelm him. 
 
 " Conscience," said Mariette, restraining Bernard 
 with one hand, while with the other she took hold of 
 the young man. " Conscience, for heaven's, sake 
 release that man, and he will doubtless repent of the 
 evil he has done us." 
 
 " You are right Mariette," said Conscience, letting 
 his hands fall to his sides, let us not make ourselves 
 more unhappy than we are. Come, Mariette, let ma 
 kiss you for the last time." 
 
 Perceiving the efforts of Mariette to restrain Ber- 
 nard, he said :
 
 280 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Here, Bernard, my friend, here, I was so happy 
 that I had forgotten you." 
 
 Bernard, delighted at these words, the first his mas- 
 ter had spoken to him, for a moment forgot the nurse, 
 and rising erect before his master with a plaintive 
 growl, passed his tongue over Conscience's dimmed 
 eyes. 
 
 Mariette, however, saw that a man was there whom 
 it was necessary to disarm. 
 
 She let go Conscience, and with a calmer dignity 
 than might have been expected in her age and condi- 
 tion, advanced towards the nurse. She was, apparently, 
 self-controlled, but could not restrain two great tears, 
 which fell in silence on her cheeks. 
 
 " Sir," said she, " I go, forgive me, forgive Bastien, 
 and above all, forgiye Conscience, and I promise you 
 that God, who has set us the example of mercy, will 
 reward this good action in you. You too, have a 
 heart, and to it I appeal. You will be good enough to 
 forget, and I will remember you in my prayers to 
 God." 
 
 Whether the nurse did not wish to expose himself a 
 second time to Conscience's prayers, or to Bernard's 
 teeth, he was disarmed by this submission. 
 
 " Very well," said he, " go, and if the violation of 
 orders be not known, for your sake I will be silent." 
 
 Mariette kissed his hand. 
 
 " Ah, you are a kind man," said she. " I knew it. 
 Yes sir, I will go at once, after one last embrace." 
 
 Again she threw herself into the arms of the poor 
 invalid, to whom she gave a long tender kiss, murmur- 
 ing in his ear words of consolation. 
 
 " Be' calm, Conscience, before the day is gone, I will 
 have a permission to see you again."
 
 THE CHIEF NURSE. 281 
 
 Unable any longer to restrain her grief, she advanced 
 towards the door of the room. When there, she looked 
 back, and after uttering a piercing cry, turned to re-en- 
 ter the room. She met the nurse, however, who barred 
 her progress, and she was forced to go, leaving Con- 
 science weak and feeble, sunken on his seat and unable 
 to restrain Bernard, who stood ready to fly at once to 
 Marietta's aid. 
 
 Mariette returned, and found Bastien still on post at 
 the gate surmounted by the stone cross. 
 
 There exhausted, trembling, and with a lacerated 
 heart and distressed soul, she cast one look around her, 
 as if to seek before she left that asylum of grief, some 
 one whose protection she could invoke to enable her to 
 keep the promise she. had made to Conscience, or rather 
 to herself. 
 
 A woman, elegantly dressed, was at a window of the 
 first floor which seemed to be occupied by the employes 
 of the civil hospital, which during the invasion was also 
 beceme a military one. 
 
 Mariette saw this woman between her tears, and 
 thought that hope might come from her, she wiped 
 away her tears to see more distinctly, and thinking she 
 read an expression of pity on her face, rushed towards 
 the window, and lifting her hands as if to a Madonna, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Madame, for the sake of heaven, of your husband, 
 your mother, of all dear to you in this and the other 
 world, hear me," 
 
 The lady looked at Mariette like one who did 
 not understand what was said to her, or like one 
 who was hesitating between emotion and the fear of 
 ridicule 
 
 She half drew back.
 
 282 THBCONSCKIPT. 
 
 Seeing this, and divining the cause, Mariettte uttered 
 a cry, which was so sad, so plaintive, and so poignant 
 that the lady paused, and looked with surprise at 
 the young girl who called to her, and in the face of 
 whom might be read fear of repulse, and gratitude for 
 an anticipated favor. 
 
 Pity triumphed over fear, and she said, 
 
 " Come up, my child, and tell me how I can serve 
 you." 
 
 Then with the smile with which women accompany 
 good deeds, she said, " If I can do what you wish, I 
 will with all my heart." 
 
 Marietta did not hesitate, but rushed up stairs.
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE SURGEON'S WIFE 
 
 THE lady awaited Mariette at the threshold of her 
 open door, and taking hold of both the young girl's 
 hands, she drew her into the room. 
 
 "Tell me, my poor child," said she, "the cause of 
 your great distress." 
 
 She made Mariette take a seat. 
 
 Mariette obeyed. Before speaking, however, she 
 pointed to an officer, who sate before a desk in the same 
 room, writing, the gold embroidery, like that of a gene- 
 ral, on the collar of whose coat, intimidated her much. 
 
 By the intuition peculiar to women, the lady under- 
 stood her at once. 
 
 " Ah !" said she, " do not be in the least afraid of that 
 gentleman. He is fully engrossed by business and does 
 not pay the least attention to us." 
 
 " Then, Madame, let me tell you all," said Mariette. 
 
 " Do so, my dear child." 
 
 There was such tenderness in the voice which thus 
 addressed her, that Mariette no longer hesitated, and 
 said : 
 
 " This, M.adame, is all our story. We are poor pea- 
 sants of Haranwnt, at the other extremity of the depart-
 
 284 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ment, sixteen or eighteen leagues hence. My mother, 
 myself, my young brother, Father Cadet, Conscience 
 and Madeleine lived in two cottages, situated opposite 
 to each other. We never left, or lost sight of each other, 
 and loved one another as if we had belonged to the 
 same family, with the exception that Conscience wus 
 more than a brother. But the conscription took Con- 
 science from us, and he left us. We received many let- 
 ters from him, full of hope, which at first sustained our 
 hearts, until at last, Madame, one came, that his eyes 
 were bad, and that he was afraid he would lose his 
 eight. It, however, enclosed one for me, which told me 
 all, that he was blind incurably ... Oh ! Madame, 
 this almost killed me. I fainted on the ground, and saw 
 neither the sun, nor the trees around us. Fortunately, 
 God saw me and took pity on me. He restored me to 
 life, and in doing so, inspired me with the idea of join- 
 ing Conscience, who, for twenty years, had with him 
 two mothers, and one who loved him and who now has 
 nothing. I then received the price of a calf we had sold, 
 and left, resolved to walk hither in three days. Kind 
 persons, however, had mercy on me, so that I came more 
 comfortably and without expense in one day. This 
 morning I sought to see Conscience, but was told no 
 one could enter the hospital, and especially the blind 
 ward, without a permit. To whom was I to go ? I 
 knew no one and had not seen you. I implored a poor 
 lad of our village, Bastion, an Hussar, who on my ac- 
 count, will probably fight a duel to-day, a thing that 
 adds to my trouble. Bastien took the duty of one of his 
 comrades, and let me pass, in spite of the orders, saying, 
 that for a friend like me, he would risk twenty-four 
 hours under guard. I then, Madame, glided into the 
 blind ward. Have you ever been there ? It is very sad.
 
 n i. E SURGEON'S WIFE. 285 
 
 I saw Conscience, and was at once both very happy and 
 miserable, when the head nurse came in, and forced me 
 to leave, having almost insulted me and beaten me." 
 
 The man with the embroidered collar made a move- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Mariette, who saw that without 
 wishing to do so, she had informed on the man, " be 
 told me it was not his fault, that he was forced to act 
 thus, so that I forgive him . . . sincerely and especially 
 since I have seen you. I then left as if I were mad, 
 having promised Conscience, that I would find some one 
 to protect us, to unite us and to prevent our being again 
 separated. Having left him, I lifted my hands and eyes 
 to heaven, and saw you and to me, I do not know why, 
 Madame, it seemed that you would be the guardian an- 
 gel I sought for. For that reason I lifted up my hands 
 and came to; for that reason, I am at your feet." 
 
 Mariette had really fallen at the lady's feet, and the 
 face of the latter, while our heroine spake, was become 
 covered with tears, nor could she restrain Mariette 
 from kissing her feet, as if they had been those of a 
 Madonna 
 
 The lady did not speak, but looked inquiringly at 
 the officer with the embroidered collar, who having 
 turned around caught her glance, and after a gesture 
 to bid her wait, said to Mariette, 
 
 "I did not, my child, hear the beginning of your 
 story, for I was writing. You say the young man, 
 Conscience, is blind ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mariette, who as so^n as the officer 
 spake had arisen. 
 
 " Is he not an Artillery soldier, whose eyes were 
 burned by the explosion of a caisson ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir.'
 
 286 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Is this soldier, my child, your brother ?" 
 
 "I have already told Madame," said Marietta, 
 abashed. 
 
 " True, but I too told you I did not bear." 
 
 Mariette lifted up her chaste and limpid eyes, auot 
 fixing them on the officer, said, 
 
 " No, sir, I am not his sister but from childhood 
 we lived near each other, and almost under one roof. 
 One of our mothers, mine, nourished us both ; his rela- 
 tions are mine ; since we knew what toil, joy, grief, and 
 pain were, we shared them so that I believed for a 
 long time he was my brother." 
 
 " But you do not now ?" 
 
 " Since his misfortune, I felt he was not my bro- 
 ther." 
 
 The officer left the desk and approached Mariette. 
 
 Mariette trembled, but the lady took her hand, and 
 gave her confidence. 
 
 " Poor child 1" said the lady. 
 
 " Then you love him ?" asked the officer. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mariette warmly, " with all my 
 heart !" 
 
 " But if you be not rich . . ." 
 
 The officer paused. 
 
 " Have you any property ?" 
 
 " Sir, Conscience's grandfather had land that he 
 cultivated himself with an ox and an ass, but he has 
 been attacked by paralysis. Besides he yet owes 
 something for his land, which it may be, he will not be 
 able to pay, for the Kossacks have bivouacked in our 
 plains, and their horses have crushed down every 
 thing, so that I fear Conscience will not be richer than 
 I am."
 
 THE SURGEON'S WIFE.' 287 
 
 " Well, my child, if not richer than you, it would not 
 be reasonable for -you to become the wife of a poor 
 blind man." 
 
 " Sir !" said Mariette, who had not understood him. 
 
 " I say, my child, you must console yourself for 
 what has befallen Conscience, and love another." 
 
 Mariette trembled in every limb. 
 
 " I, sir," said she, " forget myself and abandon 
 Conscience, because, poor fellow ! he can no longer 
 walk ? Cease to love my betrothed because he is un- 
 fortunate ? Sir, do not say such things to me, for they 
 pierce my heart like a knife, and make me shiver all 
 over my frame." 
 
 The young girl stepped back and seemed about to 
 fall, as if she had really been stabbed. 
 
 The lady arose and sustained her. 
 
 " Ah, you have hurt the poor girl." 
 
 " I did not mean to do so," said the officer, " and I 
 will prove it to you." 
 
 Turning to Mariette, he said, " My child, would 
 you be satisfied if Conscience could return with you to 
 your village ?" 
 
 Mariette looked anxiously at the officer, as if she 
 feared she had misunderstood him. 
 
 " Excuse me ?" said she. 
 
 " I ask, my child, if you would wish to return with 
 him to your village ?" 
 
 Mariette uttered a cry of joy, surprise and doubt 
 an expression which was indescribable passed over her 
 face ; her blue eyes, limpid as the azure of heaven, 
 were fixed anxiously on the officer, whom they seemed 
 to question. 
 
 " Satisfied happy ?" murmured she. " Oh sir such 
 a question almost deprives me of consciousness. I beg
 
 288 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 you, sir, not to deceive me, for after ^vhat I have sui- 
 fered it would be my death. la that possible ? May 
 I hope for it ?" 
 
 She reached forth her hands towards the officer. 
 
 " One must always hope, ray child, and though those 
 who wisb us well should fail, be not the less grateful to 
 them." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mariette, " then you will try ?" 
 
 The officer smiled and nodded 
 
 " I will do my best," said he. 
 
 " Oh Madame, how can I prove my gratitude to 
 your husband, Madame ?" 
 
 " Kiss me, my child." 
 
 " Madame, I must kiss your hus " 
 
 The lady folded her in her arms, and touched her 
 brow with her lips. 
 
 The officer, who was the Surgeon-in-chief, girded on 
 his sword, which was on a chair, took his chapeau, 
 bowed at his wife, smiled at Mariette, and left. 
 
 Mariette had not strength to thank the officer. A 
 few unintelligible words escaped from her mouth, and 
 seemed to follow her protector as he hurried down the 
 stairway. 
 
 " Now," said the lady, who was alone with Mari- 
 ette, " that you are somewhat calmer, let us think of 
 the more material cares of life. It is nearly noon, and 
 I am sure that you have eaten nothing." 
 
 " True, Madame, I have only swallowed a few drops 
 of wice to the health of Conscience." 
 
 " And you have eaten nothing ?" 
 
 "I could not my heart was too full." 
 
 " Well," said the lady, " now that hope has some- 
 what relieved your heart, you must breakfast."
 
 THE SURGEON'S WIFE. 28S> 
 
 " MOD Dieu, Madame," she replied, confused at so 
 much kindness. 
 
 " Who knows, if Conscience be restored to you . . ." 
 " Well, Madame" 
 " You will probably set out at once ?" 
 " On the spot." 
 
 " Then you see you will need strength for your jour- 
 ney." 
 
 She rang the bell, and a servant came. 
 " Get breakfast for Mademoiselle. Get especially a 
 good bouillon she needs that more than any thing 
 else." 
 
 " Ah, Madame," said Mariette, " God only can re- 
 ward you for so much goodness." 
 
 Mariette's heart was overflowing. Far from being 
 able to utter an adequate expression of her thanks, she 
 could scarcely speak. She could but clasp and kisa 
 the hands of her benefactress. 
 
 In about five minutes the servant returned and said 
 that breakfast was ready. 
 
 The lady took Mariette by the arm and led her into 
 the salle-a-manger . 
 
 Mariette at first was rather bashful, but soon grew 
 bolder. Her healthful and vigorous constitution, 
 though her form was very slight, needed sustenance. 
 Besides her kind and generous hostess pressed and al- 
 most forced her to eat. 
 
 When breakfast was over, a sound like that of the 
 feet of several persons, was heard on the stairway. 
 
 Among them, Mariette, whom anxiety made listen to 
 every sound, fancied she could discover one step that 
 seemed uncertain and to hesitate. 
 " My God !" murmured she. 
 With deep emotion she turned towards the door,
 
 290 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 which was opened, and Conscience entered, followed 
 by the Surgeon in-chief. Conscience had his knapsack 
 on his shoulders, and had a staff in his hand. He said, 
 
 " Mariette, Mariette, are you hot here ? I am no 
 longer a soldier. I have my discharge, and a letter of 
 route, and I can return with you to Haramont." 
 
 " Is this so ? Is this the case, Monsieur ?" said Ma- 
 riette, who as yet dared not believe him. 
 
 " I tell you it is," said Conscience. " The Surgeon- 
 in-chief has done all this for us." 
 
 He entered the room, with outstretched bands, feel- 
 ing for Mariette. 
 
 The latter however was unable, or rather was too 
 grateful to -meet him. She turned to the lady, and 
 falling at her knees, said, 
 
 "Ah Madame, my benefactress, if you be not saved, 
 if heaven be not open to you, for whom is happiness 
 reserved ?" 
 
 Powerless, she folded her arms around the Sur- 
 geon's wife, as much to ke^p herself from sinking on 
 the ground, and to adore and thank her hostess : she 
 said, 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, for my heart is bursting with joy. 
 I shall die of happiness. Thanks, thanks to you ! . . "
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE PILGEIMAG 
 
 MAEIETTE was right : the Lord had suffered as 
 much joy as she was capable of bearing to rest 
 on her. Her arms were loosened, her eyes closed, and 
 she fainted. 
 
 Fainting caused however by an excess of happiness, 
 is neither long nor dangerous. Mariette soon recov- 
 ered, and found her hands in Conscience's. 
 
 The union of these two loving beings who had fan- 
 cied themselves separated, was a moment of joy, in 
 which all the spectators who had contributed to their 
 re-union participated. 
 
 When she had once recovered her presence of mind 
 and thanked the worthy Surgeon-in-chief and his wife, 
 Mariette had but one wish, to leave as soon as possible 
 the place in which she had suffered so much. 
 
 The desire was too natural to need explanation to be 
 understood. The surgeon advised the patient to bathe 
 his eyes with emollients when he had them, and when 
 without them to make a substitute of cold water. 
 
 It was especially necessary that his eyes should 
 remain covered, if not with a bandage which would 
 completely intercept day, at least with a green veil. 
 
 291 
 19
 
 292 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 As for the rest of the treatment, the physician of the 
 place he chanced to be in, would prescribe. 
 
 The Surgeon wished Conscience and Mariette 
 to take the Paris coach, which would have left them at 
 Villers-Cotterets. They both, however, declined, say- 
 ing that they preferred to return on foot, and alone, 
 than again be separated if not by distance by the pre- 
 sence of others. 
 
 The Surgeon and his wife accompanied them to the 
 street door, where they found Bastien. 
 
 The joy of Bustien was great, for the appearance of 
 the surgeon and his wife had told him all that had 
 passed. Mariette was not undisturbed about the quar- 
 rel which had taken place on her account, and which 
 was to be decided at five o'clock. 
 
 Bastien, however, re-assured her. He had studied 
 out an infallible blow, which was to terminate matters 
 with the cuirassier by a gash over the latter's head. 
 
 Mariette could not refrain from participating in Bas- 
 tien's conviction, and bade adieu to the Hussar with 
 calmness. 
 
 Bastien was anxious to accompany his two friends to 
 without the city. As they, however, would leave by 
 the Soissons gate, and he was to meet the cuirassier by 
 that of Saint Quintin, which was in precisely the other 
 direction, he did not insist on the matter. 
 
 Bastien, therefore, bade adieu to, and promised to 
 rejoin them as soon as possible at Haramont, 
 
 Mariette led Conscience as far as the corner of the 
 first street, where she paused, and said : 
 
 " Conscience, had you not another reason than that 
 you gave the Surgeon-in-chief, for wishing to return on 
 foot to our village ?"
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE. 293 
 
 " Had not you, Marietta ?" said Conscience, who 
 understood that both he and she agreed in their hearts. 
 
 " I remembered," said she, " that I had made a 
 vow . . . . " 
 
 " Of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame de Liesse ?" 
 
 " Exactly, and as in the last but one of your letters, 
 dated from Chalons, you expressed a similar wish, it 
 occurred to me to propose to you to accomplish it 
 together." 
 
 " Strange," said Conscience, " I was about to ask 
 you to do so." 
 
 " Well, you see, our hearts, now as they ever have 
 been, and will be, are alike. Let us set out for Notre 
 Dame de Liesse." 
 
 It was only necessary to ask in what direction lay 
 Notre Dame de Liesse, and by what road they were 
 to proceed thither. 
 
 The first paper satisfied them, and Conscience and 
 Mariette set out for the miraculous shrine. 
 
 They had, however, to pass nearly all the city. 
 
 A strange sight to the inhabitants who were at- 
 tracted to their doors, was that young and beautiful 
 girl in her holyday garb leading the poor blind soldier 
 through the streets. Laon, too, is not a large city, 
 and the story of Mariette's devotion had already tran- 
 spired. Every spectator, therefore, was touched to 
 see Conscience walking by her side, with his knapsack 
 on his shoulders, and the green shade over his eyes. 
 The pride and joy which shone on Mariette's face, dif- 
 fused something eminently noble and beautiful over her 
 whole bearing. 
 
 Even the dog, the modest Bernard, participated in 
 the triumph. 
 
 Mariette was so proud of this triumph that she
 
 294 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 walked with her radiant brow erect, without shrinking 
 from the attention their appearance excited. 
 
 Mariette was anxious to quit the city, the victory she 
 bad won had been so warmly disputed that she yet 
 was surprised at, and thought it strange. The conse- 
 quence of this feeling of doubt, was, that she scarcely 
 believed in it, and constantly feared to be the victim of 
 some accident, and shudderings passed over her whole 
 frame at the idea that any chance or the whim of an 
 individual might wrest from her, him whom she had 
 regained with such trouble, resistance, tears and love. 
 
 At last she reached the gates of the city, and saw 
 extending before her the long row of trees, the vast 
 horizon of the country, and breathed freely for the first 
 time. 
 
 Then, only, a frank, free, and joyous exclamation 
 burst from her breast, for only then did she really think 
 herself safe. 
 
 " Ah !" said she, lifting her eyes to heaven, and 
 making the sign of the cross. " Conscience, Conscience, 
 now we are free, for nothing intervenes between us 
 and the sight of the Lord." 
 
 Conscience did not need stimulation, as long as he 
 was in the city ; he had, if not eeen, divined the curi- 
 osity of the crowd. Once in the fields, he also felt 
 free, satisfied and happy as a poor blind creature who 
 presses the woman he loves to his heart can be when 
 doomed to see her only with the eyes of memory. 
 
 What Conscience saw, however, almost as distinctly 
 as with the real sight, was the green and flower strewn 
 plain, the leafy wood echoing with the songs of birds, 
 the azure May sky, with its thin white clouds slowly 
 sailing across the blue firmament.
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE. 295 
 
 Rapidly however as they walked, on that day they 
 could accomplish but five leagues, having left Lapn 
 after three o'clock. They slept therefore at Gizy in the 
 usual inn of the Pilgrims. 
 
 Mariette began her almost mother's part. She 
 saw that Conscience needed nothing, bathed with 
 spring water, his lustreless eyes, for the pellicle of the 
 cornea which had been burned was about to exfoliate. 
 After a meal, which modest as it was, was far more 
 luxurious than what the lad for two months had been 
 used to, she took him herself to a room prepared for 
 him, and then delightedly sought her own. 
 
 To do so was to leave him, but she was satisfied that 
 her absence was but momentary, that nothing really 
 separated them, and that at dawn on the next day she 
 would find him where she had left him. 
 
 And the next day, as the rising sun, penetrating the 
 small windows of the inn, it was warm, though as yet 
 wrapped in the morning clouds, as the early birds 
 chirped on the branches of the trees of the garden, ar- 
 ranging the while their feathery toilette, Mariette rap- 
 ped gently at the door of the room occupied by Con- 
 science, whom she found already dressed and ready to 
 set out. 
 
 A dozen pilgrims had passed the night in the same 
 inn with Conscience and Mariette, and all stood pre- 
 pared in the yard. 
 
 Among them were some who journeyed for them- 
 selves, and who hoped divine intercession would relieve 
 incurable maladies which physicians had abandoned. 
 Others had come in simple devotion, as representatives 
 of invalids doomed to inactivity. Each of these pil- 
 grims, whether for his own sake or in behalf of another, 
 seemed to feel the necessity of telling others his trou-
 
 296 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ble and as in this sad world doubt is the lot of all of 
 sustaining his own faith by that of a stouter heart than 
 his own. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Conscience and Marietta 
 were acquainted with the sorrows and hopes of all who 
 surrounded them It then became necessary for them, 
 to avoid the imputation of wanting that confidence, the 
 unfortunate have in each other, of telling not only that 
 Conscience was blind, but how he became so. 
 
 The story of Mariette, for she spoke while Conscience 
 caressed by the sweet sound in her voice, smiled and 
 listened, aroused sympathy in all, which was translated 
 by hopes and encouragements. 
 
 Each one had the story of some blind man to tell. 
 All had known some one cured by the intercession of 
 our Lady of Liesse. Some of those favored by her 
 had even been blind from their birth, and one the vic- 
 tim of an accident had yet greater chances. 
 
 What however made all these chances more real, 
 was the ardent faith of the two young people. 
 
 They continued to advance, and from the top of a 
 hill saw the village of Liesse with a wood in the back 
 ground, and amid the humble houses the tower of the 
 miraculous church. 
 
 Each fell on his knees, and one of the pilgrims utter- 
 ed a chant, which all followed, if not with words, at 
 ieast mentally. 
 
 When the chant was over, they made the sign of the 
 cross and arose, and at the sight of the holy oasis, for- 
 getful of all the fatigue of that and of the preceding 
 days, doubled their pace, to reach the sooner the end 
 of the journey. 
 
 Our young couple with the deepest devotion entered 
 the church, still perfumed by the odor of the incense
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE. 297 
 
 and lighted with tapers. Every where on the walls 
 hung the ex voto of grateful pilgrims, and a huge circle 
 of the faithful prayed around the principal altar, where 
 in a rich robe, with the holy babe in her arms, stood 
 the venerated Madonna. 
 
 Mariette and Conscience knelt as near the altar as 
 they could get, and the first emotion of each was to 
 plunge as deeply as possible in silent prayer, which 
 while apparently separating, in fact united them, for 
 each praying for the other seemed endowed with ano- 
 ther more devoted and more exalted soul than the first. 
 
 Certainly the Saviour from the height of heaven saw 
 these two souls thus linked at his mother's feet, and 
 smiled on their prayers. 
 
 When the two prayers were finished, and it was al- 
 most at the same moment, their hands were clasped 
 again, for they were so satisfied of the chastity of their 
 love, that this was almost a continuation of the prayer. 
 
 " Now," said Conscience, slightly clasping her hand 
 and smiling, for he was afraid that his words would 
 distress her " now Mariette, as I must accustom my- 
 self to see by your eyes, tell me who Our Lady before 
 whom we kneel is, that I may see her glitter like a star 
 amid the night that surrounds me." 
 
 " Oh," said Mariette, " she is very beautiful, and 
 glitters so that I scarcely dare look at her. 1 ' 
 
 " She stands on an altar covered with lace, in a mar- 
 ble niche. She wears a diamond crown, a collar of 
 pearls, and a robe of gold, with golden and silver lilies, 
 which seem natural. Our Saviour is in her arms, 
 which are covered with golden bracelets. He wears u 
 robe like hers, and smiles on us. All is lighted by 
 euch a number of tapers that I dare not even attempt
 
 298 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 to count them. Oh my poor Conscience, could you 
 but see !" 
 
 Conscience closed his eyes, crossed his hands on his 
 breast, and made in his mind a kind of luminous pic- 
 ture of all Mariette had said. 
 
 " Thanks," said he, " I see her with the eyes of the 
 soul." 
 
 " Holy Lady of Liesse, grant that my Conscience, 
 who kneels before you, and for whom I would give my 
 life, having seen you with the eyes of the soul, some 
 day may see you with those of the body." 
 
 Suddenly inspired, she advanced to one of the vases 
 of holy water by the side of the water, dipped his hand- 
 kerchief in it, and moistened Conscience's eyelids. 
 
 " My God, Mariette !"^he guessed what she had 
 done " is not this sacrilege ?" 
 
 " Sacrilege," said she, " is in the heart, and God 
 who knows rny wish will judge." 
 
 " Mariette," murmured Conscience, " I think you 
 are right, for the water seems fresher even than that of 
 the spring, and may do me good." 
 
 Mariette lifted her hands to heaven, and with an in- 
 describable expression of faith, exclaimed, " God grant 
 it may be so."
 
 XV. 
 
 CONSCIENCE'S DBEAM 
 
 IT was two o'clock in the afternoon, and though it 
 was early in May, as is sometimes the case,* the 
 heat exceeded that of the warmest days of the year. A 
 burning vapor had in the morning arisen in the form of 
 a cloud from the earth, and now seemed to descend in 
 flame. Not a breath of air moved the trees, and the 
 birds were mute. The lizards alone, those fire-wor* 
 shippers, for whom the rays of the sun are never too 
 warm, glided rapidly amid the grass, while the busy 
 bees sailed through the air bearing to their hives or 
 trees the harvest of wax which man contrives to turn 
 to his profit. 
 
 Apart from these noises, which were racher motions 
 than sounds, all the voices of nature were silent. Far 
 as sight could extend, not a living soul was visible. All 
 creation seemed to slumber. 
 
 A hundred paces from the pool of Salmoncy, on the 
 edge of a little wood of the same name, Conscience 
 slept with his head on his knapsack. The branches of 
 two young oaks cast a leafy roof over him, while Ma- 
 riette watched by his side with a compassion full of 
 love, driving away with a bough covered with rosy 
 
 flowers, the flies which persisted in alighting on his face 
 299
 
 300 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 And all around him, not in the wind, for we have 
 said there was none, but in the slight motion of the air 
 effected by Mariette, the blue gentian bowed its cup, 
 and the campanella bowed as it shook its thousand 
 cups. 
 
 It was the day after the one when they had prayed 
 together in the Church of our Lady of Liesse. Thence 
 they had gone to the Inn of the Pilgrims, a poor inn 
 used by poor guests, for in general the rich of this 
 world have heither faith to undertake, nor courage to 
 accomplish such pilgrimages. 
 
 They had returned with those bouquets of gold and 
 silver the Pilgrims buy at the church door, and with 
 which at home they deck their mantel-pieces and head- 
 boards of their beds, to prove to their descendants that 
 they have accomplished a pilgrimage. 
 
 The next day, having heard mass, they set out. It 
 was, consequently, nine o'clock. 
 
 They had left the high road on being told that by 
 doing so, they would save two leagues, and by follow- 
 ing a by-path, at noon had reached the pool of Sal- 
 inouey, where they sate down to rest, and where 
 Conscience, yet enfeebled by the hospital diet, and from 
 fatigue had softly glided from conversation into 
 slumber. He had slept thus for two hours, and Mari- 
 ette, who was unwilling to awaken him, began as she 
 computed the distance to the village of Prasles, where 
 they had been advised to halt, to be uneasy about 
 the duration of his sleep. 
 
 Another thing, also, made her uneasy. It was that 
 the sun, as it moved to the west, for, to Mariette the 
 sun moved, was about to fall on Conscience's eyes. 
 
 Laying her rosy bough by his side, Mariette went 
 into the wood, cut two green boughs which she placed
 
 CONSCIENCE'S DREAM. 301 
 
 between Conscience and the sun, and hanging her 
 apron over them, made a kind of tent over the eyes of 
 the sleeper. 
 
 She then took up her bush again, and resumed her 
 place by her friend so as to be also in the shade. 
 
 Thus she continued for half an hour longer, listening 
 to the respiration of Conscience, and so to say, counting 
 the pulsations of his heart. 
 
 From time to time, Bernard, who lay at the young 
 man's feet, opened his eyes, lifted up his head, looked 
 at his master, and seeing that he did not awake, again 
 replaced his head on the grass and sank to sleep. 
 
 Mariette, who never moved her eyes from his face, 
 fancied that she saw some nervous contractions of his 
 cheeks, and that by his quickening respiration, some 
 painful dream agitated him. She was about to arouse 
 him when all at once he opened his sightless eyes, and 
 tossing his arms, cried : 
 
 " Mariette, where are you ? Mariette ?" 
 
 The young girl took his hands. 
 
 " Ah !" said Conscience with a sigh. 
 
 His head sank back on his knapsack. 
 
 " My God, Conscience, what is the matter with 
 you ?" 
 
 She put her arms under his neck, and tried to lift 
 him up. 
 
 " Nothing," murmured Conscience. 
 
 " But you tremble in every limb." 
 
 " I had a terrible dream. That during my sleep you 
 had left me, and on my awaking, strange dream, for in 
 my sleep I saw that you were gone." 
 
 Resting his head in his two hands : 
 
 " My God," murmured he, " never did I suffer so 
 much."
 
 302 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Poor lad," said Mariette, " who abandon yourself 
 even in a dream to the idea that I can leave you. 
 You are ungrateful." 
 
 In a gentler and kinder voice, she said, " God will 
 punish you, Conscience, if you yield to such fancies." 
 
 " Mariette," Conscience said, " dreams come from 
 God, and sometimes if not a presage, are a warning." 
 
 " A warning ! . . . what mean you, Conscience ?" 
 
 '' Nothing, my dear Mariette. I did but talk to my- 
 self as I often do. Help me up, Mariette, it must be 
 late, I do not know how I came to sink into this heavy 
 sleep." 
 AVith a sigh he added, " it was God's will." 
 
 Mariette looked at him with surprise, and said : 
 
 " My God, Conscience, what are you murmuring 
 there ? Can a dream so overcome you ? You 
 dreamed that I left you ? Well, dreams must always 
 be taken by contraries. You dream that I had left 
 you ; it is a proof that I am bound to you for life." 
 
 Conscience felt for Mariette's hands. 
 
 He soon found them, for Mariette placed them in 
 his. 
 
 Clasping them, he fixed his dull eye on hers, as if he 
 wished to tell her the secret that oppressed him. All 
 at once, however, his muscles threw off their contrac- 
 tion, he shook his head, and said in a broken voice : 
 
 " Mariette, give me my knapsack, and let us go on." 
 
 " Yes," said Mariette, " I will go on, but I will carry 
 your knapsack." 
 
 " You, a woman ? impossible 1" 
 
 " Conscience, you know I am strong. Besides, 
 when fatigued I will buckle it on Bernard, who, I hope, 
 is large enough to be able to carry it."
 
 CONSCIENCE'S DREAM. 303 
 
 She laughed, hoping that Conscience would join in 
 her mirth. 
 
 On the contrary, Conscience, seeing the efforts the 
 young girl made to amuse and console him, became 
 more and more distressed, 
 
 "Very well. Put me in the middle of the road, 
 give me my stick, and let us resume our journey." 
 
 Mariette did so, and having given him her arm, said : 
 
 " Listen, Conscience, if I walk too quickly check me, 
 for I must regulate my steps by yours ; yet Conscience, 
 I confess to you," continued she, seeing that his head 
 sank on his breast " that I wished we had not feet, but 
 wings like the birds, which fly so rapidly, and come, 
 they say, from so far. Ah, could we at once fly to 
 our homes." 
 
 Conscience sighed. 
 
 " Be easy, however," said Mariette, with an apparent 
 feeling of joy she was far from entertaining, " for if we 
 lack wings, we have resolution and courage, and by 
 means of them to-morrow evening or the next morning 
 we will be there. Think of our return, dear Conscience, 
 of your mother's joy, of the satisfaction of mine, of the 
 delight of Father Cadet, and of little Pierre. Do you 
 see, Conscience? she fancies you in a hospital, on a 
 miserable pallet, within four walls, and does not fancy 
 that you have just risen from sleeping beneath the blue 
 canopy of heaven, free as that lark which sings as it 
 soars to heaven. Hear, Conscience, hear it. Oh, 
 could you, like it soar to heaven. I scarce see it, so 
 far it is." 
 
 " Yes," said Conscience, " I see, but alas, unlike you, 
 I cannot see it. I shall never see again, for, alas, I am 
 blind."
 
 304 THE CON SCRIPT. 
 
 Do I not see for you ? Am I not here to guide you, 
 to tell you the form and color of things ? Did you not 
 see the Madonna yesterday, when I described her to 
 you? Well, Conscience, I will ever be by your side to 
 do thus. Is not that misfortune made a blessino-, which 
 
 O ' 
 
 says, ' Conscience never again shall be separated from 
 Mariette, nor she from Conscience.' " 
 
 " Yes, Mariette, I know. There is supreme bliss in 
 the idea. Yes, by your eyes I see better than I do by 
 means of my hands; when you speak, your voice makes 
 me tremble with emotion, and when I hear you, I see. 
 Listen, at this moment as you walk before me, and as I 
 follow ''you, a heavenly lustre seems to penetrate my 
 dimmed eyes. I feel as a man would, who, with closed 
 eyes, followed an angel of light. There are moments, 
 Mariette, when I think God restores my sight, to 
 show you to me in this world, as you will appear in the 
 other, when you shall have received from his hands, the 
 eternal recompense you will so well have merited. 
 But" 
 
 Conscience sighed and shook his head sadly. 
 
 "But what?" asked Mariette pausing. 
 
 The blind man divined that Mariette had paused. He 
 reached out his left hand and placed it under Mariette's 
 right arm. 
 
 " But, rny beloved, my dream just now has made me 
 think." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " That God, Mariette, who made you at once, both 
 brilliant and tender, naturally made devotion one of 
 your virtues. This devotion, Mariette, you offer me; 
 with all your heart you do so. While, though you 
 
 should offer, I should not accept it." 
 

 
 CONSCIENCE'S DREAM. 305 
 
 " My God, Conscience, have you ceased to love me ? 
 "What have I done to deserve this ?" 
 
 The young girl looked at Conscience with clasped 
 hands, and was ready to sob aloud. 
 
 " Nothing, Mariette, and so far from not loving, I 
 adore you ; the adoration of a poor blind one like me, 
 can never pay for your devotion to me." 
 
 " Pay ! who spoke of pay ?" 
 
 Conscience smiled sadly. 
 
 " Let me continue, Mariette, and let us talk calmly . . 
 You are young, and beautiful. You have a strong heart, 
 and a great soul. You are used to toil, and inactivity, 
 instead of being repose to you, is fatigue. Well, I can- 
 notunderstand me I cannot, blind as I am, rob you 
 of youth, beauty and life, because you love me and pity 
 me. What will become of you, when you are old, and 
 when I shall have made you poor ? What will become 
 of you when our relations shall sleep beneath the grass 
 of the cemetery ? You will be deserted, in want, sad, 
 and why ? Because you obstinately persisted in loving 
 me." 
 
 " My God and Savior, do you hear him ? Thus he 
 rewards me." 
 
 " Be quiet, Mariette. For what you would have done 
 in this, and in the next world, I will be as grateful as if 
 you had done it. You, poor child, offered, and I refused. 
 If God granted, do you see ? not that my poor eyes 
 were restored to me that would be too much but to 
 grant me sufficient sight to be able to work a little, to 
 lead Father Cadet's ox and ass in the furrow, to go into 
 the forest for wood, if by toiling twice as much as 
 others, I would earn half what they do. If I were sure 
 only of the daily bread for which we pray to God, I 
 would here, where we stand, fall on my knees before
 
 306 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 you, and say, Thanks, Marietta, for being so beautiful 
 and good, and merciful enough withal to love me.' 
 Alas, though," continued Conscience, shaking his head, 
 " that may never be. " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Conscience," said Mariette, 
 " hush. Do you not know that you are breaking my 
 heart, and that I am weeping bitter tears, that in de- 
 spair I wring my hands ?" 
 
 " I see nothing," said Conscience, " nothing but night." 
 
 He added in so low a tone, that all Mariette's atten- 
 tion was required to catch the sound, 
 
 " Nothing but death." 
 
 " Death ? You think of death !" said Mariette, " and 
 for that you would separate yourself from me. You 
 were right, for while I was by 'your side, you could not 
 die. Conscience, this is not all, you distress me so that 
 I cannot go on No, I will not go a step towards the 
 village, unless you explain yourself here. Come, Con- 
 science, let us sit by the side of the road, for I have lost 
 my strength and cannot continue." 
 
 Conscience let himself be led to the road side and sate 
 down. 
 
 " Now," said she, " explain yourself, and tell me all 
 that is in your heart." 
 
 " What, Mariette, is in my heart, is, that you must 
 promise not to neglect your youth for me, that you will 
 not sacrifice your existence, and that henceforth you 
 will be to me but a sister. Mariette, you are but 
 nineteen, and there still are festivals at Longpre, at 
 Talle-Fontaine, and at Vivieres, and handsome lads to 
 escort you." 
 
 " Ah ! that is what you sought to get at ?" replied 
 Mariette sobbing. " Thus you thank me for my kind- 
 ness no, I mistake, for my love. Do you not see that
 
 .CONSCIENCE'S DREAM. 307 
 
 you torture me more than the executioner could ? 
 * There are festivals and handsome lads,-* and he says 
 there are such things yet in store for me ! My God ! 
 tell me, for you know if I have deserved this 1" she 
 sobbed. 
 
 Now though Conscience could not see her tears, he 
 could hear her sobs. 
 
 " Mariette," said he, seizing her hand, " understand 
 my idea, and read my heart. Had I ten eyes, I would 
 suffer them to be burned out one after the other, if I 
 might thus ruin the right of preventing your loving an- 
 other. But an accident has blinded me for life. You 
 see, Mariette, blindness is a suffering no human being 
 with- two eyes can conceive of. God would punish me 
 if I linked you to such misfortune." 
 
 " Then," said Mariette, somewhat consoled by the 
 grief Conscience expressed, " if I followed the advice 
 you give me if I went to the festivals with the hand- 
 some lads you speak of, you would forget Mariette as 
 she would forget you." 
 
 " Forget you, the only human being that has remained 
 visible to me ? How can I forget you, of whom my 
 whole life will be one dream and memory ? Of what 
 else but you can I think ?" 
 
 " Then if I were to cease to love you, yet you would 
 love me." 
 
 " I, Mariette ? until death." 
 
 " Then all is said. As I love you, and as you love me, 
 there is no use talking .... Conscience, truly as there 
 is a God, who made the sun that shines on us, before 
 Martinmas of next year, I will be your wife, or if you 
 refuse me, I will be a grey sister at the hospital of Vil- 
 lers-Cotterets, and will nurse the poor blind, who are 
 nothing to me, because the one I love refuses me." 
 20
 
 308 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Oh !" cried Conscience, " You would marry me, 
 Mariette." . 
 
 "Yes, I would marry the man, who would have ten 
 eyes burned out, to have the right to love me, and pre- 
 vent me from loving another." 
 
 " Mariette, this is grand, beautiful and sublime, 
 but" 
 
 " Be silent," said Mariette, putting her hand over his 
 mouth, "just now, I heard you out without opposing 
 you, or interupting you, though every word made ray 
 heart bleed. Well ! now I wish to speak without being: 
 
 t O 
 
 interrupted." 
 
 " Go on, Mariette it is pleasant to hear you." 
 
 " Well ! If Mariette were blind, would you 
 have deserted her? Would you have deserted the 
 poor girl, left her wandering at hazard ? Tell me, 
 would you have done so ? If, in her misery she 
 still persisted in loving you, would you have crushed 
 her heart by deserting her, to dance with some beauti- 
 ful girl at some festival ? Conscience, answer me." 
 
 " Mariette, I dare not ..." 
 
 " I know you dare not. Well ! I will answer for 
 you. Had you done so, you would have been a wretch. 
 Conscience, let there be no discussion, no reply. There 
 is my hand. May God bless you." 
 
 Then, pressing her lips on those of the soldier before 
 he could think or move, she said, " Conscience, I am 
 your wife." 
 
 Conscience uttered a cry of mingled pleasure and 
 pain, in which his strength passed away. 
 
 " Mariette," said he, " you will have it so . ..." 
 
 " Yes, I will," said Mariette. " Yes, I will take you 
 to church, to repeat aloud, and with head erect, the 
 oath I take here. Yes, I will do so."
 
 CONSCIENCE'S DREAM. 309 
 
 Conscience could not reply, he kissed the hands of 
 Mariette, weeping and sobbing. 
 
 " Oh !" murmured Conscience, " if there were any 
 hope." 
 
 Mariette seemed ready to answer. Her lips were 
 half open, but a burning sigh escaped from them, and 
 she passed her hand over her brow, as if to wipe away 
 a vertigo. 
 
 " No," murmured she, "it. would be too cruel if the 
 kind Surgeon-in-chief were mistaken." 
 
 " What do you murmur there in so low a tone ?" 
 said Conscience. 
 
 " I am praying God to take care of the handsome 
 young lad with whom I hope some day, to go to the 
 village festivals." 
 
 They resumed their journey. Conscience sadly 
 shaking his head, and Mariette looking with her bright 
 e'yes to heaven, as if she sought the star of hope which 
 guided the shepherds of yore to the Cradle of Bethle- 
 hem.
 
 XVI. 
 
 MARIE TTE'S DREAM. 
 
 AT dawn the next day, having slept at Prasles, a 
 little village of five hundred souls, on the cross- 
 roads, three leagues from Laon, and five from Soissons, 
 they resumed their journey through woods and fields, 
 according to the directions of the peasants in the villa- 
 ges and in the fields. 
 
 The weather had continued unchanged and fine. 
 The sun was still bright and enlivening, but tempered 
 by the morning breeze, which might, perhaps, at a 
 later hour be swallowed up by the increasing heat of 
 the day, as would be the transparent diamond drops, 
 which fell from the leaves and branches of the trees. 
 The song of the birds, who had been silent on the day 
 before was re-awakened, and seemed like a dew of har- 
 mony to penetrate the sonorous air. The grasshoppers 
 chirped, the butterflies hovered, and the bees hummed, 
 each contributing his cry to the universal concert, 
 which the awakening earth sent like a hymn of grati- 
 tude to its creator. 
 
 Mariette revived, and consoled, refreshed, by her 
 morning toilette, like the plants by their bath of dew, 
 
 eeemed to have wings like the butterflies, song like the 
 
 310
 
 MARIETTE'S DREAM. 311 
 
 oirds, which she strewed along the path of her blind 
 companion to render it shorter and more easy. 
 
 Conscience smiled. The perpetual song and joy of 
 Mariette re-opened his heart. He walked some time in 
 silence, and then paused. 
 
 " Mariette," said he, " how gay you are this morning !" 
 
 " Because I am happy this morning." 
 
 " Happy to see the bright sun, are you not? To hear 
 the welcome of the birds, and the hum of the laborious 
 bees ? That makes you happy !" 
 
 "Yes, and more than that too." 
 
 " Then, my good, kind Mariette, you do not repent 
 of your promise yesterday. 
 
 " No ; for God has already rewarded me for it." 
 
 " Kewarded ?" 
 
 " Yes I too have dreamed, not such a sad dream, 
 Conscience, as your's was, but a bright and sparkling 
 dream." 
 
 " Tell it me." 
 
 " Take my arm, walk slowly, and I will." 
 
 " Let us walk slowly. We have time enough, have 
 we not? The journey, Mariette, is so pleasant with 
 you now for your dream !" 
 
 " Listen. Yesterday evening, after I had bathed your 
 eyes with the good fresh water I got from the spring 
 myself, and which did you so much good, I left you in 
 your room, and asked our hostess to show me mine. 
 The blessing of good God certainly rests on you, Con- 
 science ; all w"ho see, seem at once to pity and to love 
 me. While pitying you, and caressing me, and asking 
 if I needed nothing, our hostess took me to a little room, 
 <ery clean and nice, such a one as would do for both of 
 us, Conscience ... In this room was a little bed, white 
 as possible, but the woman made an excuse for the ab-
 
 312 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 sence of curtains. ' Bah ! though,' said she, 'it is all the 
 better to night, for the moon will light you like a lamp, 
 and to-morrow, as you wish to leave by daylight, the 
 first ray of morning wilrawaken you.' She kissed me, 
 and told me that her daughter was in service at Fismes, 
 and that before she went to sleep, she would pray for 
 her and for me. In half an hour, I was in bed, my 
 candle was out, and I had said my prayer before my 
 bouquet from our Lady of Liesse's. It was in vain, how- 
 ever, that I was in bed, and my candle out, I do not 
 know why, but I could not sleep. Happy thoughts, 
 doubtless, kept me awake, for I have been so delighted, 
 Conscience, since our explanation, and if you knew . ." 
 
 She kissed his brow. 
 
 " Dear Mariette," murmured Conscience. 
 
 "What, though, contributed most to keep me awake, 
 was a bright moon, which seemed to look gently on me 
 through my window, so that both myself and my bed 
 were illumined by its rays." 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience, " how well you de- 
 scribe and how distinctly I see all you speak of. You 
 are right, Mariette. "With you, I shall be able to do 
 without my eyes." 
 
 " I do not know when I went to sleep, so gentle was 
 my passage into slumber. It seemed, however, that 
 whether open or shut, my eyes saw the moon, which 
 seemed in all its lustre to look at me. Gradually, those 
 spots which make it a kind of face, seemed to become 
 regular, and smiled on me, gradually assuming not on- 
 ly the form of a head, but of a body. It grew like our 
 Lady of Liesse, with the child Jesus in her arms. She 
 wore her diamond crown, and her robe decked with 
 natural flowers and with golden lilies, but besides the 
 diamonds she had around her brow a coronet of light.
 
 MARIETTE'S DREAM. 313 
 
 Understanaing that this was the true Madonna, for 
 she was in heaven, I glided from my knees, saying 
 ' Hail, Mary ! full of grace, the Lord is with you !' I 
 saw a ray of gold fall from her feet to my chamber, 
 down which she glided, filling the window like the 
 niche in the church. I turned to look for you, feeling 
 so delighted that I wished you to share my -happiness : 
 and there you were kneeling with me. I do not know 
 how and when you entered, but you with your blind 
 eyes looked with me at the Virgin, to whom we lifted 
 our hands and prayed. She then came into the room, 
 still holding the infant Jesus in her arms, and approach- 
 ing the foot of my bed, took thence the holy bouquet, 
 and placed them in the hand of Jesus, and having said 
 a few words passed by rne, as she did so replying to 
 my sign of the cross, by a smile, to you. Jesus too 
 smiled, and reaching forth his hand, touched your eyes 
 with the blessed bouquet, when you too, in a tone of 
 joy so deep that it almost seemed pain, exclaimed, ' I 
 see, blessed Virgin, I see !' At this sound I opened 
 my eyes. Alas ! it was but a dream. All had disap- 
 peared, but the moon still shone, though somewhat pa- 
 ler, and was descending. This much of reality, how- 
 ever, remained, Conscience, ' Faith, calmness, and al- 
 most confidence.' Therefore am I so happy to-day . . . 
 "Well, Conscience, why do you not reply ?" said Mari- 
 ette. 
 
 " Because, beloved, I hear you yet. While you 
 spake, Mariette, my heart overflowed with joy, for I 
 saw all the bright and tranquil moon growing to be the 
 Virgin with the coronet of diamonds and glory of light, 
 her golden robe and purple roses and silver lilies all 
 was so vivid, that when you told me the infant Jesus
 
 314 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 had touched me, I felt the tickling of the blessed bou- 
 quet, and I seemed to see countless sparkles of light." 
 
 " You saw you felt that," said Mariette, " joy ! 
 joy ! joy !" 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience sadly, " you should not 
 nurse a foolish hope. What I saw and felt was the 
 effect of imagination, excited by your words. Let us 
 thank God for this consolation sent us during our jour- 
 ney, but ask no more. I do not say what he can riot, 
 but what he will not grant." 
 
 " It matters not," said Mariette, " for believe me, 
 Conscience, there is a presage beneath all this. I love 
 and venerate the Mother of God since our pilgrimage 
 to the chapel, even more than before. Now let us walk 
 faster before the sun becomes high, and at noon we 
 will sit down to rest beneath some tree, or if we come. 
 to a village, we will pause until the heat grows less." 
 
 They continued their journey in silence, for each 
 was immersed in thought Mariette about her dream, 
 and Conscience about her account of it. 
 
 The result of this abstraction was, that Mariette, who 
 was the guide, did not attend to the direction as she 
 should have doue, in an unknown district and in a cross 
 road. 
 
 The path of the two young people became gradually 
 narrower and less distinct, and ended in a meadow 
 with little groups of trees. 
 
 Mariette looked around her, and seeing no traces of 
 the path, stopped. 
 
 " Mariette, what is the matter ?" asked Conscience. 
 
 " My dear Conscience, I have done prettily !" 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " I have walked, walked, walked on, thinking of 
 other matters, and have left the road. We are now by
 
 MARIETTE'S DREAM. 315 
 
 the banks of a stream which divides the meadow, and 
 I can see no way to cross over it." 
 
 " That is bad. You have no idea, Mariette, how fa- 
 tiguing it is to walk without seeing clearly, and to 
 stumble at every inequality, even when one has so ex- 
 cellent a guide as you are. Is the water deep ?" 
 
 " No it is broad, but one can see the bottom. Ber- 
 nard has crossed it without swimming, and awaits us 
 on the other side." 
 
 " Then what is there to prevent our doing so like- 
 wise ?" 
 
 " Nothing except that we will wet ourselves to the 
 knees." 
 
 " Ah ! that will be no great difficulty on so hot a day 
 as this." 
 
 " Besides, we will thus avoid a long detour, which 
 probably would take us farther out of our way." 
 
 " Come on," said Conscience. 
 
 " Very well hold fast to my neck." 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 " Because the bank is steep on both sides. Fortu- 
 nately on the other side, the branches of a willow hang 
 almost to the water, and if you cling to them they will 
 assist you." 
 
 Conscience descended to the water, and sustained by 
 Mariette, reached the other bank, where, as the young 
 girl had told him, he easily climbed up by means of the 
 green willows. 
 
 He sate down and said, " Ah, it is well that you 
 were mistaken in the road. This water is very refresh- 
 ing. Is this a good place to make a little halt?" 
 
 " Very and if you please, we will breakfast." 
 
 I* Willingly," said Conseience, " for I am hungry,
 
 316 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 arid it has been long since I felt an appetite The fresh 
 air causes it." 
 
 Mariette took a loaf and a piece of cold veal from the 
 double paper in which they were wrapped, cut the 
 bread, and divided the meat into a number of little 
 pieces, of which she gave Conscience a portion as if 
 he had been a child. 
 
 " Mariette," said he, " you are the personification of 
 devotion and goodness, and I do not see h*w I can 
 reward you for so much love and pity." 
 
 " Good !" said Mariette. "Let us talk of all my good- 
 ness because by my assistance you crossed a stream, 
 and because I wet myself to the knees, because I cut 
 you a piece of bread you do not know how you will 
 ever be able to reward my pity and love. Indeed 
 Conscience, you estimate too highly, the little services 
 which I expect to make the happiness of my life." 
 
 " Good, kind Mariette 1" said Conscience. After a 
 moment, he continued 
 
 " Is the water of this stream clear ?" 
 
 " Like crystal." 
 
 " Let me drink then." 
 
 Mariette had bought a wooden bucket, which she 
 used both to drink from and to carry water, in which 
 from time to time she bathed Conscience's eyes. Mari- 
 ette went to the stream, and returned with it full. 
 
 Conscience took the bucket, and having drunken, 
 said 
 
 " How good it is !" 
 
 " But," said Mariette with the gayety which had not 
 left her since their explanation on the previous day 
 " it is but water after all. " 
 
 " True. Perhaps it is good only because you give 
 it to me."
 
 MARIETT E'S DREAM. 317 
 
 " Ah !" said Mariette, " that is polite." She made 
 a courtesy which poor blind Conscience could not see. 
 
 " But do you now eat and drink" 
 
 " I would willingly drink, but you have emptied the 
 bucket." 
 
 " True. "When you have finished you shall bathe 
 my eyes, for it seems to me it will do me more good 
 than any other has done." 
 
 " Why wait ? If, dear Conscience, it will do you 
 any good, the sooner I bathe them the better." 
 
 " The fact is, Mariette, my eyes smart, and that is 
 doubtless the effect of the heat of the sun." 
 
 Mariette had however already gone to the stream, 
 and returned with the bucket full of fresh water, in 
 which she dipped her handkerchief and began to mois- 
 ten his eyes. 
 
 "Ah," said he, "what a pleasant sensation. One 
 might almost think it a second baptism, it is so reviving. 
 Your hand is so light." 
 
 " How you reward me by these thanks. That, how- 
 ever, will do. for I remember the prescription of the 
 Sugeon-in-chief." 
 
 " Whither are you going, Mariette ?" 
 
 " Whither am I going ?" 
 
 " Yes, it seems to me you move." 
 
 " To hang my handkerchief in the sun, so that I may 
 dry it and put it in my pocket again, Mr. Curious." 
 
 " Go, Mariette, go." 
 
 Guided by the sound of the steps of the young girl, 
 and by the song with which she accompanied her steps, 
 Conscience directed his sightless eyes towards a place 
 covered with grass and flowers, on which she spread 
 her handkerchief. 
 
 All at once, Conscience uttered a cry.
 
 318 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Mariette turned around, and saw him with his eyet 
 fixed, and his mouth half open. 
 
 " My God," said she, "dear Conscience, what ha? 
 happened ?" 
 
 " Mariette," said he, trembling, and gently pushing 
 her away. 
 
 " What means this ?" 
 
 Conscience, by muscular effort arose without the aid 
 of his hands, which he reached forth tpwards Mariette, 
 saying, " there, there." 
 
 The young girl, without knowing why, placed her- 
 self in the place he indicated in the sunlight, which 
 shone on her like a mantle of flame. 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience, " 1 see you, my eyes are 
 not entirely gone." 
 
 The young girl trembled as if she had been attacked 
 by vertigo. 
 
 " Conscience, dear Conscience, do not kill me with 
 joy." 
 
 " I tell you I see you ; like a dark shadow it is 
 true, but yet I see you. I repeat to you, Mariette, my 
 poor eyes are not altogether dead. Your dream is 
 fulfilled." 
 
 Mariette fell on her knees, and thanked the Virgin in 
 fervent prayer. 
 
 Conscience saw this as one sees in the obscurity of a 
 mist. 
 
 " I see," said he, " and the proof is, that now you 
 kneel. Mariette, you see that I see." 
 
 " Holy Mother of God," said the young girl, " you 
 have worked this miracle. Holy mother of God, we 
 never will forget you, and swear, that, before we die, we
 
 MARIETTE'S DREAM. 319 
 
 will make another pilgrimage to your Holy Chapel, not 
 to invoke, but to thank you for this mercy." 
 
 After this invocation, by a great effort she sprang 
 from the ground into the young man's arms. 
 
 " Conscience," said she, " is it true that you have 
 seen me ?" 
 
 " I saw you," said he. 
 
 " Ah !" murmured they, as they stood locked in 
 each others' arms, with their eyes Ifted to the heaven. 
 " Glory to God, who has suffered his heavenly glance 
 to rest on us !"
 
 XVII. 
 
 GOD CONTINUES TO GUIDE THEM 
 
 cry of joy and gratitude was deep as that 
 which rises from the abyss to heaven in the prayer 
 of the dead. 
 
 Conscience saw again the light of the sun, and all 
 the magnificent creation which glows in that light 
 Conscience emerged from the hell of darkness into the 
 paradise of day. 
 
 Then a future of happiness and love was unfolded to 
 his eyes, life again returned to him, not supportable as 
 Mariette's devotion promised, but bright and joyous as 
 the will of God had made it. 
 
 Mariette first recovered consciousness, she was re- 
 called to it by a fear. 
 
 One thing the Surgeon-in chief had said, was never 
 to leave Conscience's eyes exposed to the light for 
 more than five minute.s, and the visor of Conscience 
 had been off for nearly a quarter of an hour. He now 
 saw as if all the air were filled with flame, aad as 
 if the horizon were an ocean of fire. 
 
 He did not tell Mariette what he felt, but he willing- 
 ly consented to her replacing the visor and veil. 
 
 320
 
 GOD GUIDES THEM. 321 
 
 Mariette gladly did so. 
 
 " Oh," said she, fastening on the visor, and tying the 
 strings of the veil, " how glad I am. I not only do not 
 feel the fatigue of my feet, but it seems to me that I 
 have wings." 
 
 " Dear Mariette !" 
 
 " Yes, were your sight restored, what a joy and 
 gratification it would be. When I think of it I stifle, 
 for -I am not yet used to it. But you see, Conscience, 
 you see." 
 
 " That is to say, I had a glimpse of you, Mariette," 
 Conscience gravely observed. 
 
 " Yes. That is what the Surgeon kindly told me 
 yesterday, and what I refused to let you know yester- 
 day, when you said, ' My kind Mariette, what are you 
 s murmuring there ?' ' My child, I can promise nothing, 
 but it is possible his sight is not entirely gone, and 
 that one, and perhaps both eyes may recover their 
 transparency, for God himself has prepared the chief 
 remedy for your friend's misfortune, in the perpetual 
 closing of his eyelids, which gradually may restore 
 them their primitive polish.' These, Conscience, were 
 his very words, I made him repeat them three times, 
 that I might retain them in my memory, so as to 
 be able to repeat them to you, if a good opportunity 
 ever presented itself." 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience, clasping the young 
 girl's hand, " if things prove so, I see how happy we 
 shall be. Then I will accept gladly and with all my 
 heart what you have proposed for only just now, I 
 saw that I did nothing there but dream which in it- 
 self is not bad. But then as I told you, I would toil 
 from morning till night, and you, Mariette, would 
 dream or work only to amuse yourself."
 
 322 THE Cox SCRIPT. 
 
 " And our kindred, dear Conscience, how glad they 
 would be, how they would rejoice as long as they 
 lived. What a paradise of joy does God promise us. 
 Even the animals Pierrot, Tardif, and the black cow, 
 would rejoice as Bernard does when he licks your hand 
 unnoticed by you. But why do you look down and 
 weep ?" 
 
 " Mariette," said the young man, " for heaven's sake 
 be silent Talk not of all the joy which may escape 
 from us. Oh ! Mariette, it would madden me if, after 
 having had a glimpse of you even in a dream, all this 
 should escape from me." 
 
 " Conscience, the Madonna of Liesse has miraculous 
 power, and God is great." 
 
 " Come," said Conscience, rousing himself, " enough 
 for to-day. As yet I am not sufficiently strong, either 
 in body or mind, to bear such emotions. Let us go 
 and get over as much ground as possible, for it seems 
 to me we are forgetful of our parents. Go on, and if 
 there be any eminence take it as a starting point to 
 discover our way." 
 
 " Yes," said Mariette, wiping her eyes with her 
 apron, " I will see." 
 
 She got on a little mound and looked around her. 
 
 " Well ?" asked Conscience, who guessed at her oc- 
 cupation. 
 
 " About three quarters of a league, I see a church 
 tower. We will go to it and ask our way." 
 
 Almost sad, she went to Conscience, who having 
 lifted up his visor sought to see, and who had replaced 
 it, saying with a sigh, 
 
 " Lord God who gave mo breath, grant that I may 
 never despair."
 
 GOD GUIDES THEM. 323 
 
 They went directly to the tower Mariette had seen, 
 and in about three quarters of an hour entered the vil- 
 lage of Bray-en-La<>nnuis. 
 
 They there learned where they were. Since leaving 
 our Lady of Liesse, they had come about ten leagues, 
 which proved that they had either travelled very slowly 
 amid their alternations of joy and sorrow, or that the 
 road was longer. 
 
 Be that as it may, Conscience was wearied, and they 
 were forced to rest awhile in a little inn. They learned 
 that they had inclined too much to the left, and that 
 they were five leagues from Soissons and three from 
 Villers-Cotterets. That to regain the road they had 
 to go by Vailly, to cross the Aiane,at Celles, and sleep 
 at Sermoise. 
 
 Then they would have to go but seven leagues the 
 next day. 
 
 They reached Sermoise with difficulty, and halted 
 there: 
 
 Emotion seemed to have exhausted Conscience. Eve- 
 ry ten minutes he lifted up his visor, sought to distin- 
 guish objects, and seeing the uselessness of his efforts, 
 sadly let it fall. 
 
 Mariette even dared not speak to him of the moment 
 of hope which they looked on as an illusion. 
 
 They slept at Sermoise, not having courage to go 
 farther. Conscience's feet, though he had refreshed 
 them by dipping them in every spring, were bruised 
 by constant contact with the pebbles ; but what most 
 fatigued them was weariness of mind from the perpetual 
 recurrence of one idea and of one hope. 
 
 Strange indeed was it, that one day which had seen 
 the dawn of so much hope, should witness its extinctibn 
 in such dark doubts. 
 21
 
 324 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Thus, the heart of man is formed. To sorrow it is 
 a rock of granite, to joy a mass of snow. 
 
 Faithful to their resolution they passed through Acy, 
 Rosieres, and Busancy, which they reached about ele- 
 ven in the morning, and halted for a time. Weary how- 
 ever as Conscience was, he wished to set out again. 
 
 Since morning, Mariette had not passed a brook or 
 streamlet without trying the virtues of the water on 
 Conscience's eyes. It was an unlucky day, however, 
 for darkness shrouded the eyes of the young man appa- 
 rently more closely than ever. 
 
 The matter was still worse. Beyond a doubt the 
 efforts Conscience had made to see on the burning day 
 when his sight burned as often as he took off his visor, 
 had doubled the intensity of the inflammation, and 
 subjected him to severe pain when water touched them, 
 or when by design or accident the visor which shelter- 
 ed them was removed. 
 
 They advanced thus for three quarters of an hour 
 without speaking, so downcast they were. As, how- 
 ever, they passed the little village of Vierzy, they asked 
 some questions. The great green curtain before them 
 was the forest of Villers-Cotterets, and they were but 
 three leagues from Haramont. 
 
 This revived Conscience's courage if not his strength. 
 
 " Come, Mariette," said he, " let us remember that 
 our mothers expect us, and that in three hours we will 
 be with them." 
 
 "Oh, I ask nothing better than to continue our jour- 
 ney. I am not fatigued lean on me, Conscience." 
 
 "No, Mariette. walking in that way I fatigue you 
 with my false steps. No, walk on. Give me the em] 
 of your handkerchief, and I will follow you."
 
 GOD GUIDES THEM. 325 
 
 Mariette did not object, and walked before him. 
 
 Bernard seemed to partake their sadness. He was 
 fatigued as they were, and walked by their sides. 
 
 From time to time Mariette looked back. C 
 science with his head on his breast followed her in t 
 lence, or rather dragged himself behind her. "What 
 wearied his body was his crushed soul the fading 
 away of every hope, the loss of a beautiful and glowing 
 future of that ineffable joy, unheard-of happiness he 
 had caught a glimpse of, on the day when, by some in- 
 comprehensible accident, light had penetrated his eyes, 
 and which had faded away with that light. 
 
 Alas, the poor fellow had reached that state he so 
 trembled at. He was on the borders of doubt. He 
 had nearly passed into despair. 
 
 Mariette, who saw how much Conscience suffered, 
 because she suffered herself, had not courage enough 
 to speak to him, lest he should detect that she wept. 
 
 All at once, however, she was forced to speak for 
 Conscience stopped, and seemed about to fall. 
 
 " My God !" said she, " what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience, " let us stop, I begyou 
 I can go no farther. My strength is gone." 
 
 " Take courage, my friend," said she, sustaining him 
 in her arms. " We are near a hedge which closes a 
 pretty house, and go but twenty paces farther and you 
 will be able to rest in its shade. If this house be in 
 habited by Christians, you will be aided." 
 
 " I need only repose. It is not the road but grief 
 that overcomes me. It matters not ; let us go on," 
 
 Rousing himself, Conscience advanced to the hedge. 
 When, however, he reached the bank on which it grew, 
 he sank on the ground, like a man whose head and legs 
 each give way at once.
 
 326 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Mariette, when she saw this, uttered a feeble cry, 
 and fell on her knees by his side. 
 
 A slight noise, to which Mariette paid no attention, 
 was heard from the other side of the hedge. 
 
 As Conscience's eyes closed and as his head fell 
 back, she murmured : 
 
 " My God ! after all we have suffered, can it be that 
 you will not have mercy on us ?"
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ANOTHER DOOTOB. 
 
 THE noise on the other side of the hedge, which had 
 not distracted Mariette from her painful impres- 
 sion, was caused by the attention paid to what was 
 passing, by one of those episodical personages, whom 
 the peregrinations of Mariette and Conscience so fre- 
 quently brought them in contact with. 
 
 This personage was an old man of sixty or sixty -five 
 years of age, with white hair, and a grave and gentle 
 face. He wore pantaloons of white cassimere and a 
 dressing gown of grey felt. 
 
 His dark black eye shone beneath grey brows, and 
 a grey moustache shaded his upper lip. 
 
 There was about him that military air which beto- 
 kens one used to battle-fields. 
 
 When Mariette and Conscience paused beneath the 
 hedge, he sate on a barrel, having a cup of coffee be- 
 fore him, and held a paper in his hand, which as he read 
 it, made him from time to time gnash his teeth, as if he 
 had bitten an unripe apple. 
 
 This paper was the old Journal de (Empire, then the 
 Journal des Debats. 
 
 327
 
 328 THE CONSCRTPT. 
 
 There is a Belgian proverb, which says, " the Maca- 
 ron, bitter and sweet together, is the emblem of mar- 
 riage." 
 
 The paper, to the man of the military air, was both 
 bitter and sweet, for after having thrown it down again 
 and again, he had as often taken it up, to gnash his 
 teeth over it. 
 
 It was, therefore, only necessary for him to hear the 
 noise made by Conscience as he sank on the ground, 
 to hear the exclamation Mariette uttered as she knelt 
 beside him, to pass from the Journal to man, from 
 le Journal des Debats to Conscience. 
 
 He therefore looked through the hedge, the upper 
 portion of which was less dense than the base or cen- 
 tre, and saw the touching picture we have described. 
 
 " Oh !" murmured he, " who, and what is that group 
 of a young man, girl and dog ?" 
 
 He listened. 
 
 " Conscience, Conscience," said Mariette, with' clasp- 
 ed hands, " answer me, Conscience. Do so, I beg, or I 
 shall think you are about to die." 
 
 Whether because he did not hear, or had not 
 strength enough to reply, the young man shook his 
 head and sighed. 
 
 " Conscience," continued Mariette, "can it be that your 
 courage fails at the end of your journey. We are 
 scarcely two hundred paces from the edge of the forest 
 of Villers-Cotterets; we are near Haramont. We may 
 be there this evening, not on foot, for I know your 
 feet are all bleeding, but in a carriage which we will 
 hire at the next village, for nineteen of my thirty franca 
 are yet left, all having been so kind to us. I say we 
 may this evening be with our mothers, and once at
 
 ANOTHER DOCTOR. 329 
 
 home, you will have no fatigue, and will have only to 
 puss from one Cottage to another with me for a guide." 
 
 ' Yea," said Conscience, " I know that in two hours 
 
 ' ' 
 
 we might be at home . . those two cottages, however, 
 which are so dear to us, I shall never see, nor mothers 
 Madeleine and Marie. I shall never see Father Cadet, 
 nor Pierre, nor the ox, nor the ass, nor the black cow." 
 
 Mariette gradually recovered strength at this com- 
 plaint she saw that he had to contend with immense 
 despair. 
 
 " But Conscience," said she, " it is certain that you 
 have seen ? caught a glimpse it matters not, but for 
 a moment your eyes recovered transparency. Well be- 
 lieve me, this light is not extinct, the pain you feel is in- 
 flammation. Be patient, Doctor Lacosse is very wise, 
 and will undertake the care of your poor eyes. He will 
 succeed. Instead, though, of consoling, I distress you. 
 You weep again." 
 
 " Mariette, I do not know why, but my heart is 
 breaking. I think I shall die " 
 
 ~ 
 
 Conscience's hand fell on the turf, and his head es- 
 caped from Mariette's arms. He had fainted. 
 
 " Help ! help !" said Mariette, " Water, water !" 
 
 Rising as if beside herself, and leaving the young man 
 in charge of Bernard, who gently licked his face, she 
 ran to the first door, which was that of the house of the 
 old man. 
 
 Just as she was about to touch the knocker, the door 
 opened, and the old man appeared accompanied by a 
 servant, whose costume more clearly betokened his old 
 profession, for he wore a soldier's fatigue cap and other 
 portions of uniform. 
 
 The latter held in his hand a vial and a little coflfee- 
 spoon.
 
 330 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Ah, sir; twenty steps from you a poor young man 
 is dying. Come, sir, corne, I beg you." 
 
 "I am coming, rny child," said the old man. "Be 
 not uneasy, however, for I saw all through the hedge, 
 and there is no danger. It is but weakness." 
 
 " Then, sir, you will cure him ?" said Mariette. 
 
 " Yes, my child come, Baptiste." 
 
 They went to Conscience. Mariette followed them so 
 excited that she could scarcely walk. 
 
 Bernard saw aid was being brought to his master 
 and bounded joyfully to meet the old man. 
 
 Baptiste looked one after the other at each of the 
 group, and said, " On my word, Doctor, this must be a 
 good fellow to be loved by both such a pretty girl and 
 such a fine dog." 
 
 Of all the phrase, Mariette only heard the word 
 Doctor." 
 
 "Ah," cried she, " are you a physician, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Baptiste, " and a famous one, who has 
 seen much more than ever happened to this lad." 
 
 " Then, sir, good God has again blessed us by send- 
 ing you to our aid." 
 
 In the meantime the two men had reached Conscience, 
 and while the servant held up his head, the old man 
 placed a spoon full of the liquid in the vial, in Con- 
 science's lips. 
 
 Mariette, with her eyes fixed on Conscience, uttered 
 u few broken words, half a prayer to God, half thanks 
 to the stranger. 
 
 " Be easy, my child," said he, " this is mere faintness, 
 and in r i minute, the poor lad will have recovered his 
 senses." 
 
 " Is it so, sir ?" said Mariette. " Do you not say so 
 because I will die if he does ? He will not die, sir ?"
 
 ANOTHER DOCTOR. 331 
 
 " Do not fear. You love this soldier ?" 
 
 Oh, sir !" 
 
 " Whence come you with h,im ?" 
 
 " From the hospital of Laon, whither I went for him. 
 You do not know, sir, that he is blind, having lost his 
 eyes by the explosion of a caisson." 
 
 " Ah ! that is more serious. Let us, however, first at- 
 tend to his fainting, and then look after the other mat- 
 ter." 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mariette, " see, he opens his eyes. 
 You are right he breathes." 
 
 " Mariette," said Conscience, who had regained his 
 senses. 
 
 " Conscience," said Mariette, " I am kneeling by 
 your side. With me is a doctor, who promises to take 
 charge of, and cure you. Do you not, sir ?" 
 
 The old man looked carefully at Conscience's inflamed 
 eyes. 
 
 " Since you met with this accident," said he, " have 
 you never felt better ?" 
 
 Conscience tried to speak. He was, however, so de- 
 bilitated, that his words were unintelligible. 
 
 Mariette replied for him. 
 
 " Yes, sir. But yesterday, it seemed to him that his 
 eyes cleared up. Yesterday, he thought he saw me." 
 
 " I did see you," murmured he. 
 
 " You hear, sir," said Mariette ; " he says so himself. 
 Well ! since then, there has been no amelioration in his 
 eyes, and he has as you see become hopeless. Despair 
 has brought him to this condition more than fatigue." 
 
 " He is wrong. It may be, that the membrane is on- 
 ly bruised, and will regenerate itself." 
 
 " Who ever you be, sir, thanks for the hope you give,
 
 332 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 ^whether it be realized or not. Unfortunately, though," 
 said she, shaking her head, '' God has made falsehood 
 a virtue to physicians." 
 
 " Know, young man," said Baptiste, " that my master 
 is an old officer, who, as surgeon-in-chief of the Consu- 
 lar and Imperial Guard, served through the revolution 
 and Empire. Consequently, my master tells no false- 
 hoods." 
 
 Then in an angry tone, he said to his master, 
 
 " Who is that white face who talks so to you ? Do 
 you hear what he says ?" 
 
 " Hush, Baptiste, what he says is right enough," said 
 the old man, with a smile. 
 
 " What, you hear him talk so, and say it is right 
 enough ? Had any one told you so fifteen years ago, 
 you would have cut his throat on the spot." 
 
 Then shrugging his shoulders, and sighing, he said, 
 
 " Old age how rusty one becomes." 
 
 "Come, my friend," to Conscience, "you are now 
 recovered. Make an effort to walk to the house, where 
 you will be more comfortable than you are here, and 
 we will try to do something for your eyes." 
 
 " Oh, sir. Do not take so much trouble ; after a brief 
 repose, I shall be able to go on. The liquid you gavq 
 me has restored my strength. Mariette join with me 
 in thanking Monsieur, and let us go." 
 
 " Wait a bit," said the old man. " You became sick 
 at my door, and you must come into my house. You 
 are good folks, and I do not wish you to exhaust your 
 strength. You shall not go until you have rested, and 
 refreshed yourselves with a glass of good wine. Per- 
 haps by examining those eyes closely, some remedy may 
 occur to me." 
 
 " Come, come, then," said Mariette. " It would be
 
 ANOTHER DOCTOR. 333 
 
 tempting God to refuse. Monsieur, we are but poor 
 peasants, and never can pay you for your care, but my 
 prayers, sir, shall be inexhaustible as my love, and as 
 long as I live, I will pray for you and those dear to 
 you. Do what you will, sir, and may God grant you 
 many and happy days in this world, and in the world 
 to come eternal love." 
 
 Mariette having thus determined, Conscience could 
 not object. Supported on one side by her, and on the 
 other by the Doctor, he entered the house, Baptiste 
 hastening before to open the doors for them.
 
 XIX. 
 
 HOPE REVIVES. 
 
 WHEN they entered the house, Baptiste receivtd 
 his orders, which he transmitted to a second ser- 
 vant, who at once disappeared. 
 
 He then went into the sitting-room, where he found 
 the Doctor and Mariette rolling up an arm-chair for 
 Conscience to sit in. 
 
 All three entered the room. Bernard was afraid 
 of the well-waxed floor, and stood respectfully at the 
 door. 
 
 The Doctor led Conscience to the chair and turned 
 his back to the light. 
 
 When Conscience sate down, Baptiste left. 
 
 A few minutes after, he returned with a bottle and 
 three glasses on a waiter. 
 
 " Come here," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Here I am, Major." 
 
 The Doctor took the bottle by the neck with the 
 care which those fond of old wine always show for age, 
 and filled three glasses. 
 
 He gave one to Conscience. 
 
 334
 
 HOPE REVIVES. 335 
 
 " Drink it slowly," said he, " in large mouthfuls, and 1 
 promise that it will do you no harm." 
 
 Conscience took the glass. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir. It is wine," said he, " and I never 
 drink it." 
 
 " So much the better," said he, " the effect will be 
 greater. Drink, my friend, drink. It is a medicine." 
 
 Conscience prepared to obey him. 
 
 The Doctor gave Mariette thesecond glass. 
 
 " You, too, must be fatigued," said he, " and the 
 wine will revive you." 
 
 " I think," said Baptiste, who looked at the three 
 glasses of liquid topaz, " that this wine would rouse the 
 dead." 
 
 " Well," said the Doctor, taking the third glass, " to 
 the recovery of your friend." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Mariette, " with all my heart." 
 
 The three, at the same moment, placed the glasses at 
 their lips. Baptiste had no glass, 'but smacked his lips, 
 like a man who in imagination tastes an absent liquid. 
 
 The old Doctor emptied his glass at a single swallow, 
 and uttered a Hem of satisfaction. ' 
 
 Conscience carried his slowly to his lips, and tasted 
 it with the distrust always exhibited by the blind. 
 Then, overcoming his repugnance, he swallowed his 
 wine. 
 
 As soon as Mariette had touched it with her lips, 
 she put it aside as if it had been fire. 
 
 " Monsieur," said she, " I ask you pardon, but it is 
 impossible for me to drink this." 
 
 Baptiste took the glass respectfully from the hands 
 of Mariette, who hastened to wipe her hands with her 
 handkerchief. One might have thought the wine a cor- 
 rosive, every trace of which she wished to efface.
 
 330 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Good !" said the Doctor, " it is well Baptiste is not 
 offended with you, for you have lost a glass of the 
 veriest nectar ever ripened by the sun of Andalusia. 
 You are not offended with her, Baptiste ?" 
 
 " No, she is too pretty ; your health, Major, and the 
 company." 
 
 He at once swallowed the glass of wine, and having 
 done so, like his master uttered a " Hem" of satisfaction. 
 
 He swallowed the wine, however, more quickly, and 
 his u Hem" was more sonorous. 
 
 The effect the Doctor anticipated was produced. 
 The warmth of the generous fluid entered into Con- 
 science's circulation. He felt its vivifying influence; 
 the color returned to his cheeks, and a smile came to 
 his lips. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Mariette, from whom none of the 
 sensations of the young man escaped, " what you gave 
 me seemed unpleasant as a drink, but appears excellent 
 as a remedy. See how he revives. Are you not bet- 
 ter, dear Conscience ?" 
 
 " Yes, much better, gayer and stronger. Strange, 
 Mariette, but hope returns, and I am hungry." 
 
 " Oh, ho 1 a moment," said the Doctor. "How we are 
 getting on. You must first have a bath, my friend. 
 You must remain twenty minutes in the water. See 
 to that, Baptiste ; exactly twenty minutes. In that 
 time the patient must bathe his eyes with emollients, 
 and then take him out and bring him hither. You 
 hear, Mr. Soldier ? Be obedient as if you were with 
 your Eegiraent. Those are my orders." 
 
 " You are very kind, sir, and give your orders in 
 too benevolent a manner for them to be disobeyed." 
 
 Rising, he said : 
 
 l ' I am ready, M. Baptiste; will you lead me ?"
 
 HOPE REVIVES. 337 
 
 Conscience reached forth his hands, one of which 
 Baptiste took. Mariette seized the other. 
 
 " My child," said the Doctor to Mariette, " I have 
 something to say to you." 
 
 " I will but take him to the door, and will return at 
 once." 
 
 " Go, then," said the Doctor. 
 
 Mariette did so, and at once returned. 
 
 The Doctor had detained the young girl to question 
 her about the accident, and what she knew of the treat- 
 ment, and about the return of sight, she had referred 
 to, which had delighted them so. 
 
 Mariette told all she knew with the charming naivety 
 we are familiar with, but which the Doctor was igno- 
 rant of, and which changed almost into paternal kind- 
 ness the philanthropic interest which he had exhibited 
 since he first saw them. 
 
 During this time, the Doctor listened with attention, 
 and both approved and improved the treatment. In 
 fact, Mariette, had fancied that she remarked that ap- 
 probation and hope triumphed over fear. 
 
 " Very well," said he, when Mariette was done, " we 
 will test the matter." 
 
 He rang for Baptiste, who soon came. 
 
 " Well, did you give him a bath ?" 
 
 " Yes, Major. I had some difficulty in keeping the 
 dog from emptying the bathing tub. The animal was 
 very thirsty." 
 
 " Did you bathe his eyes in Guimaure ?' 
 
 " Yes, Major." 
 
 " Take him out of the bath and bring him hither, af- 
 ter you put a bandage on his eyes." 
 
 Baptiste faced about with military precision, and dis- 
 appeared.
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 The Major lowered the blinds, so as to change the 
 burning light into a demi-tint. 
 
 Mariette saw the old man make these preparations 
 with shudders of anguish and anxiety. Had he not 
 said, bis experiment would be decisive ? 
 
 At every external sound she turned towards the 
 door. 
 
 At last she recognised the hesitating step of Con- 
 science. The door opened, and the young man ap- 
 peared leaning on Baptiste's arm. 
 
 The Doctor beckoned to Baptiste to take him into 
 the centre of the room. 
 
 When there, Conscience and Baptiste had reached 
 the spot he indicated. The Doctor placed Mariette on 
 the right of Conscience, and stood himself on the left 
 both being within the circle of vision. Then telling 
 Mariette by a gesture to be silent, the old man told 
 Bastien to take off the bandage. 
 
 This being done, he said 
 
 " NoW open your eyes, and tell me if you see any 
 thing in mass or in detail." 
 
 For an instant Conscience winked his eyes : then his 
 eight seemed to grow stronger, and his dull pupils 
 wandered around the circle before him, pausing on 
 Mariette. 
 
 All at once he uttered a cry, and advanced rapidly 
 with open arms to Mariette. 
 
 She wished to hurry to Conscience, but a gesture 
 from the Doctor checked her. 
 
 She stood motionless and panting, shivering as if in 
 an ague. 
 
 Conscience had advanced to her. "When on the point 
 of touching her, he paused and put forth his trembling 
 hand.
 
 HOP E RE v i v ES. 339 
 
 " Marietta, is it you I see, or is it but a shadow an 
 error of the imagination ?. Oh, if it be you, for mercy 
 touch me." 
 
 " Conscience, dear Conscience," said Mariette, seiz- 
 ing his hand. 
 
 " Then I see I will not be blind, Mariette I see." 
 
 " If you see, tell me the color of Mariette's shawl," 
 said the Doctor. 
 
 " She has her red' shawl, Doctor." 
 
 " True," said Mariette. " Oh what happiness ! This 
 is not a mistake. Yes, Conscience, I have my red 
 shawl on." 
 
 The Doctor seemed surprised. 
 
 " She has her red shawl ? Are you not mistaken in 
 that, my friend ?" 
 
 " No, Doctor." 
 
 " And you see red ?" 
 
 " No, I see only something greyish. But one day 
 at his house, Doctor Lacosse told me, that when it was 
 dark, red was deeper than the other colors. Mariette's 
 shawl seems dark grey, and consequently is red/* 
 
 " True," said the Doctor. " Embrace, my children, 
 and be of good hope." 
 
 Turning to the servant, while they were locked in 
 each other's arms, he said, 
 
 " Baptiste, replace the bandage over those blind 
 eyes, which will in a few months, I hope, see clearly 
 enough. Take him to his room to rest, so that he 
 may set out again early to-morrow. Mile. Mariette 
 will either dine with me or with Conscience, as she 
 wishes." 
 
 " Oh with Conscience, Doctor. I am so happy that 
 I really must see him to be convinced of my happi- 
 ness 1" . 
 22
 
 540 T H E C N SC R IP T. 
 
 " So be it. You hear, Baptiste ?" 
 
 u How, Doctor, can I thank you ?" said Conscience, 
 who seemed overburdened with joy. 
 
 " Be calm," said the Doctor. " Calmness above all 
 things is necessary. With it, alum and rose-water, and 
 some soothing salve, we will cure you yet." 
 
 " And you will not be the first," said Baptiste. " Oh 
 young man, your falling into our hands was no misfor- 
 tune." 
 
 " Well, my child," said the Doctor, " you do not fol- 
 low your friend." 
 
 " Oh sir," said Mariette, falling on her knees, " let 
 me first thank you." 
 
 " Are you mad ?" asked the Doctor, seeking to lift 
 her up. 
 
 " Mariette seized his hands, and keeping her humble 
 posture, said, " No, I am not mad, and I will not rise 
 until I shall have told you that I trust you will be bet- 
 ter rewarded for this than if you had cured a king's 
 eon. God discharges the debts of the poor, and is rich 
 in mercy and in blessings. My God ! will you not 
 bless our preserver as we do ourselves ?" 
 
 " Yes, my child," said the old man, " God will hear 
 you, or rather has heard you, for I already feel myself 
 rewarded beyond my deserts. Kiss me, my child, and 
 rejoin your friend." 
 
 He kissed Mariette paternally on the forehead, and 
 said as she ran after Conscience, 
 
 " Who will tell me, mankind are naturally bad ?" 
 
 The next morning at seven o'clock, his pretty coun- 
 try carriage, drawn by a dapple-grey horse, was at the 
 door of the house to which Mariette had gone so anx- 
 iously.
 
 HOPE REVIVES. 341 
 
 A peasant boy held the horse. 
 
 Baptiste had a whip in his hand, and plaited the lash 
 with especial care. 
 
 Bernard was gamboling about, and evidently waited 
 for some one to come. 
 
 The Doctor came first ; he was followed by Marietta 
 and Conscience, the latter of whom had his visor over 
 his face, but was calm, serene, and smiling. 
 
 He leaned on Manette's arm and held the old man's 
 hand to his breast. 
 
 When at the steps of the carriage he hesitated a mo- 
 ment, and then opening his arms, said, 
 
 " Doctor, I would embrace you." 
 
 The Doctor asked nothing better, and clasped him 
 in his arms. 
 
 Then he said, " Go, Conscience, you forget that your 
 mother awaits you." 
 
 " Yes, Doctor, you are right. Baptiste, help me into 
 the carriage. Mariette, thank the Doctor, and tell him 
 we will ever love him." 
 
 "Yes," said Mariette, " God knows we will." 
 
 " Come, Mademoiselle, get in. We only wait for 
 you." 
 
 Mariette got in and sate on the back seat by the side 
 of Conscience. 
 
 " Now," said Baptiste, " what road ?" 
 
 " The shortest " said Conscience. 
 
 " Then we will go by Fleury, leave Villers-Cotterets 
 on our left, go behind Saint Remy, and through the 
 Chataignerie directly to Haramont. Do you think so ?" 
 
 " Yes, that makes our road a league shorter." 
 
 " Then up, Marengo," and he laid his whip on the 
 horse's side with such zest, that he set out on a long
 
 342 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 trot on the track of Bernard, who seemed to know the " 
 way. 
 
 " Au revoir," Raid Conscience and Mariette ; " A 
 pleasant journey," said the old man and five hours af- 
 terwards, they were at the two cottages, where stood 
 grouped together, unable to realize the unexpected re- 
 turn, on one side Dame Marie, Pierre, and Catharine, 
 and on the other, Madeleine supporting Father Cadet, 
 who was beginning to get about. 
 
 The barking of Bernard was answered by the lowing 
 of Tardif, the cow, and the braying of the ass, who 
 knew in their stables what had happened. 

 
 XX. 
 
 I 
 
 WHICH IT IS ALMOST PROVEN THAT CONSCIENCE 
 HAD BETTEB HAVE CONTINUED BLIND. 
 
 WE will not attempt to describe the effect produced 
 on the inhabitants of the two cottages by the 
 return of Conscience and Mariette. 
 
 Instead of weeping for one child, the mothers had 
 begun to weep for two. Mariette had not been heard 
 from, and though the six days had not passed, her ab- 
 sence seemed to have lasted six centuries. 
 
 Conscience was first welcomed. He was the true 
 traveller, having been absent six months. 
 
 Then came the turn of Mariette, the devoted heroine 
 and last, Bernard. 
 
 Mariette was the poet of this new Odyssy. Like 
 Prancesca di Rimini she told the story of Conscience 
 as Paolo did, listening with his head on his mother's 
 shoulder. 
 
 Many sighs and tears interrupted this simple story. 
 Many blessings were heaped on the charitable souls 
 whom God had brought in contact with the two pil- 
 grims. 
 
 The two bouquets of gold and silver flowers brought 
 
 343
 
 ^44 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 from our Lady of Liesse, were hung one in each cot- 
 tage in the most conspicuous place over the chimney. 
 
 About two o'clock in the afternoon, when the dapple 
 grey horse had made the acquaintance of Tardif and 
 Pierrot, having been well fed and rested, as Baptiste 
 had been by the cottagers, he was takes from the sta- 
 ble and burdened with countless thanks, for the old 
 Doctor and the driver having left the cottage on the 
 left, bade adieu to those he had made so happy. 
 
 Whipping up his horse he retraced his steps to Long- 
 pont, where he arrived in two hours after he left Hara- 
 mont, his arrival at which had produced such an im- 
 pression. 
 
 A greater sensation was produced on no one than 
 on Catharine, whom chance had taken to Dame Marie's 
 house, and who, having had no news from Bastien, did 
 not know whether he was dead or alive. She loved 
 the hussar with all her soul, and therefore was delight- 
 ed to hear from Mariette's lips details which assured 
 her of his life. 
 
 True, when Bastien left Mariette it was to take a 
 walk with the cuirassier towards the Saint Queutin 
 gate, but he seemed to calculate so certainly on giving 
 his adversary a cut over the face, that the fact had left 
 a feeling of gratitude on Mariette's heart, but none of 
 uneasiness. She did not therefore mention it to Cath- 
 arine. 
 
 All the rest of the day, the villagers stood in the road 
 between the cottages. 
 
 Conscience had to tell all the details of the terrible 
 battle of Laon, until the moment of the explosion which 
 had blinded him. Mariette also described her journey, 
 the pilgrimage, and the intervention of our Lady of 
 Liesse.
 
 CONSCIENCE 345 
 
 Kight recalled each to his fireside, and all the village 
 that evening talked of Mariette and Conscience. They 
 spoke of their marriage, which no longer was a myste- 
 ry, Conscience having repeated the promises of devotion 
 Mariette had made, when despairing of ever regaining 
 his sight, he looked on the rest of life as an anticipation 
 of the hours awaiting him in the vestibules of death. 
 
 In all the village, none envied the future happiness 01 
 the young people ; on the contrary, all who knew the 
 state of Father Cadet's affairs pitied them, for the old 
 man was much involved by the triple derangement pro- 
 duced by the attack of apoplexy, of which he began to 
 recover, of Conscience's departure, and of the return of 
 the Bourbons. 
 
 Let us explain all this, and unfold to the reader Fa- 
 ther Cadet's real situation. Having for a moment fan- 
 cied himself rich as Croesus, he was on the point of dis 
 covering that he was poor as Job. 
 
 The apoplexy with which he bad been attacked had, 
 as we have said, prevented him from attending to the 
 working and seeding of his ground, but in that respect 
 he was fortunately aided by neighbor Matthew. The 
 field had however been deprived of that daily visit, to 
 which it had been used, and the jealous ground on that 
 account, or on account of the badness of the year, pro- 
 mised, if not sterility, a poor yield. 
 
 Now had Conscience been there to watch over its 
 wants 
 
 But alas, Conscience was absent. He was measuring 
 out powder at Brienne, Montereau, Mergan-Bac, at 
 Laon. Conscience, who would not have pulled a fea- 
 ther from a thrush, was in his humble sphere of action 
 the conqueror of the Pyramids, of Maren^o and Aus-
 
 346 THB CONSCRIPT. 
 
 terlitz ; an occupation for which he had very little taste 
 and admiration as bis friend Bastien entertained. 
 
 We have seen how Conscience, doubly excusable in 
 his various homicides, by the necessity of the defence 
 of the territory, and his obvious unwillingness to obey 
 the law of recruiting, had been checked in his career, in 
 which, little as it was to his taste, he had discovered 
 such sang froid as to attract the attention even of the 
 Emperor, who had said to him, " The first time we 
 meet again under fire, remind me that I owe you the 
 cross" words the fruit of which he was probably 
 about to gather, when the explosion of his caisson 
 made him disappear like Romulus in a blaze. 
 
 Then came the complete occupation of the territory, 
 the entrance of the allies into Paris, and the restoration 
 of the throne of the Bourbons, additional causa* of the 
 ruin of Father Cadet and of the families in the cottages 
 also. 
 
 Alas, amid these great catastrophes and events, the 
 historian attends only to the rising and falling fortune 
 of the great of this world. He pities the overturned 
 throne, the neglected genius, the revulsions of fate, the 
 hazard of fortune, and rarely fails to find a complaint, 
 a look or sigh, for the humble existences crashed by 
 the wheels of those who ride in the car of fate. 
 
 Now this is the triple ruin brought on the inhabitants 
 of the two cottages by the great events which changed 
 the aspect of Europe. 
 
 The occupation of France first brought a Rtwsian 
 force of thirty or forty thousand men to Villers-Cotte- 
 rets. It would have been difficult to lodge this forcain 
 the five hundred houses which compose the city and in 
 the adjacent villages.
 
 CONSCIENCE. 347 
 
 This force made a bivouac which covered three 
 square leagues. 
 
 Father Cadet's eight or nine acres were included IB 
 these square leagues, and were covered by a camp of 
 Kossacks, whose horses had trampled on the grain just 
 beginning to come up. 
 
 The yield of that year, therefore, was not to be 
 thought of. True, the straw which covered it, would nat- 
 urally be converted into manure, and the ground, though 
 unproductive in 1814, would, no doubt, be admirably 
 prepared in 18-15. But before that time eighteen months 
 would pass, and on Martinmas, one hundred louis were 
 to be paid to Master Niguet the notary. 
 
 Nothing at first seemed so easy as to borrow eight 
 hundred francs, on the security of eight acres of ground 
 which ten years of constant toil had made of the best 
 quality, and which were only liable to a mortgage of 
 sixteen hundred francs. 
 
 We will however return to this. We have spoken 
 of three causes of ruin, and having explained the first, 
 which was the Kossack devastation, will omit the se- 
 cond, and speak of the third, the question of payment, 
 which was the gravest of all. 
 
 The second cause of ruin was, that in consequence 
 of the foreign occupation, Mariette's daily trips to Vil- 
 lers-Cotterets had been interrupted. A young girl 
 without a safe conduct, beautiful as Mariette was, 
 could not even think of passing a bivouac of so many 
 men. 
 
 Besides, what could she sell ? There were no 
 cows at Longpre, and consequently, no milk. The 
 milch cows there had been killed, and the black cow 
 had escaped in consequence of the special protection of 
 the officer in command at Haramont. The great age
 
 348 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 of Tardif and Pierrot made them respectable, even in 
 the eyes of the half-famished Kossacks. 
 
 In a bivouac of fifty thousand Kossacks, there was 
 no milk, no commerce, and, consequently, the resources 
 of the cottage on the right were all dried up, while, as 
 ve have said, a third disaster awaited that on the left. 
 
 The Bourbons were restored, and the old servitors 
 who had followed them into exile had returned with 
 them. Nobles and Priests on their return, all had 
 claims : there was not one wh'o had not been despoiled, 
 and who did not demand justice against 'robbery. 
 
 Thus was entitled that great act of justice, which in 
 1792 enriched the French people with the property of 
 those who conspired and fought against it. 
 
 Now the nine acres of Father Cadet were but a 
 shred detached from the lands formerly held in Kara- 
 mont, Bonneuil, and Largny, by the Convent of 
 Longpre. 
 
 Those holding from the Convent had reappeared in 
 the neighborhood, and said they hoped that restitution 
 would be made to them as well as to others. 
 
 We need not say they did not even talk of indem- 
 nifying the new holders. 
 
 This was, then, the precarious situation of Father 
 Cadet, and of the two families. 
 
 It will now be understood how necessary it was that 
 the kind of miracle which had begun to restore sight to 
 Conscience should be accomplished at once, as on him 
 depended the prosperity of all. 
 
 The first thing to be done was to attend to his con- 
 valescence. On the next day Conscience went to 
 Tillers -Cotterets with Marietto and Bernard. It was 
 their usual walk, but the bivouac had made the birds 
 Mjuirrels, and deer wild.
 
 CONSCIENCE. 349 
 
 The soldiers stared at the beautiful girl, but were re- 
 strained by two sentinels, the respect they owed to their 
 officers, and by the interest inspired by respect to mis- x 
 fortune. The remains of Conscience's uniform, also 
 enabled them to see that he was a soldier, suffering the 
 consequence of some accident, and the brotherhood 
 of the field of battle, now that the contest was over, 
 was established even among enemies, and they pro- 
 tected the blind and his guide. 
 
 Both, or rather including Bernard, the three reached 
 Villers-Cotterets, in which for six months they had not 
 been seen. 
 
 Amid the great events which had taken place in their 
 absence, as may be imagined, they had not been re- 
 marked. Their re-appearance, however, had. 
 
 All looked with sympathy at the strange group. 
 1 They went directly to the house of Doctor Lacosse. 
 
 The Doctor already knew of Conscience's return; of 
 his terrible accident, and of the improvement which be- 
 gan to manifest itself. 
 
 He, therefore, received him most kindly. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, my lad ? Come hither, and tell me all 
 about the accident." 
 
 For the tenth, twentieth, and the fiftieth time, Con- 
 science had to tell him all about it. 
 
 The Doctor listened attentively, and then having 
 taken Conscience to a window, opened the lid by force, 
 and examined it. 
 
 " This is well," sand he " the outer pellicle of the 
 cornea has been touched, and its transparency has 
 been injured. The membrane, however, gradually 
 exfoliates and regenerates itself. The winking of the 
 
 O O 
 
 lids will restore its polish, and then, my lad, you will 
 see as well as you ever did."
 
 350 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Indeed, sir ?" said both he and Mariette. 
 
 " I promise you," said the Doctor. 
 
 " What must be done now ?" asked Mariette. 
 
 " A very simple thing ; I will give you a simple pre- 
 scription, in obedience to which the apothecary will 
 prepare you an ointment, and Conscience must put it 
 on his eyelids every morning and evening. In a fort- 
 night or three weeks he will be well enough to come 
 alone for another prescription." 
 
 While the Doctor wrote this prescription for M. Pac- 
 quenot, the Apothecary, Conscience and Mariette were 
 locked in each others' arms, and shed tears of joy. 
 
 They had now nothing to fear, for the first Doctor 
 had hoped, the second promised, and the third affirmed. 
 
 They returned rapidly as possible to bear the joyful 
 news to Haramont.
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE HORIZON DARKENS, 
 
 "VTOTHING- less than this news would have sufficed 
 J_^| to lessen the anxiety of another kind which began 
 to take possession of the two families. 
 
 With his nine acres of ground, as we have said, 
 Father Cadet was on the point of being reduced to 
 misery. Doctor Lacosse, had, it is true, charged no- 
 thing for attending to him during his illness, but the 
 druggist had not been so liberal, and before he re- 
 covered, Father Cadet had to expend at least fifty 
 crowns. 
 
 We have seen that when Mariette was about to go 
 to Laon for Conscience, the old man had offered her 
 his last gold piece. It had been replaced in the leather 
 sack, not to remain there any long time, but had gone 
 with five others, saved by Dame Marie and Madeleine, 
 to pay for M. Pacquenot's remedies. 
 
 To make up the fifty crowns, it had been necessary, 
 also, to add some change. 
 351
 
 352 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 This was thn state of things when Conscience re- 
 turned, to the great delight of the hearts of all, but not 
 to the relief of their purses. 
 
 Father Cadet, during the rest of his life, would re- 
 main powerless, Conscience, while convalescing, would 
 be unable to work, and no reliance could be placed on 
 little Pierre for four or five years. 
 
 Thus of the two families composed of three males and 
 three females, the natural supporters were disabled and 
 the women had to provide for all. 
 
 We know what is the value of the product of the nee- 
 dle and wheel of a village woman. 
 
 JTrue, peasant life costs little, but the two invalids in- 
 creased the expense. 
 
 In spite of the failure of the harvest, Father Cadet 
 easily found resources, but we have mentioned the 
 terrible reports current, about the property of the Emi- 
 gres, which made his situation more complicated. 
 
 It was known, that Father Cadet owed sixteen hun- 
 dred francs on the nine acres of land, which was nothing 
 when they were worth twelve or fourteen thousand 
 francs, but which was an enormous sum when they 
 would not sell even for sixteen hundred francs. 
 
 No one offered to serve him : not even neighbor 
 Matthew, who, being somewhat similarly situated, would 
 have been unable to serve him, had he wished to do so. 
 
 He determined to do all that was possible under ex- 
 isting circumstances. 
 
 Political events did not aid him. 
 
 On the 30th of May, the guns of Paris announced the 
 treaty between France and the allied powers. 
 
 The hostile troops were to evacuate France. 
 
 On the 15th of June, the Russians broke up their bi-
 
 THE HORIZON DARKENS. 353 
 
 vouac, and bade adieu to the people of Haramont, Larg- 
 ny and Tillers- Cotterets, to the great delight of the latter. 
 
 For a moment, France forgot in the free air she 
 breathed, that she was restricted to the boundaries of 
 1792, that she had lost her universal supremacy, and lost 
 in the Mediterranean, in the gulf of Mexico, in the In- 
 dian Ocean, Malta, Tobago, Saint Lucia, the isle of 
 France, Rodriguer and the Sechelles. 
 
 She regained her soil, she again became mistress of 
 herself, and collected her children, who \yere dispersed 
 in the provinces, of the North, in the armies beyond the 
 Loire, and in the hospitals. 
 
 On the day after the departure of the Ivossacks, .Fa- 
 ther Cadet said that he wished to see his land. A long 
 time had passed in making this effort. At first, he 
 walked a few steps by means of the aid of Madeleine's 
 arm. But as long as the Kossacks were there, he had 
 carefully avoided looking at, and thinking of it. He felt 
 as Collatinus would have felt towards Lucretia, had she 
 survived Tarquin's outrage. 
 
 Madeleine, as usual, offered the old man her arm. He, 
 however, refused it. He wished that no one might wit- 
 ness the emotion he was aware he was about to undergo. 
 
 She exhibited some anxiety about his being able to 
 walk so far, it was nearly a quarter of a league, but he 
 made an effort, stood up, and crossed almost the whole 
 floor without limping, and asked them only to help him 
 down the bank. The rest would not trouble him. 
 
 Madeleine looked anxiously after him, but seeing that 
 he had come. to the turn of the road, she relied on his 
 energetic will. 
 
 He went on, and came in sight of the vast devastated 
 plain.
 
 d54 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 For more than a league, he could see nothing but 
 ground trampled by the horses and men, half-broken 
 barrels and great black spots, which showed where the 
 fires had been kindled. 
 
 He shook his head sadly and went on, but when be 
 came to where his field should be, he looked in vain 
 for it. 
 
 Every landmark had disappeared. There was nei- 
 ther enclosure nor ditch to tell the proprietor, " This 
 is your own, and does not belong to your neighbor." 
 
 Father Cadet tried to lift his hands ^to heaven, but 
 his left hand could not accomplish the movement, and 
 fell heavily to his side. 
 
 Two tears rolled from his eyes : one of his hands was 
 powerless, but both eyes wept. 
 
 " Lord God," murmured the poor old man, " must I 
 at the end of my life see such calamities?" 
 
 "Then as his memory told him ^he must be near hit 
 land, he stooped to see if beneath that heap of mud and 
 straw he could find his landmarks. 
 
 A little wood which belonged to Matthew might have 
 aided him in the search, but the wood had been cut 
 down. 
 
 In his heart Father Cadet was not sorry for this, for 
 the wood, which had been full of briars, was a shelter 
 for a colony of hares, which were hidden by day, but 
 at night ate down Cadet's grain and clover. 
 
 A few stumps of what had been trees indicated the 
 situation of the wood, and by means of it he was ena- 
 bled to approximate to one of his landmarks. 
 
 He was trying to establish the other, when a hand 
 was placed lightly on his shoulder. 
 
 He turned around and saw the man who had sold
 
 THE HORIZON DARKENS. 355 
 
 him the two last acres of land, and to whom he owed 
 the sixteen hundred francs. 
 
 The seller, unlike Father Cadet, seemed joyous and 
 happy. 
 
 " Good day, Cousin Maniquet and the company," 
 according to his usual phraseology, although Maniquet 
 was alone, said Father Cadet. 
 
 " Very well and how are you, Father Cadet ?" said 
 Maniquet. 
 
 " Badly, very badly." Cadet shook his head 
 sadly. 
 
 " Bah ! you will live thirty years yet." 
 
 Father Cadet shook his head more sadly still. 
 
 " Cousin Maniquet, the ass alone knows where the 
 saddle presses." 
 
 " Yes, I see. You spake of your paralysis. Will 
 not your left arm and leg get strong ?" 
 
 " Thank God, that is not what I complain of, for my 
 lame leg, as you see, has brought me thus far. My 
 land, though, Cousin Maniquet, my land " 
 
 " Ah ! I see. Your land" 
 
 " I have come to look for the landmarks, and though 
 I once could find them with my eyes shut, I cannot 
 now." 
 
 " Do not let that disturb you. We will find them 
 again." 
 
 " Find them again ? It will be very difficult to do 
 so, changed as every thing is." 
 
 " Yes. You know I border on Vaumoise " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I sold you these two acres because I wished to 
 purchase more in that direction, and also because I had 
 no confidence in this land which had belonged to a 
 convent." 
 23
 
 356 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 Father Cadet sighed, for Cousin Mar.iquet had 
 touched one of his wounds, and certainly not that 
 which was nearest being cured. 
 
 " Ah ! I think," said he, " you were right to get rid 
 of them." 
 
 " I think so too. You remember I told you I bor- 
 dered on Vaumoise, and the consequence was, as soon 
 as I had security from the officers, I came to the bi- 
 vouac to sell my vegetables." 
 
 " Ah !" said Father Cadet. 
 
 " Yes a wagon load every day, and as Louis 
 XVIII. paid them well for the services they did him, 
 those Kossack robbers paid good prices." 
 
 " Then you lost nothing by the invasion ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I gained, and I am only sorry it 
 did not last three years instead of three months." 
 
 " There are others to whom it would have been a 
 great misfortune. " 
 
 " Yes, Father Cadet, but you know that one man's 
 misfortune is another's gain. All is but good and bad 
 luck. This time I was lucky, and on another occasion 
 it may be different." 
 
 " But," said Father Cadet, who was not very much 
 pleased with Maniquet's conversation, " how will all 
 this enable me to find my landmarks ?" 
 
 " Easy enough. I came hither every day, as I told 
 you, and as I foresaw what would happen, one day I 
 brought a dozen stakes ready sharpened in my wagon, 
 and I said to the Kossacks, ' Do not mind me, for you 
 are encamped on my ground, and while the limits are 
 visible I wish to mark them.' They said that was 
 right, and let me drive in my stakes so that thanks to 
 this precaution we will find our limits."
 
 THE HORIZON DARKENS. 357 
 
 This plural possessive pronoun made Cadet uneasy, 
 and he looked anxiously at Maniquet. To satisfy him- 
 self, he said, 
 
 " It was really very kind in you, Cousin, to take such 
 interest in my affairs." 
 
 " Ah you see, Father Cadet, your jnterests are be- 
 come mine." 
 
 " How so ?" said the old man with flushed cheeks. 
 
 " Certainly, you still have two payments to make ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Of eight hundred francs each." 9 
 
 " True-." 
 
 "At Martinmas of the current and of the next year.' 
 
 " You are right about dates." 
 
 " Ah ! I am a systematic man." 
 
 " But now I owe you nothing." 
 
 " Wait. I said Bad luck has befallen Father Ca- 
 det. He is paralytic. His grand-son Conscience is 
 blind the Kossacks are on his laud and have half- 
 ruined it." 
 
 "And then, Cousin?" 
 
 " Then ?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " I said, it may be at pay-day he will be in trouble." 
 
 Father Cadet stifled a sigh. 
 
 " Eight hundred francs is not found every day in the 
 road, especially under a Kossack's horse's hoof. Well, 
 he will be troubled about payment. That though may 
 be arranged." 
 
 " Ah," said Father Cadet, " as the security is good, 
 you will allow me time, will you not ?" 
 
 " No, Father Cadet, do not trust to that. I too 
 have purchased, and have payments to make precisely 
 when yours become due. Now, Father Cadet, you
 
 358 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 have always been prompt, and I have relied on you as 
 you have on me. Now this concerns you much." 
 
 " True," said Cadet, stifled almost. 
 
 " I then reflected Father Cadet cannot rely on the 
 harvest of this year, for it is destroyed, and may be un- 
 able to pay. Tihen as mortgagee, you know I have a 
 first mortgage, Father Cadet ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 " Well, if he do not pay, it will be painful, and I will 
 be forced to sell his land." 
 
 ^Father Cadet closed his eyes, and gaped like a man 
 who has a rope around his neck. Maniquet continued, 
 
 " Now as the land is depreciated in value, these 
 fools, thinking the nobles and priests will get back 
 their estates, I will buy it for a trifle, for a loaf of 
 bread, and then no harm will come of my having 
 marked out the limits. That is why I drove the 
 etakes." 
 
 The old man made grimaces as hideous as if these 
 stakes had been in his own bowels. 
 
 Maniquet continued " You may therefore be easy, 
 Father Cadet, for your land will not be confounded 
 with that of your neighbors, and in the year we will 
 find it better than ever, for I need not tell you that hay 
 ashes and offal will make famous manure. Oh ! the 
 land needed a year's rest, for you will confess you over- 
 cropped it. What is the matter ? Are you sick ?" 
 
 The old man trembled, and Maniquet offered him his 
 arm, which Cadet refused. 
 
 " Very well, Cousin Maniquet. I am glad you told 
 me this, for a man fore-warned is fore-armed." 
 
 " Then you will pay me at Martinmas ?" 
 
 " I do not say so."
 
 THE HORIZON DARKENS. 359 
 
 " You will not pay me ?" 
 
 " I do not say so." 
 
 " What then ?" 
 
 " We will see." This was a by-word of Father 
 Cadet. 
 
 " Adieu, Cousin and company" said Cadet. 
 
 With death in his heart, he returned towards the vil- 
 lage, dragging his paralytic leg behind him. 
 
 " Lord God," said C^det, " it lacked but tKs. That 
 field cost me four hundred louis d'or, and that beggar 
 will buy it for a morsel of bread." 
 
 In a yet lower tone he added 
 
 " It shall not be. I will sooner strangle him with my 
 good hand."
 
 XXII. 
 
 ALL BUT CONSCIENCE 
 
 ON Inn return, Cadet found the space between the 
 cottages filled by the population of the village. 
 *It wa grouped around Bastien, who had re-appeured 
 in the village, with his face adorned with two sabre- 
 cuts, so that he was not to be recognised. They did 
 not, however, prevent Catharine from uttering cries of 
 joy as soon as she saw him. 
 
 One of these cuts he had when Mariette left him at 
 the door of the hospital ; the other he had gotten from 
 the cuirassier. 
 
 We have seen that Bastien had left Mariette asking 
 her to be perfectly easy on his account, he having 
 studied out a perfectly infallible cut at the face. 
 
 Unfortunately, the same idea sometimes occurs to 
 two people, and the cuirassier entertained at the same 
 moment, the idea he did, and Bastien received the blow 
 instead of the cuirassier, the latter exhibiting greater 
 quickness. 
 
 His first visit had been to Conscience, and he there- 
 fore came to see his comrade, and to ask how hia eyes 
 
 were, followed by all the village. 
 
 360
 
 ALL BUT CONSCIENCE. 361 
 
 "We know that Conscience's eyes were doing as well 
 as possible. Unfortunately, what took place between 
 Father Cadet and Maniquet proved that all was not 
 going on well in other respects. 
 
 Father Cadet had but one hope, that Master Niguet, 
 who had many moneyed men among his patrons, would 
 find some one ready, on a second mortgage, to advance 
 the sum due the person from whom Father Cadet had 
 purchased. 
 
 The thing became the more feasible, as when Mani- 
 quet was paid, the second would be the tirst mortgage. 
 
 As the next day, Mariette taking advantage of the 
 absence of the Russians, purposed to resume her trips 
 to Villers Cotterets, and reap as much advantage as 
 ever, from the milk the black cow gave in abundance, 
 it was arranged that Cadet should be placed on Pier- 
 rot, and being supported there by Conscience, should 
 call on Master Niguet to attempt to effect the negocia- 
 tion. 
 
 On the next day the old man and the two young 
 people set out. Bernard, as usual, drew his car, and 
 Pierrot bore Father Cadet. 
 
 Mariette would have regained all her old customers, 
 and would even have had new ones, if she had milk 
 enough. The black cow, however, gave but two mea- 
 sures of milk, that is, sixteen sous worth, an enormous 
 quantity for one cow. Mariette had therefore to serve 
 but a few, and gave offence thereby. 
 
 While she was going her round, Father Cadet was 
 taken by Conscience to Master Niguet's house. 
 
 He found the notary in the same place, in the same 
 chair, and surrounded by the same clerks. A throne 
 had fallen, an invasion had taken place, a dynasty had
 
 362 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 been restored, without removing a grain of dust from 
 the cushions of the venerable notary. 
 
 Conscience waited in the ante-room, where he found 
 Madame Niguet, to whom he had to tell his adven- 
 tures, at the end of which the old lady saw a marriage 
 contract to be drawn up by her husband. She sug- 
 gested it to Conscience, who received the proposition 
 sadly enough. Of Mariette and himself, he would in 
 a few months, probably, be the poorest, for if his sight, 
 according to Doctor Lacosse's anticipations was re- 
 stored, he would biing to Mariette a husband, if not 
 blind, maimed. 
 
 While Conscience was speaking to Mile. Niguet, and 
 while she, who had remedies for everything, was disap- 
 proving the prescription, Father Cadet, after a trouble- 
 some preamble, told the notary why he was come. 
 
 M. Niguet listened with the greatest attention, but 
 shook his head from time to time. 
 
 Father Cadet remarked these silent refusals. 
 
 " Is what I ask impossible, M. Niguet ?" said he. 
 
 " Not impossible, but difficult. You have no idea 
 how valuable money is, and people talk much of the 
 plans of Louis XVIII. in relation to the property of 
 the emigres, and especially of that of the church." 
 
 " You then think I cannot borrow ?" 
 
 " I do not say so. I will try, but I can- promise 
 nothing." 
 
 Father Cadet sighed, and shaking his head, said 
 sadly, " Ah ! the other took away our children, and 
 restored them to us without eyes, legs, or arms . . . 
 Sometimes he did not return them to us at all, but he 
 left us our lands." 
 
 " Father Cadet," said Master Niguet, " is it possible 
 that you are a Buonapartist ? If so, I beg you,
 
 ALL BUT CONSCIENCE. 363 
 
 highly as I prize your patronage, to give it to M. 
 Menesson, or to M. Lebigue. I wish to hare only the 
 business of His Majesty's faithful subjects." 
 
 " Oh. M. Niguet excuse me if I said anything 
 wrong about either this one or the other. I go for the 
 land, and he who gives it me will be not only my king, 
 but my God, for he will give me and my family 
 bread." 
 
 Father Cadet arose, and trembling almost as much 
 as when, he had last been in the room, went to the door 
 muttering, 
 
 " Not able to borrow sixteen hundred francs on a 
 field worth twelve thousand, if it be worth a hard. Oh, 
 such things do not happen under the other. Adieu, M. 
 Niguet and the company, Come, Conscience." 
 
 Conscience could not see Father Cadet, but by the 
 sound of his voice, which was more tremulous, and his 
 tongue more indistinct than usual, he saw that the old 
 man had an unsatisfactory interview with the notary. 
 
 Mariette and Bernard awaited them on the green 
 lawn of the park. Mariette had been fortunate, and 
 had not a drop of milk left. 
 
 It was a great thing that this resource was left, but 
 with only sixteen sous a day to provide food for herself 
 and her mother, it was not probable, that economical as 
 she might be, she would be able to lay aside the eight 
 hundred francs which Father Cadet needed on Martin- 
 mas next. 
 
 At any other time they would have gone to Matthew, 
 who under a rude exterior was very kind. Half how- 
 ever of Mathieu's land had also belonged to the no- 
 bles and to the church and had like Cadet's been en- 
 camped on by the Kossacks. Nothing could be ex-
 
 364 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 pected from him, for during the sad year 1814 no thing 
 grew on his eighty acres, and if he had any ready mo- 
 Dey, as charity begins at home, it was probable that he 
 would keep it. 
 
 There was no doubt about the matter, though, for 
 only a few days before Matthew had gone for the same 
 purpose to M. Niguet, and had met with no better suc- 
 cess than Cadet had. 
 
 At any other time, too, Bastien would have offered 
 some resource. They might rely on his devotion to 
 Conscience, for the Hussar, like all kind hearts, as soon 
 as he knew the young man better, had passed from 
 one extremity to the other. A small resource might, 
 therefore, have been expected from Bastien, who drank 
 no white wine in the nforning, nor played checkers in 
 the evening, and who from the two hundred and fifty 
 francs of his cross, and his pension of four hundred 
 livres could easily have saved a hundred francs a month, 
 since having again taken the charge of Matthew's 
 horses, he was fed by him. Unfortunately, Bastien 
 was in as bad repute as Cadet and Matthew's land, for 
 since the return of the Bourbons, Bastien was become 
 a Brigand, a Buonapartist, a companion of the Ogre. 
 Consequently, the Government has ceased to look on 
 him as its creditor, and Bastien was much pressed 
 never having during his economy saved anything. 
 
 We know Julienne's farm-house had been burned, 
 and that the Kossacks had eaten up her cows. Far from 
 being able to help those who had saved her stock and 
 child, she had been reduced to such want, as to be 
 forced to enter the service of the farmer of Bonneuil her- 
 self as a manager. 
 
 At first they thought of selling Pierrot and Tardif,
 
 ALL BUT CONSCIENCE. 36S> 
 
 but Pierrot was very old, and his obstinacy being known 
 for twelve leagues around, lessened his value. Tardif, 
 though yet able to draw the plough, was not fit for the 
 butcher. Kossack teeth alone could have masticated 
 him, and the gentlemen from the Don and Volga, who 
 were in the habit of eating their horses, when too old 
 for service, were all gone. 
 
 Besides, Conscience, he and Mariette alone, with the 
 hopefulness of young hearts, did not despair, were op- 
 posed to selling Pierrot and Tardif. He had on his re- 
 turn, a long conversation with them, and in their names 
 made ample promise of services they were yet able to 
 render. 
 
 Conscience was a sublime image of the faith that ani- 
 mated him. Father Cadet, completely discouraged, 
 never left his bed, except for his chair, and his chair but 
 for his bed. To all objections he replied only by shrugs. 
 
 Though the land was in danger of gliding into Mani- 
 quet's hands from Father Cadet's, Conscience would 
 not neglect it, and consequently having harnessed Tar- 
 dif and Pierrot to the plough, thanks to his voice, was 
 able to revive all their strength and ploughed the land. 
 
 On the second day he told Father Cadet so. 
 
 " "Well," said the old man, " but where shall we get 
 seed from ?" 
 
 " God will provide it," said Conscience, calmly. 
 
 " Yes," said Cadet, with a sad smile, " but suppose 
 he gives us seed in October, in November we owe eight 
 hundred francs to Maniquet, and who will give that ? 
 Will God ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" said Conscience, with sublime naivety. 
 
 Father Cadet was incredulous, and shook his head. 
 
 In October, Conscience harnessed the animals to the
 
 366 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 wagon, and went to the farmers in the neighborhood, 
 with his sweet, sad smile, and said to them, 
 
 "If you have more corn than you need for seed, give 
 me some to sow Father Cadet's land. God will restore 
 to you what you give me, by averting the storm from 
 your fields, and the birds from the ripened grain." 
 
 All gave to Conscience, not only of their superfluity 
 but a portion of what they needed. Country people re- 
 fuse each other money but not corn. 
 
 One who would not give a beggar a hard, will share 
 with him his loaf. 
 
 Conscience returned at night with three sacks of grain, 
 a little more than he needed to sow Cadet's land. 
 
 The old man was surprised, and lifted up his hands 
 to heaven in thankfulness, as six months before he had 
 done in despair. 
 
 That evening Conscience felt his strength much great- 
 er, and without saying any thing, took the prayer-book 
 of Madeleine, opened it, and to the great surprise of the 
 three women, who shed tears of joy, read aloud : 
 
 " What shall I render to the Lord for all that I have 
 received from him ? He has loved me, and has rescued 
 me from death, for love of me. He has covered me with 
 grace in this world, and prepared me for eternal life. 
 Oh, my soul, bless the Lord ! Let all that is in me 
 bless his holy name 1" 
 
 On the next day, Conscience sowed Father Cadet's 
 land as if the old man had only eight days after, 
 that is to say, on the llth of November, to pay the 
 terrible sum of eight hundred livres, which, like Da- 
 mocles' sword, hung above his head, and that of all his 
 family. 
 
 While Conscience was seeding, he received several
 
 ALL B0T CONSCIENCE. 367 
 
 visits from Cousin Maniquet, who encouraged him in 
 his praiseworthy efforts, with a voice which betrayed 
 both anxiety and irony, as the calmness of the young 
 man terrified the usurer, or as the known destitution of 
 the family encouraged him.
 
 XXIII. 
 
 OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS 
 
 fatal 1 1 th of November came, an& M. Niguet 
 
 |_ had sent no message, either verbal or otierwise. 
 
 The emotion of debtor and creditor -were equally 
 great. The debtor was pained at being unable to pay; 
 the creditor feared he might be paid. 
 
 The llth of November passed without a word from 
 Cadet. He was satisfied that all effort to procure the 
 frightful sum was vain. 
 
 The other members of the family were equally silent. 
 
 Night came, and none slept except Conscience, who 
 slumbered calmly as usual. 
 
 On the next day, at dawn, he set out to harrow. 
 
 At the end of the village he met Maniquet. 
 
 " Good morning, my lad. Whither so early ?" 
 
 " Good morning, Cousin," said Conscience " and 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, I have business in the city." 
 
 " I am going to the field." 
 
 " By the by, the field, you know, my lad . . ." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 368
 
 OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS. 369 
 
 " It is not paid. Strange, in so exact a man." 
 
 " If he did not pay, Cousin Maniquet, you may be 
 sure it is because he could not." 
 
 " Yes, but will he pay to-day or to-morrow ?" asked 
 he with the anxiety naturally inspired by Conscience's 
 very great calmness. 
 
 " I do not think he can." 
 
 " How ? You don't think he can ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But you know I warned him." 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 " That if he did not pay at the appointed time I 
 would enforce my rights." 
 
 " Do so, Cousin Maniquet," said Conscience with 
 the game tranquility. 
 
 During this conversation, Tardif and Pierrot had 
 stopped, but at Conscience's voice they resumed their 
 route. 
 
 " And you are not going to harrow ?" asked Mani- 
 quet. 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Why not ? I told you" 
 
 " Not at all. The land will yield a crop to some 
 one to you perhaps, if it does not remain in Father 
 Cadet's possession. Whoever though has it for the 
 time being, should keep it in good order." 
 
 " Good lad. Continue to act so, for you are in the 
 right road." 
 
 " And do you, Cousin, pause, for I fear you are 
 not" 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself that is my business," and 
 Maniquet continued on to Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 There was this difference however between them. 
 Maniquet frequently looked silently back on Conscience
 
 370 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 and passed his hand over his sweaty brow, while the 
 other walked quietly on without looking back, with a 
 calm brow. 
 
 On the third day, at two in the evening, Cadet saw 
 M. Chaix, a huissier from Villers-Cotterets, a descend- 
 ant of Moliere M. Loyal, enter, and with a forced po- 
 liteness hand him a little piece of stamped paper. 
 
 " Put it on the table," said Cadet with anger in his 
 heart and a frown on his brow, for it was the first time 
 an officer of the law had ever crossed his door. 
 
 "Very well," said M. Chaix. "If you know what it 
 is, I have nothing to say. Good morning, M. Cadet." 
 
 " Good morning, M. Chaix and company. This is 
 probably the last stamped paper you will bring me, 
 and we will not be apt to meet again." 
 
 Madeleine sate in the corner, and M. Chaix did not 
 see her. She wiped away the tears with her apron. 
 
 Father Ca'det took the paper, and turned it over and 
 over again. 
 
 Just then Conscience came in. He had put Pierrot 
 and Tardif in the stable after having harrowed the 
 ground. 
 
 " Look at this paper M. Chaix has just brought," 
 said Cadet. " Can you tell what it says ?" 
 
 Conscience said " Yes, grandpapa it is a summons 
 to pay interest and capital." 
 
 " Well, what is to be done ?" 
 
 " Wait for a second summons." 
 
 " Will there be a second ?" 
 
 There will be." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 " On the day after to-morrow, probably." 
 
 " Who told you so ?" 
 
 " I enquired."
 
 OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS. 371 
 
 " Of whom ?' 
 
 " Of a good man, whom Maniquet spoke to, before 
 the term expired, to prosecute you, and who refused," 
 
 " Who is he ?" aeked Cadet, amazed that any huis- 
 sier should refuse to prosecute a debtor. 
 
 " M. Demay." 
 
 " Ah !" said Cadet. " He was a friend of poor 
 William. Then we must wait." 
 
 " Yes we must wait." 
 
 They did so. 
 
 Nothing is so exact as law papers, and what they 
 expected, came on the next day but one. 
 
 It was an iterative, under the penalty of a seizure of 
 immovables, to pay within twenty-four hours, &c. &c. 
 
 " Do you hear, my lad ?" said Cadet. 
 
 " Yes," said Conscience with his usual placidity. 
 " You should not be afraid : it is a form of law. A 
 delay of thirty -four days is allowed in part . . " 
 
 " How learned you are, Conscience," said Cadet, 
 surprised. 
 
 " Yes," said Conscience with a smile " thanks to 
 M. Demay." 
 
 " And what shall we do when the thirty-four days 
 are gone ?" 
 
 " M. Demay will tell us." 
 
 They waited until the 15th of December, when M. 
 Dechaix came with two attendants to draw up a pro- 
 ces-verbal of the seizure, and went on the spot to des- 
 cribe it. Father Cadet refused, but Conscience offered 
 to accompany them 
 
 " There is no use," said Cadet. " He will find some- 
 body." 
 
 Who?" 
 
 " Maniquet, to be sure." 
 24
 
 372 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 M. Chaix was obliged to hunt for the field alone. 
 Having however satisfied himself that neither Con- 
 science nor Cadet had gone, Cousin Maniquet came 
 himself. 
 
 When the huissiers were gone, Bastien glided into 
 the cottage. 
 
 " Conscience," said he, " come here. I have some- 
 thing to say." 
 
 Conscience smiled and gave him his hand. 
 
 " I have an idea," said Bastien. 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " That we take our sabres. You have yours, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And hide ourselves in the wood." 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 ' To wait for them." 
 
 " For whom ?" 
 
 " The huissiers, and give them such a drubbing that 
 the devil would not know them. That would be plea- 
 sant, as we said in the Eegiment." 
 
 " Hush, Bastien," said Conscience, " do not think 
 of such a thing, which would ruin us entirely, if we be 
 not lost already." 
 
 " Name of names to think those beggars suppressed 
 my cross and pension !" 
 
 He made a gesture, which recalled Ajax blaspheming 
 the Gods. 
 
 " Ah ! if an opportunity comes to send them back 
 again, will it not be pleasant ? If you need me, Con- 
 science, remember I am yours for life or death." 
 
 Bastien left murmuring, " Curse the Huissiers and 
 the Bourbons, what on earth are they for, except to 
 incense hoi.est people ?"
 
 OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS. 373 
 
 Two days after, M. Chaix, passing through Hara- 
 mont, left a copy of the seizure, which fixed the day of 
 sale at six weeks, that is, towards the end of Jan. 1815. 
 
 Conscience, at the old man's request, read the paper 
 from beginning to end. 
 
 " Well ! do you see ?" said he, when Conscience was 
 done. 
 
 " Yes," said the young man, " it is true that a sale 
 is ordered in six weeks." 
 
 " Then in six weeks they will sell ?" 
 
 " No, grand-papa." 
 
 " But the stamped paper says so." 
 
 " Bah ! Grand-papa, if one believed all the stamped 
 paper said, one would be perpetually afraid of being 
 broken on the wheel." 
 
 " Jest away." 
 
 " I do not jest," said Conscience gravely. 
 
 " You hope the land will not be sold ?" 
 
 " I am sure it will not be sold." 
 
 " Plow will you help it." 
 
 " I will go to Soissons, and employ an advocate, who 
 will make an incident . . . . " 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " We will ask a delay of three, and six months, in 
 consideration of the circumstances." 
 
 " But that will cost fifty francs, at least." 
 
 " It will cost an hundred." 
 
 " Where am I get them ?" 
 
 " I will try to find them." 
 
 " And if you do, if the lawyer makes the incident 
 and obtains a delay of three, of six months, what then ?" 
 
 " What then ?" 
 
 " Yes."
 
 374 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Grand-father, one should not always doubt as 
 you do." 
 
 " Why not ? I look around me, ahd see nothing." 
 
 " Look, grand-father, at that little piece of blue sky. 
 Do you see nothing there ?" 
 
 Father Cadet put his hand over his eyes, and looked 
 attentively. He said, 
 
 " I see nothing." 
 
 " Well, I see God," said Conscience. 
 
 " Grand -father," said Madeleine, " confide in this boy. 
 He is, I tell you, a blessing to the house."
 
 XXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH AN INCIDENT NOT PRODUCED BY THE SoiS- 
 SONS LAWYER OCCURS. 
 
 THE reader, perhaps, is surprised that for some 
 time we have not spoken of Dame Marie and 
 Marietta Why should we? Their lives were so min- 
 gled with those of their neighbors that to tell one was 
 to tell the other. To say that Madeleine wept, is to 
 say that Dame Marie was unhappy, to say that Con- 
 science did not despair, was to say that Mariette hoped. 
 
 The young people seemed to love the more as their 
 misery increased. They leaned on each other for mu- 
 tual support. 
 
 It will be remembered that the sale had been fixed 
 for the latter part of December. Conscience waited 
 until tne loth without any apparent anxiety, and on 
 the 16th set out. 
 
 He returned the same night, having travelled the 
 fourteen leagues in one day, but as the road was good 
 and frozen hard he returned fresh as if from a mere 
 stroll in the forest. 
 375
 
 376 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 He was anxiously waited for. 
 
 Bernard, who had accompanied him, announced his 
 return by appearing first at the door. 
 
 All hurried to meet him. 
 
 He approached with a cheerful smile. 
 
 " Well !" cried they all, when they were in sound of 
 hie voice. 
 
 " God has blessed my voyage, I could not pass 
 Longpont, without seeing the old Doctor. You re- 
 member him, Mariette." 
 
 " Yes and then " 
 
 " I told him the object of my journey : he gave me 
 a letter to one of bis friends, a lawyer, who not only 
 undertook the case gratis, but promised to make any 
 advance necessary if we take the matter into the Cour 
 Koyale. 
 
 Dame Marie clasped her hands, and Mariette said : 
 " I knew it." 
 
 Father Cadet shook his head, for he could not see 
 how Huissiers refused to prosecute, and lawyers acted 
 gratis, and even made advances. 
 
 Conscience alone, could work such miracles. 
 
 Cadet would not believe it at first. He had to do so, 
 soon, for one day on her return. from the city, Mariette 
 brought a letter. 
 
 It was from M. Grevin, a lawyer at Soissons, and 
 said that a delay until the 15th of March had been 
 granted. 
 
 M. Grevin could obtain nothing more. His letter 
 was post paid. 
 
 There was a respite for two months. Conscience 
 was right, for they could now trust in God, and even 
 Father Cadet hoped.
 
 AN INCIDENT. 377 
 
 The lawyer said that, having obtained the first delay, 
 he would ask for another. True, the Court rarely 
 granted the second delay, but sometimes it did. 
 
 Time rolled on, and the ruin of Cadet was become 
 the village theme, and we must say of the three hundred 
 people in Haramont, two hundred were deeply grieved 
 at Cousin Maniquet, whose conduct was much cen- 
 sured. 
 
 Cousin Maniquet therefore, instead of repenting, did 
 as base minds are wont to, and instead, by repentance, 
 of regaining his popularity by offering Cadet time, 
 went himself to Soissons, where he employed a lawyer 
 to press matters, who promised that the Court would 
 not grant a second delay. 
 
 Thus it is with lawyers and Huissiers, among whom 
 are both good and bad, though unfortunately the lat- 
 ter are the most numerous. 
 
 About the 1st of March, a letter from M. Grevin 
 came. He wrote to the family to collect all its resour- 
 ces, and appeal to all its friends. He had seen several 
 of the judges of the court, who had been surrounded 
 by agents of the adverse party, and who fearing they 
 would be accused of protecting a detainer of the pro- 
 perty of the nation, would grant no additional delay. 
 
 When this sad letter arrived, Cadet, who had begun 
 to feel his hopes revive, was leaning on Madeleine's 
 arm, after a visit to his land. 
 
 He found his field looking well, and apparently 
 grateful for the care he took of it. The Kossack's 
 manure had done wonders, and everywhere it looked 
 like a green carpet. It was now high enough to wave 
 in the breeze, half winter, half spring of March. 
 
 He would now be very obstinate if he hoped, and 
 tears came into his eyes.
 
 378 THE CONSCIIIPT. 
 
 To abandon the field won with such toil, and from 
 which he hoped so much, when the next harvest would 
 have paid what was due, even with the costs ! To 
 abandon it because a man, a Christian, would not allow 
 him a little time, which all men except the executioner 
 grants his fellows. 
 
 There was now no help. 
 
 Bastien, who shared all their counsels, offered to go 
 and cut throats with Maniquet, if the latter would con- 
 sent. 
 
 That was a bad idea, for Maniquet would not con- 
 sent. 
 
 Mariette proposed a new pilgrimage to Liesse, to 
 which Conscience objected, " Our Lady of Liesse 
 knows all things. She is aware of our trouble, and of 
 our faith, and knows our wishes will come to us." 
 
 Father Cadet did but sigh, and go from his cham- 
 ber to his bed, and back again. The old man in his 
 excitement almost forgot the terrible attack of apoplexy, 
 which had stricken him a year before. 
 
 The fatal moment drew nearer and nearer, and the 
 danger of the unfortunate family was more imminent. 
 Thus passed the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th of March. 
 The sale was to take place on the 15th. 
 
 On the morning of the 7th, while the two families 
 breakfasted at the round table, which was poorly 
 enough supplied, Bernard seemed uneasy, and went to 
 the door. Suddenly Bastien rushed in pale, with wild 
 eyes, and dripping with sweat, appeared at the door 
 with a printed paper in his hand. 
 
 All arose, for they saw he bore great and important 
 news. 
 
 " Landed," said Bastien " landed." 
 
 " Who ?" asked Conscience.
 
 AN INCIDENT. 379 
 
 " He, I tell you, he !" 
 
 But who ?" 
 
 "The Emperor." 
 
 " The Emperor," cried all. 
 
 " The Emperor landed ?" asked Conscience. 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " I do not know. But he has landed." 
 
 " You are mad, Bastien." 
 
 " Not so. The paper says he has landed." 
 
 The news was" really so great that all forgot their 
 private sorrows. 
 
 Conscience took the paper from Bastien's hand, and 
 read 
 
 " ORDERS. 
 
 " On the information of our beloved and faithful 
 Chevalier, the Sieur Dambray, Chancellor of France, 
 commander of our orders, we have ordered and decreed 
 as follows : 
 
 " ARTICLE I. 
 
 " Napoleon Bonaparte is declared a traitor and rebel, 
 having invaded the Department of Var with an armed 
 force. 
 
 " Consequently it is enjoined on all Governors, com- 
 manders of armed forces, National Guards, civil autho- 
 rities, and individuals, to oppose, arrest, and take him. 
 at once before a council of war, which having identified, 
 shall subject him to the penalties assigned by law. 
 
 " Given at the Chateau of the Tuilleries, March 6, 
 1815, in the twentieth year of our reign. 
 
 " Louis." 
 
 " What !" said Bastien, " twentieth year of our 
 reign that cannot be." 
 / " It is printed as is the rest." 
 
 " Well, I like that. But what the Journal says
 
 <80 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 about Louis XVIII. having reigned twenty years, is 
 ot true." 
 
 " Who knows ?" said Conscience, " so many strange 
 things ha^e happened " 
 
 " What ! did I serve Louis XVIII. ? Did he gain 
 the battles of Austerlitz, Jena and Wagram 1 Did I 
 lose these fingers and get this cut for Louis XVIII. ? 
 *nd did he give me this cross ? This is pleasant, as 
 we said in the Regiment." 
 
 Bastien would have been more diffuse, but. the vil- 
 lage was roused, and hearing the noise on the Place, he 
 could not concentrate his energy in Father Cadet's 
 cottage. 
 
 He took the paper from Conscience, and left shouting, 
 
 " Bah ! in the twentieth of our reign !" 
 . The inhabitants of the cottage in the first place were 
 stunned, but did not see how it could affect their fate. 
 
 It did, however, in the highest degree. The gigantic 
 etar had almost invisible planets. 
 
 On the 1st of March Napoleon disembarked at the 
 gulf of Juan. 
 
 A courier from Marseilles took the news to Lyons 
 on the night of the 4th and 5th. 
 
 On the 5th it was sent to Paris by telegraph. 
 
 The Monitor of the 6th contained the orders just read. 
 
 On the 7th the journals conveyed the news to the pro- 
 vinces* 
 
 When the provinces heard of the debarcation Napo- 
 leon was at Grenoble. On the 12th he was at Lyons. 
 On the 14th he marched on Paris. 
 
 On the 15th, it will be remembered, Cadet's sale was 
 to take place. 
 
 On the 12th, however, M. Grevin requested the Court 
 in consideration of the circumstances, to postpone the
 
 AN INCIDENT. 381 
 
 sale. As the circumstances were grave, the sale was 
 postponed until the 1 5th of June following. 
 
 This was the incident which prevented Cadet's land 
 from being* sold March 15. 
 
 M. Grevin had not foreseen, but took advantage of 
 this incident.
 
 XXV. 
 
 DEUS EX MACHINA, 
 
 AT eight o'clock on the evening of the 20th of 
 March, Napoleon entered the Tuilleries. 
 
 He set to work at once to organize every thing. 
 Cambaceres wa& made Minister of Justice, the Duke of 
 Vicenza appointed to Foreign Affairs, Davoust to War, 
 the Duke of Gaeta to Finance, Decres to the Navy, 
 Fouche to Police, and Carnot to the Interior. 
 
 On the 26th of March all the corps of the Empire 
 were convoked to express to Napoleon the wishes of 
 France. 
 
 On the 27th one might have fancied the Bourbons 
 had never existed. 
 
 " Mon Dieu !" said Bastien, " I wonder if he yet 
 dates his decrees ' in the twentieth year of our reign.' " 
 
 In all this Father Cadet had seen but one thing ; that 
 the nobles and priests were not to be feared, that his 
 land had recovered its original value, and that he might 
 be able to borrow on it not only the eight hundred 
 livres he owed Cousin Maniquet, but the three or four 
 hundred francs costs for the two orders of sale, de- 
 lays, &c. 
 
 383
 
 DEUS EX MACHINA. 383 
 
 Consequently he had himself placed again on Pierrot, 
 and as he was now better, accompanied by Mariette 
 alone, early in April he went to the house of M. Niguet 
 on the Soissons road in Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 He came to ask if a loan was not more feasible under 
 the Empire than under the Monarchy. 
 
 M. Niguet, none knew why, was a great royalist, 
 and received his old client very coldly, telling him the 
 Government of July 20 had no stability, and that he 
 knew certainly that the allies were eagerly arming, and 
 that the return on which Cadet relied was but the pre- 
 lude of a second invasion. 
 
 Father Cadet returned to Haramont more downcast 
 than ever. M. Niguet was his oracle, not only in law, 
 but in politics. 
 
 What most terrified Cadet was, that Maniquet, who 
 like Niguet, had doubtless his agents abroad, telling 
 him what the allied sovereigns intended to do, was not 
 at all uneasy, and went about rubbing his hands, and 
 saying, 
 
 " Ah ! we will see what incident M. Grevin will 
 raise now.' 
 
 About the beginning of May, M. Grevin wrote a 
 letter to Cadet, advising him to take advantage of the 
 circumstances and collect all his resources, as there was 
 no means of preventing or even delaying the sale any 
 longer. 
 
 Time rolled by with a rapidity which events seemed 
 to double. All Napoleon's efforts to obtain peace 
 failed. He had written a circular to the kings his bro- 
 thers, to which some had replied No, and others had 
 made no answer. 
 
 He had announced the speedy arrival of the Empress
 
 384 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 and the King of Rome, but at the end of May they 
 had not come. 
 
 His circular had found the kings his brothers busy 
 with important matters. 
 
 They were dividing Europe at the Congress of Vi- 
 enna. 
 
 There was at the capital of Austria a great drawing 
 of blanks, a public adjudication of souls. 
 
 Alexander the Lion first put forth his paw, and took 
 the Grand-Dutchy of Warsaw. 
 
 The Emperor Francis, who had a great moral ad- 
 vantage over other sovereigns, in having dethroned his 
 daughter and grand-son, claimed Italy as it was before 
 the treaty of Campio Formio. He wished to collect 
 again what his two-headed eagle had let fall after the 
 various treaties of Luneville, Presbourg and Vienna. 
 
 Prussia devoured parts of Saxony, Poland, West- 
 phalia and Franconia, and unrolled itself like a huge 
 enake, with its tail on the Memel and its head at Thron- 
 ville on the Rhine. 
 
 The Statholder of Holland, elevated to the grade of 
 king, asked that the addition to his hereditary states of 
 Belgium, Liege, and Luxembourg might be his. 
 
 The King of Sardinia asked that Genoa might be 
 added to his continental states, from which he had been 
 absent fifteen years. 
 
 Each great power, like the marble lions sculptors 
 used to put at the gates of gardehs, wished to keep 
 some little kingdom like a ball under its claw. Russia 
 wanted Poland, Prussia Saxony, Austria Piedmont, 
 Spain Portugal, and England, which had paid the ex- 
 pense of five coalitions, wanted two kingdoms, Holland 
 and Hanover, instead of one. 
 
 It will be seen that these details kept Napoleon's
 
 DEUS EX MACHINA. 385 
 
 brothers, the kings, too busy for them to be able to re- 
 ply to him. 
 
 He had then to appeal to the diplomacy of the can- 
 non, which we must after all say, the Conqueror of the 
 Pyramids and of Marengo and Austerlitz was most 
 familiar with. 
 
 This diplomacy frightened Madeleine very much, for 
 she was afraid her son would be called out again ; the 
 sight of Conscience, however, was yet very weak. 
 
 Catharine was equally afraid on Bastien's account. 
 Bastien had twice returned from that fine thing called 
 war, once minus a portion of his hand, and a second 
 time, plus two sabre cuts. She was afraid that the third 
 time he would not come back at all. 
 
 They \vere not thought of, for without them, the Em- 
 peror had collected an army of one hundred and eighty 
 thousand men. 
 
 Having long hesitated whether with this force he 
 would await the coalition in France, or venture to march 
 against it, he determined to bear the war into Belgium, 
 to surprise the enemy by one of those bold movements 
 he only had the secret of. Had God seconded him, he 
 would have crushed and annihilated Wellington and 
 Blucher when they thought him hors de combat. 
 
 Early in June, thirty or forty thousand men passed 
 by Villers-Cotterets to Soissons, Laon and to Mezieres. 
 The heart of Bastien bounded with delight at the sound 
 of the trumpets and drums and the cries of Vive FEm- 
 pereur. 
 
 Bastien would have been happy during the first fort- 
 night of June, had not the recollection of Conscience dis- 
 tressed him, and if he had not known that on the 15th 
 of the month which presented to him so magnificent a 
 spectacle, a whole family would be ruined.
 
 386 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 He shook his head, knit his brows, and said in a tone 
 half of sorrow, half anger, 
 
 " Name of names." 
 
 But all Bastien's oaths brought no remedy. On the 
 8th of June, the last troops passed, and there being 
 nothing to see at Villers-Cotterets, Bastien returned to 
 Haramont. 
 
 The whole village pitied Cadet, but either from self- 
 ishness or inability, no one prepared to aid him. We 
 know that unaided, the old man could not but be ruined. 
 
 He went from his bed to his door, and laid down on- 
 ly when his strength was exhausted. This excitement, 
 however, did him much good, and made him use the 
 paralyzed leg almost as well as the other, and when he 
 thought of Cousin Maniquet, he used the left arm almost 
 as well as the right. 
 
 He never, however, went to his land. 
 
 Instead of clinging together, the women avoided each 
 other, for they could exchange no consolation. Some- 
 times, they met unintentionally at church, whither each 
 had gone to utter the same prayer. 
 
 Even Conscience was less calm. It was in vain he 
 said to Mariette, " Be easy, for nothing shall separate 
 us." 
 
 She heard this promise with all the sympathies of her 
 soul, but wept as she said, 
 
 " Then you mean, Conscience, that nothing shall 
 separate us." 
 
 Conscience had been to see Matthew who had dis- 
 charged his first ploughman, to whom he gave five hun- 
 dred francs a year and his board, and asked employ- 
 ment in his place. 
 
 Matthew engaged him at once, and said if Mariette
 
 DEUS EX MACHIAA. 387 
 
 wished employment as dairy-maid, she too would be 
 employed, and could sell the milu. at the city. 
 
 Matthew knew that by confiding this to Mariette eve- 
 ry drop would be sold, Mariette would make one hun- 
 dred and fifty francs a year, and would also like Con- 
 science be fed. 
 
 This double promise was a great security for the 
 future, and Conscience on his return to the cottage 
 communicated it to the rest of the family. Lodged and 
 fed at the farm, Conscience and Mariette, by keeping 
 two hundred and fifty francs for themselves, could put 
 four hundred in the common chest of the two families, 
 that is, enough to feed the two families. 
 
 This, though, far from consoling Father Cadet, in- 
 creased his sadness. 
 
 " Ah !" murmured he, " to plough the land of others 
 instead of one's own, is hard." 
 
 To Conscience it presented one advantage. It has- 
 tened his marriage with Mariette, for it was almost im- 
 possible for them to leave home for Matthew's houfe 
 without being married. 
 
 It was determined then to accept Matthew's offer, 
 and to publish at once the banns of Conscience and 
 Mariette. 
 
 This being resolved on, the two young people deter- 
 mined on no longer delay. On the 12th of June Con- 
 science and Mariette went together to register their 
 names at the Maire's of Villers-Cotterets, the principal 
 place of their canton. 
 
 God granted them at least the consolation of beimj: 
 unhappy together. They were received with great 
 sympathy, and all were ready to pity them, to pity Fa- 
 ther Cadet, and to throw a stone at Maniquet. 
 
 Sympathy however was not strong enough to induce 
 25
 
 388 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 any one to offer them the twelve or fourteen hundred 
 francs they needed. 
 
 It happened that at nine o'clock A. M., Conscience 
 and Mariette were waiting for the Maire's to open 
 ten was the hour. An important piece of intelligence, 
 substituted curiosity for the sympathy they excited. 
 
 The carrier was distributing the newspapers, in the 
 official part of which was read : 
 
 " JUNE 11. His Majesty the Emperor will leave 
 Paris for the army at nine to-morrow. He will pass by 
 Soissons, Laon, and by Mezieres." 
 
 He must then go through Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 He was to leave on the 12th, for the paper which 
 said " to-morrow " was dated on the llth of June. If 
 he set out at nine, he would pass Villerci-Cotterets at 
 noon. 
 
 The passage of Napoleon was a sufficiently great 
 event to make the people of Villers-Cotterets forget the 
 misfortunes of Cadet, and the sympathy excited by the 
 inauspicious marriage of Conscience and Mariette. 
 
 All the people therefore went into the streets, run- 
 ning in groups hither and thither. 
 
 Conscience and Mariette had not been insensible to 
 this news, and the latter had asked Conscience to re- 
 main at Villers-Cotterets, to enable her to see the man 
 of whom from him and Bastien she had heard so much. 
 
 Conscience consented, and they resolved after having 
 made the double declaration at the Maire and at the 
 church, to wait at the post-house, where the Imperial 
 cortege must stop. 
 
 At noon they did so. The rumor of the Emperor's 
 coming had spread to the neighboring village, and all 
 hurried to see the man of destiny. 
 
 About one, Bastien came, having heard the news
 
 DEUS EX MACHINA. 389 
 
 twenty minutes before. He took five minutes to put 
 on his uniform and sabre, and came a league in fifteen 
 minutes. 
 
 " Name of names !" said he, " I am in time." 
 
 Looking around, he said, " Ah, Conscience, I hoped 
 to find you and Mariette here." 
 
 " Did you look for us ? did you wish to see us ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 " You will know. I have my ideas " 
 
 " Are they good ?" 
 
 " Ah ! if they succeed, it will be pleasant, as we said at 
 the Regiment. But ch. I hear wheels. It may be 
 the Little Corporal." 
 
 " But," said a citizen, " he cannot be here so soon." 
 
 "Eighteen leagues at four leagues and a half an 
 hour. He left at nine, and it has struck one. He can- 
 not be far. Eh, postillion ?" 
 
 He spoke to one of twenty or thirty postillions, who, 
 decked with tri-colored ribands, awaited Napoleon. 
 
 " Certainly. He left Paris at nine, and cannot be 
 far from Vauciennes now." 
 
 " Ch," said Bastien. 
 
 All conversation stopped. Every eye and ear waa 
 on the alert, and the sound of wheels was heard. 
 
 Then arose in the distance, the cry " Vive PEmpe- 
 reur." 
 
 Just then, as if under the influence of electricity, the 
 crowd trembled, and the cry " Vive 1'Empereur" arose 
 from every heart. Napoleon was, at this time the im- 
 personation of nationality, for in their brief passage, the 
 Bourbons had seemed anything else. 
 
 Amid all this the carriages drew near.
 
 390 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 All at once the shouts were reiterated, mingled with 
 " there ! there !" 
 
 The crowd opened, and three carriages drawn by 
 horses white with foam, and driven by postillions cov- 
 ered with dust, dashed down the streets of Soissons. 
 
 The first was drawn by six horses, and held three 
 persons ; two on the back, and one on the front seat. 
 
 On the back seat were Napoleon, and Jerome on his 
 left hand. 
 
 The other occupant was General Letort. 
 
 The cries of " Vive PEmpereur" were perfectly phre- 
 netic. 
 
 The Emperor lifted up his head, bowed with thought, 
 and asked : 
 
 "Where are we?" 
 
 A firm voice replied, " At Villers-Cotterets, my 
 Emperor." 
 
 Napoleon looked kindly at the speaker, who was 
 Bastien. 
 
 Two paces from the carriage door, and exactly oppo- 
 site it, stood the Hussar, erect and motionless, with one 
 hand on his colbach, and with the little finger of the 
 other on the seam of his pantaloons. 
 
 The Emperor saw the cross on his uniform, the sabre 
 cuts on his face, and his mutilated hand. 
 
 " Ah ! one of my braves ?" 
 
 " Who dates from Marengo, sire." 
 
 " And the sabre cut ?" 
 
 " From Austerlitz." 
 
 " And the cross V" 
 
 " From Wugram, sire." 
 
 " Come hither." 
 
 " I am here, sire." 
 
 " Can I do any thing for you ?"
 
 DEUS EX M A c H i N A . 391 
 
 " Thanks, your Majesty. I ask only your esteem, but 
 if you would do something for my comrade I would 
 thank you." 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 " There. Conscience, do you not hear His Majesty 
 call you ?" 
 
 The Emperor had not done so, and Conscience stood 
 motionless. 
 
 " Come hither," said the Emperor. 
 
 Conscience drew near, and Mariette clinging to him 
 like the ivy to the oak, hung panting on his arm. 
 
 " Well !" said the Emperor, " what do you ask for 
 your comrade ?" 
 
 " Sire, this fellow, Conscience, here, goes into fire 
 coolly as his dog does into his water. You can see 
 his dog there behind him. He too, was a Hussar, but 
 belonged to those with four wheels ; so that one day, it 
 was at Laon, Sire, you may remember it, for you and 
 I were both there, his caisson blew up. Fortunately, 
 it was a trifle, for he was only blind six months, and 
 now is delighted to see you. But that is not it." 
 
 " Well, what is it then ?" said the Emperor with the 
 brusquerie, and good nature which made him the idol 
 of his soldiers. " Go on; I am in haste." 
 
 " The Kossacks trampled on Father Cadet's fields 
 to such a purpose, that last year they produced nothing 
 and the old man could not pay eight hundred francs, 
 he owed an old usurer named Maniquet, who had a 
 mortgage on his land, which the men with spectacles 
 fixed so that all will be sold in three days, and the family, 
 with Mariette, there, is she not pretty, my Emperor ? 
 are obliged to go as hirelings to old Matthew, a very 
 good man, by-the-by But as Father Cadet says, ' It
 
 392 THE CONSCBIPT 
 
 is hard to plough another man's land, instead of one's 
 own.' 
 
 " And what does this lad want?" 
 
 " Oh ! in three days he will want a large sum, fifteen 
 hundred francs at least." 
 
 " Jerome," said the Emperor, smiling, " where is the 
 purse ?" 
 
 " Sire," said the ex-king of Wesphalia, " under the 
 seat, but I must have a few hundred Napoleons in my 
 travelling-desk." 
 
 " Give them to me." 
 
 Jerome poured into the Emperor's hands all the gold 
 he had. 
 
 " Come hither my lass," said the Emperor, " and hold 
 out your apron." 
 
 Mariette obeyed in silence. Her bosom, however, 
 panted, and her eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 The Emperor let the golden shower fall into her 
 apron. 
 
 Turning to Conscience, and fixing his eagle eye on 
 him, he said : 
 
 " Did I not tell you, when we met again to ask me 
 for something ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire. Your Majesty bade me ask for the 
 cross." 
 
 " Why did you not ? It is well my memory is better 
 than yours." 
 
 Taking off the cross, which he was in the habit of 
 fastening to his coat by a pin, that when the oppor- 
 tunity afforded, he might give it away, he presented it 
 to Conscience, who received it with a cry of joy, and 
 first kissed the Imperial hand, and then the cross. 
 
 " Your name is Conscience, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes Sire."
 
 DEUB EX MACHINA. 393 
 
 " Letort, write it in^your agenda. You, my man," 
 said he to Bastien, " I thank. Having served me as 
 you have in war, you cannot serve me better in peace. 
 Let us hurry, Jerome. We have lost a quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 " Not so, Sire," said the King of Westphalia. " In 
 that quarter of an hour you have made three people 
 happy." 
 
 " True. Adieu my friends. Pray for me, and for 
 Prance." 
 
 His head fell again on his chest. 
 
 Cries of " Vive 1'Empereur" arose from every lip, 
 and the carriage was dragged by six horses rapidly 
 away, making sparks fly from the pavements. Horses, 
 coaches, drivers, all vanished like a vision full of light, 
 which appeared for an instant, but impressed itself for- 
 ever in the mind of those who had seen it. 
 
 Alas, all this hurried to Waterloo, that is, to ruin.
 
 XXVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 /CONSCIENCE stood motionless, with his cross in 
 \J his hand, and Mariette with the gold in her apron. 
 Bastien danced and tore his hair with joy. 
 
 " Name of names," said the Hussar, " this is a plea- 
 sure, as we said in the Eegiment." 
 
 The whole population saw this scene, some laughing, 
 Borne weeping. 
 
 Conscience felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, 
 as if from a dream, he looked around, and saw the 
 Huissier Demay, who had acted so kindly about Cadet, 
 and who had given him such good advice. 
 
 " Come," said he, " lose no time. Since God has 
 worked a miracle, let us use it There are but three 
 days before the sale, and we must make an offer to 
 Maniquet Give me twelve hundred francs, and I will 
 answer for everything, interest and capital. Hurry 
 with the good news to Father Cadet." 
 
 " Yes, yes, but Bastien first. Where are you, Bas- 
 tien ?" 
 
 894
 
 CONCLUSION. 395 
 
 He reached forth his hands, like a drunken man, 
 scarce able to stand. 
 
 " Here I am," said the Hussar, throwing himself on 
 his friend's bosom. 
 
 They clung together. 
 
 Then Mariette came and said, "And Bastien, will you 
 not kiss me ?" 
 
 " What, not do so when you ask me ? I will do it 
 twice." 
 
 He gave the young girl a burning sonorous kiss on 
 each cheek. 
 
 This first expansion of joy having been indulged in, 
 they thought of M. Demay's proposition. 
 
 They went into the post-house, and counted out sixty 
 Napoleons to the Huissier, who had taken charge of the 
 arrangement. There yet remained two hundred and 
 fifty Napoleons or five thousand francs. 
 
 This was a fortune. 
 
 " Come," said Bastien, " let us go to Haramont, at a 
 gallop. There are people there who weep, while we are 
 rejoicing." 
 
 " Dear Bastien thinks of all," said Conscience. 
 
 " Yes," said Mariette. " He is so kind, that I intend 
 to ask a favor of him." 
 
 " Of me ? Mariette, I promise to grant it before you 
 ask. Name of names ! it will be pleasant, as we said in 
 the Regiment." 
 
 " Very well I will hold you to your word, Bastien,'' 
 said Mariette. " Now for Haramont, for Haramont." 
 
 They hurried joyfully through the park, followed by 
 Bastien, who shouted after them, "Wait, wait; you 
 forget me." 
 
 Bastien had come in a quarter of an hour, but in con-
 
 396 THE CONSCRIPT. 
 
 sequence of waiting for Mariette, was twenty minutes 
 in returning to Haramont. 
 
 When they saw the cottages, Mariette paused, stifled 
 with emotion. 
 
 She wished to give Conscience the gold. 
 
 " You," said Conscience, " are the angel of the house 
 and should bear the good tidings." 
 
 " Thanks," said Mariette. 
 
 They looked around them, but Bastien had disap- 
 peared. The young man, under a rough exterior, hid 
 much delicacy, and did not wish to be present when 
 Conscience and Mariette reached the cottage. It would 
 look like claiming thanks. 
 
 They smiled, and each murmured, 
 
 " Kind Bastien." 
 
 Bernard, less delicate than Bastien, had preceded 
 them, and by his joyous bearing, seemingly proclaimed 
 himself the messenger of good news. 
 
 This joy of Bernard, whose intelligence was well 
 known, caused some surprise in the house. Madeleine 
 closed the book of prayers, from which she was reading 
 to Father Cadet, who, to avoid talking, pretended to 
 eleep, and who opened his eyes with amazement at the 
 joyous group which followed Bernard. 
 
 Conscience threw his arms around his mother's neck. 
 
 Mariette went to the old man. 
 
 " Hold out your hands, grandfather," said she. 
 
 "Why," said the old man incredulously, and mo- 
 rosely. 
 
 " Hold them out." 
 
 Father Cadet, like a pouting child obeyed. 
 
 Mariette emptied a handful of gold into Cadet's two 
 bands. The old fellow uttered a cry of joy.
 
 CONCLUSION. 397 
 
 Then came a second, and a third handful. 
 
 All this was to the great surprise of Madeleine, who 
 looked on, and of Dame Marie, who seemed stupified at 
 the sound of this gold, which had attracted her from her 
 cottage to the door. 
 
 " But," said the old man, "who gave you this gold ? 
 Can it be that I dream ?" 
 
 " No, grandfather, no. It is real gold hear it ring." 
 
 " But who gave it you ?" 
 
 " Ask Conscience." She wished to leave him some- 
 thing to say. 
 
 " The Emperor, grandfather. The Emperor himself." 
 
 " The Emperor !" exclaimed .all. 
 
 " And this cross which he took from his breast, and 
 which I now can wear on mine." 
 
 " Ah !" said Cadet. " I am dizzy." 
 
 " Grandfather." 
 
 " Ah, there is no danger, for now it is produced by 
 joy. "We shall be able to pay Cousin Maniquet." 
 
 "He is paid." 
 
 " But the land ?" 
 
 " Will not be sold, 
 
 "This' money?" 
 
 " Is yours to buy more, and to secure yourself a calm 
 old age." 
 
 The old man clasped the gold towards his bosom 
 and advanced to place it in his casket, but he paused, 
 and shook his head, saying : . 
 
 " No. This gold is your portion, and the land is your 
 inheritance. They say, that man makes the land, but it 
 is not so. ' Land makes the man.' But," added Cadet, 
 " you must let me see it every day, and when I cannot 
 walk thither, you must carry me, my children."
 
 398 THECONSCRIPT. 
 
 " Yes, grandfather," said at once Conscience and Ma- 
 riette. 
 
 Then kneeling they said, 
 
 " Bless your children, for henceforth they are bound 
 forever; betrothed in sorrow they will marry in joy." 
 
 Cadet lifted up both hands, the left as well as the 
 right, and placed the latter on the head of Conscience, 
 and the first on that of Mariette. 
 
 " Name of names," said Bastien, who just then came 
 in. " How you bless, Father Cadet. It makes water 
 come into one's mouth." 
 
 " Good day, M. Bastien, and company" said the old 
 man, nodding to the Hussar. " Ah, you see us very 
 happy." 
 
 "And to Bastien we owe all." 
 
 " How so," said the old man. 
 
 While Conscience told the story, Mariette took Bas- 
 tien's arm. 
 
 When Conscience had done looking at Bastien in a 
 supplicating way, Mariette said, 
 
 " Bastien, you remember, I have a favor to ask." 
 
 " What is it," said Bastien, wiping the tears from his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Bastien," said Mariette, in her softest voice, and 
 with her sweetest smile, " will you not marry Catha- 
 rine ?" 
 
 " Bastien evidently did not expect this ; he stared, bit 
 his moustache, reflected, ' and seemed to make up his 
 mind. 
 
 " Well, Mile. Mariette, as it will please you, I will 
 consent to do so." 
 
 " Oh," said Mariette, delighted.
 
 CONCLUSION. 399 
 
 V 
 
 " On one condition that you put on the wreath of 
 orange flowers." 
 
 " I will, Bastien, but I do not understand . . ." 
 
 " Ah ! then I will tell you but perhaps I had best 
 not when, though, you shall have put on her wreath, 
 if there be one joker in the village, who dares to make 
 an allusion to the past, thousand names of names, it will 
 be pleasant, as we said in the Regiment . . ." 
 
 That evening, Father Cadet went alone to visit his 
 field, and brought back a head of wheat, which had 
 seventy grains. 
 
 He found one yet more heavily laden, but as on his 
 return, he met Cousin Maniquet, and told him the 
 money was now being paid to M. Niguet, and gave 
 him the second sheaf as a token of what the yield 
 would be. 
 
 Exactly one month after, two couples were married 
 at the church of Haramont Conscience and Mariette, 
 and Bastien and Catharine. 
 
 Madeleine insisted on the mass being said at the 
 altar, above which hung the picture .of Christ calling 
 little children to him. 
 
 The whole village witnessed the ceremony, and took 
 the brides and grooms to Cadet's cottage, where the 
 wedding-feast was served. Tardif, Pierrot and the 
 black cow had their racks full of fresh grass, and 
 Bernard the fragments from the table. 
 
 When they came from the church, and were passing 
 the threshold of the cottage, Conscience smiled, and 
 placed his hand on his grandfather's shoulder, and in a 
 gentle, but somewhat inspired voice, said, 
 
 " You see, grandfather that in that far off corner of
 
 400 THE CONSCRIPT 
 
 the sky, in which you saw nothing, there was some- 
 thing. 
 
 " You are right, my son," said Father Cadet ; " God 
 was there." 
 
 THE ENDt
 
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