eak! Do you suppose I
ever forgot you? Never, never! But you have always been to me the dear
little boy; I never thought of you as a man, and since I could not have
you and longed so greatly for you, for a child, I opened my heart to
the soldiers' orphans, the little creature you saw in the tent is one of
these poor things, I have often had two or three such babies at the same
time. It would have been an abomination to Grandgagnage, but Zorrillo
rejoices in my love for children, and I have given what the Walloon
bequeathed me and his own booty to the soldiers' widows and the little
naked babies in the camp. He was satisfied, for whatever I do pleases
him. I will not, cannot leave him!"

She paused, hiding her face in her hands, but Ulrich paced to and fro,
violently agitated. At last he said firmly: "Yet you must part from him.
He or I! I will have nothing to do with the lover of my father's wife.
I am Adam's son, and will be constant to him. Ah, mother, I have been
deprived of you so long. You can tend strangers' orphaned children, yet
you make your own son an orphan. Will you do this? No, a thousand times,
no, you cannot! Do not weep so, you must not weep! Hear me, hear me! For
my sake, leave this Spaniard! You will not repent it. I have just been
dreaming of the nest I will build for you. There I will cherish and care
for you, and you shall keep as many orphan children as you choose.
Leave him, mother, you must leave him for the sake of your child, your
Ulrich!"

"Oh, God! oh, God!" she sobbed. "I will try, yes, I will try.... My
child, my dear child!"

Ulrich clasped her closely in his arms, kissed her hair, and said,
softly: "I know, I know, you need love, and you shall find it with me."

"With you!" she repeated, sobbing. Then releasing herself from his
embrace she hurried to the feverish woman, at whose summons she had left
her tent.

As morning dawned, she returned home and found Zorrillo still awake.
He enquired about her patient, and told her he had given the child
something to drink while she was away.

Flora could not help weeping bitterly again, and Zorrillo, noticing it,
exclaimed chidingly: "Each has his own griefs to bear, it is not wise to
take strangers' troubles so deeply to heart."

"Strangers' troubles," she repeated, mournfully, and went to rest.

White-haired woman, why have you remained so young? All the cares and
sorrows of youth and age are torturing you at the same time! One love
is