"His reverence gives his
permission"; and had then broken her pen in the paper, making a shower
of blots.

Helene slowly folded the letter. Two or three times, while deciphering
its contents, she had raised her head to glance at the soldier. He
still remained close to the wall, and his lips stirred, as though to
emphasize each sentence in the letter by a slight movement of the
chin. No doubt he knew its contents by heart.

"Then you are Zephyrin Lacour, are you not?" asked Helene.

He began to laugh and wagged his head.

"Come in, my lad; don't stay out there."

He made up his mind to follow her, but he continued standing close to
the door, while Helene sat down. She had scarcely seen him in the
darkness of the ante-room. He must have been just as tall as Rosalie;
a third of an inch less, and he would have been exempted from service.
With red hair, cut very short, he had a round, freckled, beardless
face, with two little eyes like gimlet holes. His new greatcoat, much
too large for him, made him appear still more dumpy, and with his
red-trousered legs wide apart, and his large peaked cap swinging
before him, he presented both a comical and pathetic sight--his plump,
stupid little person plainly betraying the rustic, although he wore a
uniform.

Helene desired to obtain some information from him.

"You left Beauce a week ago?" she asked.

"Yes, madame!"

"And here you are in Paris. I suppose you are not sorry?"

"No, madame."

He was losing his bashfulness, and now gazed all over the room,
evidently much impressed by its blue velvet hangings.

"Rosalie is out," Helene began again, "but she will be here very soon.
Her aunt tells me you are her sweetheart."

To this the little soldier vouchsafed no reply, but hung his head,
laughing awkwardly, and scraping the carpet with the tip of his boot.

"Then you will have to marry her when you leave the army?" Helene
continued questioning.

"Yes, to be sure!" exclaimed he, his face turning very red. "Yes, of
course; we are engaged!" And, won over by the kindly manners of the
lady, he made up his mind to speak out, his fingers still playing with
his cap. "You know it's an old story. When we were quite children, we
used to go thieving together. We used to get switched; oh yes, that's
true! I must tell you that the Lacours and the Pichons lived in the
same lane, and were next-door neighbors. And so Rosalie and myself
were almost brought up together. Then her people