ur own voice trembles with proud
emotion at the mention of glorious war. Tell me, oh! tell me that I may
have hope, and yet leave not all that makes life endurable."

The old man spoke again; but his tones were low, and his words seemed a
reproof, for she bowed her head between her hands and sobbed heavily.

To the long and impassioned appeal of the priest there now succeeded a
silence, only broken by the deep-drawn sighs of her who knelt in sadness
and penitence before him.

"And his name?" said the father; "you have not told his name."

A pause followed, in which not even a breathing was heard; then a low,
murmuring sound came, and it seemed to meas though I heard my own name
uttered. I started at the sound, and with the noise the vivandiere
sprang to her feet.

"I heard a noise there," said she, resolutely.

"It is my companion of the journey," said the priest. "Poor fellow! he
is tired and weary; he sleeps soundly."

"I did not know you had a fellow-traveller, Father."

"Yes; we met in the Creutz Mountains, and since that" have wended our
way together. A soldier--"

"A soldier! Is he wounded, then?"

"No, my child; he is leaving the army."

"Leaving the army, and not wounded! He is old and disabled, perhaps."

"Neither; he is both young and vigorous."

"Shame on him, then, that he turn his back on fame and fortune, and
leave the path that brave men tread! He never was a soldier! No, Father;
he in whose heart the noble passion once has lived can never forget it."

"Hush, child, hush!" said the priest, motioning with his hand to her to
be silent.

"Let me look on him!" said the vivandiere, as she stooped down and took
from the hearth a piece of lighted wood; "let me see this man, and learn
the features of one who can be so craven of spirit, so poor of heart, as
to fly the field, while thousands are flocking towards it."

Burning with shame and indignation, I arose, just as she approached me.
The pine-branch threw its red gleam over her bright uniform, and then
upon her face.

"Minette! Minette!" I exclaimed. But with a wild shriek she let fall the
burning wood, and fell senseless to the ground.

It was some time before, with all our care, she recovered consciousness;
and even then, in her wild, excited glance, one might read the struggles
of her mind to credit what had occurred. A few broken, unconnected
phrases would escape her at intervals; and she seemed laboring to regain
the lost clew to her