elle, I'd have let him spend his night beneath a wagon rather
than in my quarters," said a deep, hollow voice I at once recognized
as that of Pioche. "But the morning air will revive thee; so let us
forward: by threes--open order--trot."

The word was obeyed; the heavy tramp of the horses, with the dull roll
of the wagons, drowned all other sounds The cortege moved on, and I was
alone.

[Illustration: BrowneDeathOfMinette127]

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PENSION DE LA RUE MI-CAREME.

When I returned to the garden, I found that the Pere Arsene was seized
by an access of that dreadful malady, whose intervals of comparative
release are but periods of dread or despondence. The tertian of Egypt,
so fatal among the French troops, now numbered him among its victims,
and he looked worn and exhausted, like one after weeks of illness.

My first care was to present myself to the official whose business it
was to inspect the passports, and by explaining the condition of my poor
friend, to entreat permission to delay my journey,--at least until
he should be somewhat recovered. The gruff old sergeant, however,
deliberately examined my passport, and as rigidly decided that I could
not remain. The words of the minister were clear and definite,--"Day
by day, without halt, to the nearest frontier of France," was the
direction; and with this I must comply. In vain I assured him that no
personal convenience, no wish of my own, urged the request, but the duty
of humanity towards a fellow-traveller, and one who had strong claims on
every soldier of the Empire.

"Leave him to me, Monsieur," was the only reply I could obtain; and the
utmost favor he would grant was the permission to take leave of my poor
friend before I started.

Amid all the sufferings of his malady, I found the good priest dwelling
in his mind on the scene with the vivandiere,--which, perhaps, from
the impressionable character of a sick man's temperament, had entirely
filled his thoughts; and thus he wandered from the subject of his
sorrows to hers, with scarcely a transition between them.

When I mentioned the necessity of our parting, he seemed to feel it more
on my account than his own.

"I wished to have reached Paris with you," he repeated over and over.
"It was not impossible I could have arranged your return home. But you
must go down to Sevres,--the priest there, whoever he may be, will know
of me; tell him everything without reserve. I am too ill to write, but