r me to leave all and
go straight to Francezka, until I could, in honor, ask for leave.

We were settled then in winter quarters. We had heard twice in this
time from Gaston Cheverny. Being near home, in the borders of Hanover,
for the winter, he had got leave--so he wrote--and would spend six
weeks at the chateau of Capello, with Francezka. He wished that Count
Saxe and I might take advantage of the lull in hostilities and come to
Capello.

It was when I was in the act of reading this letter that my reserve
broke down, and I told Count Saxe all--all--and that I desired to go
to Francezka. And then, for the first time since I was a little,
smooth-cheeked boy, playing in the weedy gardens of the Marais with
Adrienne Lecouvreur, I wept like a woman. Count Saxe sat and looked at
me with more than a brother's tenderness. He knew I was not a coward,
for I had led his Uhlans, and what he said to me was this:

"Lose not a moment in going, Babache. It is because you love her so
much that you know she is in distress. I think you would know as much,
if it were I instead of Francezka."

Which was true. I can not believe that Count Saxe should need me, and
I not know it, were I at the other end of the world.

And Count Saxe helping and hastening me in every way, as became such
a soul as his, I set forth at once on my journey. It was the latter
part of December when I left Prague behind me.

The journey was a terrible one; the season harsh beyond comparison.
The ground was deeply covered with snow, which the wild winds piled in
great drifts, in which both men and beasts were sometimes lost. Rain
and sleet alternated with snow. The sun scarcely shone at all. The
sufferings of dumb creatures were dreadful; horses plunged amid the
snow, and died in it; the gaunt cattle froze in the fields; even the
birds dropped dead from the icy roofs and trees. I think I never saw
so much misery in any journey I ever made, as in that journey to
Capello. Even when I reached the flat country of the lower Rhine,
there was but little amelioration. I traveled as rapidly as I could,
both night and day, but my progress was slow. My eager heart
outstripped my laggard body, and it seemed to me that every hour the
urgency of Francezka's call for me grew greater. I could actually hear
that sweet, penetrating voice, now full of agony, crying to me,
"Babache! Babache! Come quickly--quickly, or you will be too late!"

CHAPTER XXXV

WOULD YOU LEAVE