can
fight, I can love, as few of you can do either.

The old man was trying to persuade him to stay at Bayonne, until his
wound should be cured.

"No, general, I have other wounds to cure of longer standing than this
one."

"Well, promise me to lay up at Paris."

"General, I shall stay an hour at Paris."

"An hour in Paris! Well, at least call at the War Office and present
this letter."

That same afternoon, wrapped in the governor's furred cloak, the young
officer lay at his full length in the coupe of the diligence, the whole
of which the governor had peremptorily demanded for him, and rolled day
and night towards Paris.

He reached it worn with fatigue and fevered by his wound, but his spirit
as indomitable as ever. He went to the War Office with the governor's
letter. It seemed to create some little sensation; one functionary came
and said a polite word to him, then another. At last to his infinite
surprise the minister himself sent down word he wished to see him; the
minister put several questions to him, and seemed interested in him and
touched by his relation.

"I think, captain, I shall have to send to you: where do you stay in
Paris?"

"Nowhere, monsieur; I leave Paris as soon as I can find an easy-going
horse."

"But General Bretaux tells me you are wounded."

"Not dangerously."

"Pardon me, captain, but is this prudent? is it just to yourself and
your friends?"

"Yes, I owe it to those who perhaps think me dead."

"You can write to them."

"I grudge so great, so sacred a joy to a letter. No! after all I have
suffered I claim to be the one to tell her I have kept my word: I
promised to live, and I live."

"HER? then I say no more, only tell me what road you take."

"The road to Brittany."

As the young officer was walking his horse by the roadside about a
league and a half from Paris, he heard a clatter behind him, and up
galloped an aide-de-camp and drew up alongside, bringing his horse
nearly on his haunches.

He handed him a large packet sealed with the arms of France. The other
tore it open; and there was his brevet as colonel. His cheek flushed
and his eye glittered with joy. The aide-de-camp next gave him a parcel:
"Your epaulets, colonel! We hear you are going into the wilds where
epaulets don't grow. You are to join the army of the Rhine as soon as
your wound is well."

"Wherever my country calls me."

"Your address, then, colonel, that we may know where to put our finger