? I have no friends, no family. But you are married--and so many
will mourn if you"--

Raynal interrupted him sternly. "You forget, sir, that Rose de
Beaurepaire is my sister, when you tell me you have no tie to life."
He added, with wonderful dignity and sobriety, "Allow me to write to
my wife, sir; and, while I write, reflect that you can embitter an old
comrade's last moments by persisting in your refusal to restore his
sister the honor you have robbed her of."

And leaving the other staggered and confused by this sudden blow, he
retired into Dujardin's tent, and finding writing materials on a little
table that was there, sat down to pen a line to Josephine.

Camille knew to whom he was writing, and a jealous pang passed through
him.

What he wrote ran thus,--

"A bastion is to be attacked at five. I command. Colonel Dujardin
proposed we should draw lots, and I lost. The service is honorable,
but the result may, I fear, give you some pain. My dear wife, it is our
fate. I was not to have time to make you know, and perhaps love me. God
bless you."

In writing these simple words, Raynal's hard face worked, and his
mustache quivered, and once he had to clear his eye with his hand to
form the letters. He, the man of iron.

He who stood there, leaning on his scabbard and watching the writer, saw
this, and it stirred all that was great and good in that grand though
passionate heart of his.

"Poor Raynal!" thought he, "you were never like that before on going
into action. He is loath to die. Ay, and it is a coward's trick to let
him die. I shall have her, but shall I have her esteem? What will the
army say? What will my conscience say? Oh! I feel already it will gnaw
my heart to death; the ghost of that brave fellow--once my dear friend,
my rival now, by no fault of his--will rise between her and me, and
reproach me with my bloody inheritance. The heart never deceives; I feel
it now whispering in my ear: 'Skulking captain, white-livered soldier,
that stand behind a parapet while a better man does your work! you
assassinate the husband, but the rival conquers you.' There, he puts his
hand to his eyes. What shall I do?"

"Colonel," said a low voice, and at the same time a hand was laid on his
shoulder.

It was General Raimbaut. The general looked pale and distressed.

"Come apart, colonel, for Heaven's sake! One word, while he is writing.
Ah! that was an unlucky idea of yours."

"Of mine, general?"

"'Twa