, that I frightened her into a fit, stealing a
march on her that way. She fainted away. Perhaps it is as well she did;
for I--I did not know what to think; it looked ugly; but while she lay
at our feet insensible, I forced the truth from Rose; she owned the boy
was hers."

While Raynal told him this strange story, Camille turned hot and cold.
First came a thrill of glowing joy; he had some clew to all this: he was
a father; that child was Josephine's and his; the next moment he froze
within. So Josephine had not only gulled her husband, but him, too; she
had refused him the sad consolation of knowing he had a child. Cruelty,
calculation, and baseness unexampled! Here was a creature who could
sacrifice anything and anybody to her comfort, to the peace and sordid
smoothness of her domestic life. She stood between two men--a thing.
Between two truths--a double lie.

His heart, in one moment, turned against her like a stone. A
musket-bullet through the body does not turn life to death quicker than
Raynal turned his rival's love to despair and scorn: that love which
neither wounds, absence, prison, nor even her want of constancy had
prevailed to shake.

"Out of my bosom!" he cried--"out of it, in this world and the next!"

He forgot, in his lofty rage, who stood beside him.

"What?--what?" cried Raynal.

"No matter," said Camille; "only I esteem YOU, Raynal. You are truth;
you are a man, and deserve a better lot."

"Don't say that," replied Raynal, quite misunderstanding him. "It is a
soldier's end: I never desired nor hoped a better: only, of course, I
feel sad. You are a happy fellow, to have a child and to live to see it,
and her you love."

"Oh, yes, I am very happy," replied the poor fellow, his lip quivering.

"Watch over all those poor women, comrade, and sometimes speak to them
of me. It is foolish, but we like to be remembered."

"Yes! but do not let us speak of that. Raynal, you and I were
lieutenants together; do you remember saving my life in the Arno?"

"Yes."

"Then promise me, if you should live, to remember not our quarrel of
to-day, nor anything; but only those early days, AND THIS AFTERNOON."

"I do."

"Your hand, comrade."

"There, comrade, there."

They wrung one another's hands, and turned away and hid their faces from
each other, for their eyes were moist.

"This won't do, comrade, I must go. I shall attack from your position.
So I shall go down the line, and bring the men up. Mean