took the bouquet from it. "But above all, gentlemen, I must explain to you
why I have preserved this bouquet." While saying this she attempted to
smell the vanished odor of the bouquet.

"One morning," she resumed, "Monsieur de Marteille awoke me
early--'Farewell!' he said, pale and trembling.--'What are you saying?'
cried I with affright.--'Alas,' replied he, embracing me, I did not wish to
tell you before, but for a fortnight I have had orders to leave.
Hostilities are to be resumed in the Low Countries; I have no longer a
single hour either for you or for me; I have over forty leagues to travel
to-day.'--'Oh, my God, what will become of me?' said I weeping. 'I will
follow you.'--'But, my dear Marianne, I shall return.'--'You will return in
an age! Go, cruel one, I shall be dead when you return.'

"An hour was spent in taking leave and in tears; he was obliged to go; he
went.

"I returned to weep in that retreat, that was so delightful the evening
before. Two days after his departure, he wrote me a very tender letter, in
which he told me that on the next day, he would have the consolation of
engaging in battle. 'I hope,' added he, 'that the campaign will not be a
long one; some days of hard fighting, and then I return to your feet.'
What more shall I tell you? He wrote me once again."

Mademoiselle de Camargo unfolded slowly the torn letter. "Here is the
second letter:--

Oct 17.

"'No, I shall not return, my dear, I am going to die, but without
fear, without reproach. Oh! if you were here, Marianne! What
madness! in a hospital where, all of us, all, be we what we may,
are disfigured with wounds, and dying! What an idea to dash ahead
in the fight, when I only thought of seeing you again. As soon as
I was wounded, I asked the surgeon if I should live long enough to
reach Paris: "You have but an hour," he answered me pitilessly...
They brought me here with the others. In a word, we should learn
to resign ourselves to what comes from Heaven. I die content with
having loved you; console yourself; return to the opera. I am not
jealous of those who shall succeed me, for will they love you as I
have done? Farewell, Marianne, death approaches, and death never
waits; I thank it for having left me sufficient time to bid you
farewell. Now, it will be I who will wait for you.

"'Farewell, farewell,