, and the nun began
to talk of the convents of her order, of her Superior, of herself, and
of her fragile little neighbor, Sister St. Nicephore. They had been sent
for from Havre to nurse the hundreds of soldiers who were in hospitals,
stricken with smallpox. She described these wretched invalids and their
malady. And, while they themselves were detained on their way by the
caprices of the Prussian officer, scores of Frenchmen might be dying,
whom they would otherwise have saved! For the nursing of soldiers
was the old nun's specialty; she had been in the Crimea, in Italy, in
Austria; and as she told the story of her campaigns she revealed herself
as one of those holy sisters of the fife and drum who seem designed by
nature to follow camps, to snatch the wounded from amid the strife of
battle, and to quell with a word, more effectually than any general,
the rough and insubordinate troopers--a masterful woman, her seamed and
pitted face itself an image of the devastations of war.

No one spoke when she had finished for fear of spoiling the excellent
effect of her words.

As soon as the meal was over the travellers retired to their rooms,
whence they emerged the following day at a late hour of the morning.

Luncheon passed off quietly. The seed sown the preceding evening was
being given time to germinate and bring forth fruit.

In the afternoon the countess proposed a walk; then the count, as had
been arranged beforehand, took Boule de Suif's arm, and walked with her
at some distance behind the rest.

He began talking to her in that familiar, paternal, slightly
contemptuous tone which men of his class adopt in speaking to women
like her, calling her "my dear child," and talking down to her from the
height of his exalted social position and stainless reputation. He came
straight to the point.

"So you prefer to leave us here, exposed like yourself to all the
violence which would follow on a repulse of the Prussian troops, rather
than consent to surrender yourself, as you have done so many times in
your life?"

The girl did not reply.

He tried kindness, argument, sentiment. He still bore himself as count,
even while adopting, when desirable, an attitude of gallantry, and
making pretty--nay, even tender--speeches. He exalted the service she
would render them, spoke of their gratitude; then, suddenly, using the
familiar "thou":

"And you know, my dear, he could boast then of having made a conquest of
a pretty gir