ing cry of man or
beast in mortal peril, that passed, unspeakably mournful, through the
dark night.

"Listen, Silvine," Honore slowly and feelingly went on; "you sent me a
letter that afforded me great pleasure. I should have never come back
here, but that letter--I have been reading it again this evening--speaks
of things that could not have been expressed more delicately--"

She had turned pale when first she heard the subject mentioned. Perhaps
he was angry that she had dared to write to him, like one devoid of
shame; then, as his meaning became more clear, her face reddened with
delight.

"I know you to be truthful, and knowing it, I believe what you wrote
in that letter--yes, I believe it now implicitly. You were right in
supposing that, if I were to die in battle without seeing you again, it
would be a great sorrow to me to leave this world with the thought that
you no longer loved me. And therefore, since you love me still, since I
am your first and only love--" His tongue became thick, his emotion was
so deep that expression failed him. "Listen, Silvine; if those beasts
of Prussians let me live, you shall yet be mine, yes, as soon as I have
served my time out we will be married."

She rose and stood erect upon her feet, gave a cry of joy, and threw
herself upon the young man's bosom. She could not speak a word; every
drop of blood in her veins was in her cheeks. He seated himself upon the
chair and drew her down upon his lap.

"I have thought the matter over carefully; it was to say what I have
said that I came here this evening. Should my father refuse us his
consent, the earth is large; we will go away. And your little one, no
one shall harm him, _mon Dieu!_ More will come along, and among them all
I shall not know him from the others."

She was forgiven, fully and entirely. Such happiness seemed too great to
be true; she resisted, murmuring:

"No, it cannot be; it is too much; perhaps you might repent your
generosity some day. But how good it is of you, Honore, and how I love
you!"

He silenced her with a kiss upon the lips, and strength was wanting her
longer to put aside the great, the unhoped-for good fortune that had
come to her; a life of happiness where she had looked forward to one
of loneliness and sorrow! With an involuntary, irresistible impulse she
threw her arms about him, kissing him again and again, straining him to
her bosom with all her woman's strength, as a treasure that was lost a