ve yet twenty minutes before starting," and, throwing a glance at
me, "Do not fail to be at the first call, young man," said he, pressing
Monsieur Goulden's hand.

He went out, and we heard his horse pawing at the door.

The morning was overcast, and grief overwhelmed me. I could not leave
Catharine.

Suddenly the roll beat. The drums were all collected in the square.
Monsieur Goulden, taking the knapsack by its straps, said in a grave
voice:

"Joseph, now the last embrace: it is time to go."

I stood up, pale as ashes. He fastened the knapsack to my shoulders.
Catharine sat sobbing, her face covered with her apron. Aunt Gredel
looked on with lips compressed.

The roll continued for a time, then suddenly ceased.

"The call is about commencing," said Monsieur Goulden, embracing me.
Then the fountains of his heart burst forth; tears sprang to his eyes;
and calling me his child, his son, he whispered, "Courage!"

Aunt Gredel seated herself again, and as I bent toward her, taking my
head between her hands, she sobbed:

"I always loved you, Joseph; ever since you were a baby. You never
gave me cause of grief--and now you must go. O God! O God!"

I wept no longer.

When Aunt Gredel released me, I looked a moment at Catharine, who stood
motionless. I rushed to her and threw myself on her neck. She still
kept her seat. Then I turned quickly to go, when she cried, in
heart-breaking tones:

"O Joseph! Joseph!"

I looked back. We threw ourselves into each other's arms, and for some
minutes remained so, sobbing. Her strength seemed to leave her, and I
placed her in the arm-chair, and rushed out of the house.

I was already on the square, in the midst of the Italians and of a
crowd of people crying for their sons or brothers. I saw nothing; I
heard nothing.

When the roll of the drums began again, I looked around, and saw that I
was between Klipfel and Furst, all three with our knapsacks on our
backs. Their parents stood before us, weeping as if at their funeral.
To the right, near the town-hall, Captain Vidal, on his little gray
horse, was conversing with two infantry officers. The sergeants called
the roll, and we answered. They called Zebede, Furst, Klipfel, Bertha;
we answered like the others. Then the captain gave the word, "March!"
and we went, two abreast, toward the French gate.

At the corner of Spitz's bakery, an old woman cried, in a choking
voice, from a window:

"Kasper! Kasper!