"My greatest grief is to know that you are wounded, in a hospital, and
that I cannot take care of you. Since the conscripts departed, we have
not had a moment's peace of mind. My mother says I am silly to weep
night and day, but she weeps as much as I, and her wrath falls heavily
on Pinacle, who dared not come to the market-place, because she carried
a hammer in her basket.

"But our greatest grief was when we heard that the battle had taken
place, and that thousands of men had fallen; mother ran every morning
to the post-office, while I could not move from the house. At last
your letter came, thank heaven! to cheer us. Now I am better, for I
can weep at my ease, thanking God that He has saved your life.

"And when I think how happy we used to be, Joseph--when you came every
Sunday, and we sat side by side without stirring and thought of
nothing! Ah! we did not know how happy we were; we knew not what might
happen--but God's will be done. If you only recover! if we may only
hope to be once again as happy as we were!

"Many people talk of peace, but the Emperor so loves war, that I fear
it is far off.

"What pleases me most is to know that your wound is not dangerous, and
that you still love me. Ah! Joseph, I will love you forever--that is
all I can say. I can say it from the bottom of my heart; and I know my
mother loves you too!

"Now, Monsieur Goulden wishes to say a few words to you, so I will
close. The weather is beautiful here, and the great apple-tree in the
garden is full of flowers; I have plucked a few, which I shall put in
this letter when M. Goulden has written. Perhaps with God's blessing
we shall yet eat together one of those large apples. Embrace me as I
embrace you, Joseph, Farewell! Farewell!"

As I finished reading this, Zimmer arrived, and in my joy, I said:

"Sit down, Zimmer, and I will read you my sweetheart's letter. You
will see whether she is a Margredel."

"Let me light my pipe first," he answered; and having done so, he
added: "Go on, Josephel, but I warn you that I am an old bird, and do
not believe all I hear; women are more cunning than we."

Notwithstanding this bit of philosophy, I read Catharine's letter
slowly to him. When I had ended, he took it, and for a long time gazed
at it dreamily, and then handed it back, saying:

"There! Josephel. She _is_ a good girl, and a sensible one, and will
never marry any one but you."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes;