no fear, so you can speak
out."

"Well, will you tell me what is the cause of your sadness, I might
almost say bitterness? When we left Africa I thought you had left it
behind you; but now in Russia it is worse than ever."

At this unexpected question Gauthier started, then trying to smile he
answered:--

"It must be a kind of complaint born in me, and perhaps the change of
climate aggravates it."

"Perhaps so," said Lieutenant Saussier, slowly, and watching the
expression of his friend's face.

"This cold goes right through me to my very bones," said Gauthier,
shivering.

Saussier quite understood that his friend meant, "Let us change the
subject," but he continued:--

"May I ask you another question?"

"You seem to have a few to ask to-day," said Gauthier, looking rather
annoyed.

"I have often wanted to speak to you, but have never dared before."

"Well, to-day you don't seem afraid of running the risk."

"If it vexes you, don't answer me."

"Oh, I don't mind. I have had one; I may as well have the next."

"Well, will you tell me why, every time there is an engagement, you take
such pains to find out the name of the chief who commands the enemy?"

This time Gauthier was visibly annoyed. He answered, after a few
minutes' hesitation, "Because some day I intend writing the history of
the Crimean War. It is only natural I should want to know the names of
the commanders on the other side."

"Oh! of course," said Saussier, feeling rather disconcerted.

For some minutes the two friends continued their walk in silence. There
was no sound but the crunching of the snow under their heavy boots, for
it had been snowing hard in the district of Simferopol, and a thick
white mantle covered the ground.

Lieutenant Saussier looked at Gauthier, and in spite of his friend's
attempt to turn away his head, Saussier saw that there were tears in his
eyes.

"Forgive me for asking you!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea of causing you
pain."

"How do you know you have?" asked Gauthier, passing his arm through that
of his friend.

"Don't try and hide it. I can see that, quite unintentional as it was, I
have pained you with my questions."

"It is nothing, nothing at all; or rather your questions brought to mind
something in my past life. It is only natural that you should have asked
me, and as a proof of my friendship I will tell you all."

"No, no! Indeed I do not want you to. We will not talk about it. I am
awfully