ed to do?"

"Yes, I should like it very much."

"And when you are in bed, you promise me to be very good?"

"As good as an angel."

"You will do your best to go to sleep?"

"My very best."

"Very quietly, without thinking of anything?"

"Very quietly, without thinking of anything."

"Very well, then."

Ten minutes after, Bettina's pretty head rested gently amid embroideries
and lace. Susie said to her sister:

"I am going down to those people who bore me dreadfully this evening.
Before going to my own room, I shall come back and see if you are
asleep. Do not speak. Go to sleep."

She went away. Bettina remained alone; she tried to keep her word; she
endeavored to go to sleep, but only half-succeeded. She fell into a
half-slumber which left her floating between dream and reality. She had
promised to think of nothing, and yet she thought of him, always of him,
of nothing but him, vaguely, confusedly.

How long a time passed thus she could not tell.

All at once it seemed to her that some one was walking in her room; she
half-opened her eyes, and thought she recognized her sister. In a very
sleepy voice she said to her:

"You know I love him."

"Hush! go to sleep."

"I am asleep! I am asleep!"

At last she did fall sound asleep, less profoundly, however, than usual,
for about four o'clock in the morning she was suddenly awakened by a
noise, which, the night before, would not have disturbed her slumber.
The rain fell in torrents, and beat against her window.

"Oh, it is raining!" she thought. "He will get wet."

That was her first thought. She rose, crossed the room barefooted,
half-opened the shutters. The day had broke, gray and lowering; the
clouds were heavy with rain, the wind blew tempestuously, and drove the
rain in gusts before it.

Bettina did not go back to bed, she felt it would be quite impossible to
sleep again. She put on a dressing-gown, and remained at the window; she
watched the falling rain. Since he positively must go, she would have
liked the weather to be fine; she would have liked bright sunshine to
have cheered his first day's march.

When she came to Longueval a month ago, Bettina did not know what this
meant. But she knew it now. A day's march for the artillery is twenty
or thirty miles, with an hour's halt for luncheon. It was the Abbe
Constantin who had taught her that; when going their rounds in the
morning among the poor, Bettina overwhelmed the Cure with questions on