irectly.

He made his preparations for departure; then he went to wish his
godfather farewell. That is what cost him most; he must speak to him
only of a short absence.

He opened one of the drawers of his bureau to take out some money. The
first thing that met his eyes was a little note on bluish paper; it was
the only note which he had ever received from her.

"Will you have the kindness to give to the servant the book of which you
spoke yesterday evening. Perhaps it will be a little serious for me, but
yet I should like to try to read it. We shall see you to-night; come as
early as possible." It was signed "Bettina."

Jean read and re-read these few lines, but soon he could read them no
longer, his eyes were dim.

"It is all that is left me of her," he thought.

At the same moment the Abbe Constantin was tete-a-tete with old
Pauline, they were making up their accounts. The financial situation was
admirable; more than 2,000 francs in hand! And the wishes of Susie and
Bettina were accomplished, there were no more poor in the neighborhood.
His old servant, Pauline, had even occasional scruples of conscience.

"You see, Monsieur le Cure," said she, "perhaps we give them a little
too much. Then it will be spread about in other parishes that here they
can always find charity. And do you know what will happen then, one of
these days? Poor people will come and settle in Longueval."

The Cure gave fifty francs to Pauline. She went to take them to a poor
man who had broken his arm a few days before, by falling from the top of
a hay-cart.

The Abbe Constantin remained alone in the vicarage. He was rather
anxious. He had watched for the passing of the regiment; but Jean only
stopped for a moment, he looked sad. For some time, the Abbe had noticed
that Jean had no longer the flow of good-humor and gayety he once
possessed.

The Cure did not disturb himself too much about it, believing it to be
one of those little youthful troubles which did not concern a poor old
priest. But, on this occasion, Jean's disturbance was very perceptible.

"I will come back directly," he said to the Cure, "I want to speak to
you."

He turned abruptly away. The Abbe Constantin had not even had time to
give Loulou his piece of sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, for he
had put five or six in his pocket, considering that Loulou had well
deserved this feast by ten long days' march, and a score of nights
passed under the open sky.

Besid