im, the lifeless body of his old colonel,
with eyes closed and features already calmed by the first moments of
perfect repose.

"My Colonel!" said he. "Ah! I understand--I remember-! How they ran
away--miserable cowards! But you, Amedee? Why are you here--?"

His friend could not restrain his tears, and Maurice murmured:

"Done for, am I not?"

"No, no!" exclaimed Amedee, with animation. "They are going to dress
your wounds at once--They will come soon! Courage, my good Maurice!
Courage!"

Suddenly the wounded man had a terrible chill; his teeth chattered, and
he said again:

"I am thirsty!--something to drink, my friend!--give me something to
drink!"

A few swallows of tea calmed him a little. He closed his eyes as if
to rest, but a moment after he opened them, and, fixing them upon his
friend's face, he said to him in a faint voice:

"You know--Maria, my wife--marry her--I confide them to you--she and my
son--"

Then, doubtless tired out by the fatigue of having spoken these words,
he seemed to collapse and sink down into the litter, which was saturated
now with his blood. A moment later he began to pant for breath. Amedee
knelt by his side, and tears fell upon his hands, while between the
dying man's gasps he could hear in the distance, upon the battlefield,
the uninterrupted rumbling of the cannon as it mowed down others.

CHAPTER XVII. "WHEN YOUTH, THE DREAM, DEPARTS"

The leaves are falling!

This October afternoon is deliciously serene, there is not a cloud in
the grayish-blue sky, where the sun, which has shed a pure and steady
light since morning, has begun majestically to decline, like a good king
who has grown old after a long and prosperous reign. How soft the air
is! How calm and fresh! This is certainly one of the most beautiful
of autumn days. Below, in the valley, the river sparkles like liquid
silver, and the trees which crown the hill-tops are of a lurid gold and
copper color. The distant panorama of Paris is grand and charming, with
all its noted edifices and the dome of the Invalides shining like gold
outlined upon the horizon. As a loving and coquettish woman, who wishes
to be regretted, gives at the moment of departure her most intoxicating
smile to a friend, so the close of autumn had put on for one of her last
days all her splendid charms.

But the leaves are falling!

Amedee Violette is walking alone in his garden at Meudon. It is his
country home, where he has lived for