And yesterday the wild geese made for the north.  They flew in various order, tracing regular formations in the sky; and then they disappeared over the horizon like a floating ribbon.

I am much gratified by M.C.’s appreciation.  I always had a love of letters, even as a child, and I am only sorry that the break in my education, brought about by myself, leaves so many blanks.  I keep, however, throughout all changes and chances, the faculty of gleaning to right and left some fallen grain.  Of course, as I leave out the future, I say nothing of my wish to be introduced to him in happier times—­that is out of our department just now.

I have written to Madame L. It is the last blow for her.  The fate of some of us is as it were a medal on which are struck the image and superscription of sorrow.  Adversity has worked so well that there is no room for any symbol of joy.  But I think that this dedication of a life to grief is not unaccompanied by a secret compensation in the conviction that misfortune is at last complete; it is something to reach the high-water mark of the waters of sorrow.  The fate of such sufferers seems to me to be an outpost showing others whence tribulation approaches.

Day by day a new crop is raised in the little military burial-ground here.  And, over all, the triumphant spring.

March 20.

Our holiday is coming to an end in sweetness, while all is tumult and carnage not far off.  I think the regiment has had a long march.

March 20.

DEAR BELOVED MOTHER,—­After so many graces granted me, I ought to have more confidence, and I intend to do my best to give myself wholly into the hands of God; but these are hard times.  I have just heard of the death, among many others, of the friend whose bed I shared in our billet.  He had just been appointed Second Lieutenant.  Mother dear:  Love.  That is the only human feeling we may cherish now.

March 21.

DEAR GRANDMOTHER,—­As the day of trial draws near I send you all my love.  I can do no more.  We are probably called upon to make such a sacrifice as forbids us to dwell upon our ties.  Let us pray that the certitude of Goodness and Beauty may not fail us when we suffer.

March 21, Sunday, with lovely sunshine.

DEAR BELOVED MOTHER,—­I think that we may be kept here one day more, and that we shall leave on Tuesday.  I don’t know where I shall rejoin my battalion, or in what state I shall find it, for the action seems to be violent and long.  Rumours are very contradictory as to our gains.  But all agree as to the large number of casualties.  We can hear a tremendous cannonade, and the good weather no doubt induces the command on both sides to move.

I should have wished to say many things about the noble Nature that surrounds us with its glory, but my thoughts are gone on in advance, there where the sun does not see men gathered together to honour him, but shines only upon their hatred, and where the moon, too, looks upon treachery and anguish.