“To that young man who went with us, you know, he has joined us in business.”

“I remember him, perfectly.”

He was going out, feeling very unhappy, though scarcely knowing why, when Madame called him back.

“And how is your friend?” she asked, rather shyly.

“He is very well, thank you.”

“Please give him our compliments, and beg him to come and call, when he is in the neighborhood.”

She then added:  “Tell him it will give me great pleasure.”

“I will be sure to do so.  Adieu!”

“I will not say that; come again, very soon.”

* * * * *

The next year, one very hot Sunday, all the details of that adventure which he had never forgotten, suddenly came back to him so clearly, that he returned to their room in the wood, and he was overwhelmed with astonishment when he went in.  She was sitting on the grass, looking very sad, while by her side, again in his shirt sleeves the young man with the yellow hair was sleeping soundly, like some brute.

She grew so pale when she saw Henri, that at first he thought she was going to faint, then, however, they began to talk quite naturally.  But when he told her that he was very fond of that spot, and went there very often on Sundays, she looked into his eyes for a long time.  “I, too, think of it,” she replied.

“Come, my dear,” her husband said, with a yawn; “I think it is time for us to be going.”

THE LANCER’S WIFE

I

It was after Bourbaki’s defeat in the East of France.  The army, broken up, decimated and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into Switzerland, after that terrible campaign, and it was only the short time that it lasted, which saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain death.  Hunger, the terrible cold, forced marches in the snow without boots, over bad mountainous roads, had caused us francs-tireurs especially the greatest sufferings, for we were without tents and almost without food, always in front when we were marching towards Belfort, and in the rear, when returning by the Jura.  Of our little band that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of January, there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches, when we at length succeeded in reaching Swiss territory.

There we were safe and could rest.  Everybody knows what sympathy was shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for.  We all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the war, declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of comfort than they did then.  Just think.  We actually had something to eat every day, and could sleep every night.

Meanwhile, the war continued in the East of France, which had been excluded from the armistice.  Besancon still kept the enemy in check, and the latter had their revenge by ravaging the Franche Comte.  Sometimes we heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and them, set out on their march.