Then we talked of other things. She is witty and downright, and her

every thought and action is kindly. I love la Duchesse--My mother was

her dearest friend.

When she had stayed twenty minutes--she came over close to my chair.

"I knew you would be bitter at not being in the fight, my son," she

said, patting me with her once beautiful hand, now red and hardened with

work, "So I snatched the moments to come to see you. On your one leg

you'll defend if the moment should come,--but it won't! And you--you

wounded ones, spared--can keep the courage up. Tiens! you can at least

pray, you have the time--I have not--Mais le Bon Dieu understands--."

And with that she left me, stopping to arrange her tightly curled fringe

(she sticks to all old styles) at the lac mirror by the door. I felt

better after she had gone--yes, it is that--God--why can't I fight!




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