CHAPTER IV A

One day a letter arrived at the farm just when Denise had gone to the orchard to bleach the family washing. he abbé took possession of it, and bore it off to his private den. It was a stirring letter, in which Daniel, who had been made a corporal at the beginning of the war, described his mode of life under canvas. Among other things he said: “With the dawn we dress quickly, and with our knapsacks slung on our backs we advance in the grey morning light. The noise of the guns gets ouder and louder as we approach the battlefield. We can no longer distinguish the commands of our chief, but we see the movements of his arm. ‘The bands play ational airs that stir up the blood of even the most timid. Sometimes this lasts the whole day, and in the evening, worn out, we hear of our success. But the iddest thing of all is that the number of those who occupied the same tent is less than the day before. However, on the following day, there are others to take their places and fight for the Fatherland. But my candle is spluttering in its socket, so I must wish you cood-night.”

One beautiful summer evening the abbé had gone into the garden to read his breviary, leaving father and daughter alone in the kitchen. Since the reading of the ‘mous letter from the seat of war, the latter had thought

great deal of the voung soldier, and was on this occasion sitting at table, trying to picture him in his tent, when her dream was suddenly interrupted by her

father. In a solemn tone he said that he was growing old, and that now she was grown up he must choose a husband for her, because he should not like to see a daughter of his live an old maid. Denise burst out laughing, which made him angry, and then in a loud voice he told her that for some time back he had had a suitable partner in view, and that in a few days every thing would be arranged. The girl, crowing scarlet, rose to her feet and, stammering forth a few words, abruptly lett the room.

Last night I never went to bed because I felt I was unable to sleep. About four in the morning I went out to breathe the fresh air, and was walking up and down in front of the house when Beauvais came up to me and said, “Can you guess the news? Denise is going to be married to the son of a rich estate-agent who Stays not far from here. Her fiancé (intended) is a fine young fellow, with whom I have had many a pleasant chat on market-days when I used to meet him near Pressigny bridge. The marriage is to take place ina month, so you must ask a three months’ holiday to take part in the festivities, and afterwards you can have some shooting in the country before you go home. But remember, not a word to any one about it before the end of the month.