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"I think that you are right," the count said seriously. "In ordinary times a soldier's life would be a pleasant one, and he could reckon upon the occasional excitement of war; but such a war as this is beyond all calculation. In these three campaigns, and the present one is not ended, nigh half of the army which marched through here has been killed or wounded. It is terrible to think of.
Wynne, I have writ a letter, which I am allowed to send to General Washington. Will you see that he has it in person? It asks that I may die a soldier's death. All else is done. My mother but no matter. I have wound up my earthly affairs. I am assured, through the kindness of his Excellency, that my letters and effects will reach my friends and those who are still closer to me.
You will find the physician Nebsecht here; but treat each other as enemies rather than as friends, if you do not wish to be parted." Pentaur had communicated the soldier's advice to Nebsecht, and he had followed it in his own way.
Montcalm lay in his soldier's grave before the humble altar of the Ursulines, never more to see the home for which he yearned, the wife, mother, and children whom he loved, the olive-trees and chestnut-groves of his beloved Candiac. He slept in peace among triumphant enemies, who respected his memory, though they hardly knew his resting-place.
The contrast of her heroic brother and a luxurious idle lord scattering blood of bird or stag, and despising the soldier's profession, had a singular bitter effect, consequent on her scorn of words to defend the man her heart idolized. This last of young women for weeping wept in the lady's presence.
Let the faithful followers he has known since his childhood stand round his bed; while his fast-failing sight recognizes each old and well-remembered object, and the same bell which rang its farewell to the spirit of his ancestors toll for him, the last of his race. And as for me, there was the wide world before me, and a narrow resting-place would suffice for a soldier's sepulchre.
In January Montcalm wrote in his diary: 'terrible distress round Quebec. Then, the same day: 'balls, amusements, picnics, and tremendous gambling. Another entry: 'in spite of the distress and impending ruin of the colony pleasure parties are going on the whole time. He himself had only plain fare horse-flesh and the soldier's half ration of bread on his table. No wonder the vampires hated him!
Yet who would not have been in haste, urged by such a spur as had I? Here, then, was the end of my shameful travesty. To-morrow a soldier's harness should replace the motley of a jester; the name by which I should be known again to men would be that of Lazzaro Biancomonte, and no longer Boccadoro the Fool of the golden mouth.
And yet the thought became a fury as he walked rapidly through the dark toward the river what it would mean to have a woman want him that way!.... His thoughts did not violate the soldier's domain. Quite clean, he was, from that; yet she had shown him afresh what was in the world.
"The fierceness of the whig soldier's manner, and the consciousness of being wholly in his power, completely humbled the tory, and he begged his life, and promised to conduct the troops to his encampment, where they would find the lady in safety. "The tories were now effectually routed; some were killed, some wounded, others captured, and some had escaped.
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