He closed his eyes as he leant against the sweet support
which she afforded him, but not in sleep; he was thinking over all it
might be most necessary for him to say to her, before the power of
speech had left him, and taking counsel with himself as to the advice
which he would give her.
"Victorine," he said, and then paused a moment for a reply, but, as she
did not answer him, he went on. "Victorine, I want you to be all
yourself now, while I speak to you. Can you listen to me calmly, love,
while I speak to you seriously?"
She said that she would, but the tone in which she said it, hardly gave
confirmation to her promise.
"I hardly know what account you have yet heard of that unfortunate
battle."
"Oh! I have heard that it was most unfortunate: unfortunate to all, but
most unfortunate to us."
"It was unfortunate. I hope those who spoke to you of it, deceived you
with no false hopes, for that would have been mere cruelty. Give me your
hand, my love; I hope they told you the truth. You know, dearest, do you
not, that--that--that my wound is mortal?"
She strove hard to control her feelings.
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