And now Plume, having carefully completed what the exigencies of the
moment required, gave way to his sincere grief, and bewailed his friend
with no silent sorrow. Henri, who had totally forgotten the little that
he had heard of the martial baker, was at a loss to conceive who could
be the man, a stranger to himself who found cause for so much sorrow in
the death of Adolphe Denot. As for himself, he had tenderly loved Denot
as a brother; he had truly forgiven him his gross treachery; and he had
determined to watch over him, and if possible protect him from farther
sorrow: but after the interview he had had with him, he could not
conceal from himself that Adolphe was still insane; and he felt that
death had come to him in an honourable way, atoning for past faults, and
relieving him from future sufferings. He could not grieve that his
friend had fallen in battle, bravely doing his duty in the cause to
which he was bound by so many ties.
"He was the bravest man, and the best soldier, and the most honourable
gentleman in the whole army," said Plume, sobbing; "and now there's no
one left but myself," and then recovering himself he made to the manes
of the departed warrior a loyal promise, which he fully determined to
keep.
Pages:
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842