"Thou art gone, my brave commander, my gallant commander," he
said, standing suddenly upright, and stretching his long arms over the
corpse, "thou art gone, and I doubt not I shall follow thee: but till
that moment shall come, till a death, as honourable as thine own, shall
release me from my promise, I swear that I will not disgrace the high
station which thy departure obliges me to fill. It was thou who first
tutored my unaccustomed arm to wield the sword; it was thou who badest
me hear unmoved the thunder of an enemy's artillery; it was thou who
taughtest me all I know of military tactics, and the art of war. Rest
in peace, dear friend, dearest of instructors, I will not disgrace thy
precepts." And so finishing, he stooped down, kissed the face of the
dead body which he apostrophized, made a cross on the bosom, and
muttered a fervent prayer for the welfare of the departed soul.
If Henri was surprised before, he was now perfectly astounded; nothing
could be less poetical, less imposing, or have less of military grandeur
about it than the figure of poor Auguste Plume.
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