This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By LUDOVIC HALEVY
The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the bugle-call rangthrough the barrack-yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, and tookhis place with his division. By the end of May all the recruits in thearmy are sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing in the generalevolutions. Almost every day manoeuvres of the mounted artillery areexecuted on the parade-ground. Jean loved his profession; he was in thehabit of inspecting carefully the grooming and harness of the horses, theequipment and carriage of his men. This morning, however, he bestowedbut scant attention on all the little details of his duty.
One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him always undecided, andthis problem was one of those the solution of which is not given at theEcole Polytechnique. Jean could find no convincing reply to thisquestion: Which of the two sisters is the prettier?
At the butts, during the first part of the manoeuvre, each battery workedon its own account, under the orders of the captain; but he oftenrelinquished the place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustomthem to the management of six field-pieces. It happened on this day thatthe command was intrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great surprise ofthe Captain, in whose estimation his Lieutenant held the first rank as awell-trained, smart, and capable officer, everything went wrong. TheCaptain was obliged to interfere; he addressed a little reprimand toJean, which terminated in these words:
"I can not understand it at all. What is the matter with you thismorning? It is the first time such a thing has happened with you."
It was also the first time that Jean had seen anything at the butts at
Souvigny but cannon, ammunition wagons, horses, or gunners.
In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the wagons and the hoofs ofthe horses Jean beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 9thRegiment of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans withblack eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when he listenedrespectfully to the well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in theact of saying to himself:
"The prettier is Mrs. Scott!"
Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a little intervalof ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jean remainedapart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening. Histhoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval.
"Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percivalis only a child."
He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little table. He heard her storytold with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that verypeculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was againin the church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, herpretty head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, andfar off, in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile ofBettina.
"A child—is she only a child?"
The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately,no command, no resp