“If it were as uneventful as La Fosseuse’s life,” answered Genestas, “I should still be glad to know about it; I should like to know the untoward events that could bring a man of your calibre into this canton.”

“Captain, for these twelve years I have lived in silence; and now, as I wait at the brink of the grave for the stroke that will cast me into it, I will candidly own to you that this silence is beginning to weigh heavily upon me.  I have borne my sorrows alone for twelve years; I have had none of the comfort that friendship gives in such full measure to a heart in pain.  My poor sick folk and my peasants certainly set me an example of unmurmuring resignation; but they know that I at least understand them and their troubles, while there is not a soul here who knows of the tears that I have shed, no one to give me the hand-clasp of a comrade, the noblest reward of all, a reward that falls to the lot of every other; even Gondrin has not missed that.”

Genestas held out his hand, a sudden impulsive movement by which Benassis was deeply touched.

“There is La Fosseuse,” he went on in a different voice; “she perhaps would have understood as the angels might; but then, too, she might possibly have loved me, and that would have been a misfortune.  Listen, captain, my confession could only be made to an old soldier who looks as leniently as you do on the failings of others, or to some young man who has not lost the illusions of youth; for only a man who knows life well, or a lad to whom it is all unknown, could understand my story.  The captains of past times who fell upon the field of battle used to make their last confession to the cross on the hilt of their sword; if there was no priest at hand, it was the sword that received and kept the last confidences between a human soul and God.  And will you hear and understand me, for you are one of Napoleon’s finest sword-blades, as thoroughly tempered and as strong as steel?  Some parts of my story can only be understood by a delicate tenderness, and through a sympathy with the beliefs that dwell in simple hearts; beliefs which would seem absurd to the sophisticated people who make use in their own lives of the prudential maxims of worldly wisdom that only apply to the government of states.  To you I shall speak openly and without reserve, as a man who does not seek to apologize for his life with the good and evil done in the course of it; as one who will hide nothing from you, because he lives so far from the world of to-day, careless of the judgements of man, and full of hope in God.”

Benassis stopped, rose to his feet, and said, “Before I begin my story, I will order tea.  Jacquotte has never missed asking me if I will take it for these twelve years past, and she will certainly interrupt us.  Do you care about it, captain?”

“No, thank you.”

In another moment Benassis returned.

CHAPTER IV