But he was so brave, so ready. Ah, too brave, too ready!"
"May the Devil carry you away!" the Englishman broke in impatiently; "I
beg your pardon,--I mean me,--I am not accustomed to speak French,--go
on, will you?"
"And a falling beam--"
"Good God!" exclaimed the Englishman. "It was a private soldier who was
killed?"
"No. A Corporal, the same Corporal, our dear Corporal. Beloved by all
his comrades. The funeral ceremony was touching,--penetrating. Monsieur
The Englishman, your eyes fill with tears."
"What bu-si--"
"Monsieur The Englishman, I honour those emotions. I salute you with
profound respect. I will not obtrude myself upon your noble heart."
Monsieur Mutuel,--a gentleman in every thread of his cloudy linen, under
whose wrinkled hand every grain in the quarter of an ounce of poor snuff
in his poor little tin box became a gentleman's property,--Monsieur
Mutuel passed on, with his cap in his hand.
"I little thought," said the Englishman, after walking for several
minutes, and more than once blowing his nose, "when I was looking round
that cemetery--I'll go there!"
Straight he went there, and when he came within the gate he paused,
considering whether he should ask at the lodge for some direction to the
grave. But he was less than ever in a mood for asking questions, and he
thought, "I shall see something on it to know it by.
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