“Do not think,” he again continued, “that I wish you to return me, that is impossible. But I cannot help my feelings!” This was only replied to by reproaches; which I did not listen to, for as it was no business of mine I turned to converse with my companions. The grenadier, at last, made a move to take his departure, and his wife, for such she evidently was, had agreed to accompany him a little of the way, and they walked together. I did not know how to account for it, but there was a certain uneasiness attended me, which had kept me, as it were, on their trail all the evening; and Battersby and myself followed in their rear. They had proceeded a few hundred yards, and were some distance in advance, when she turned to wish him good-night. The poor fellow paused again, as if in deep thought, fixing on her the same cool, deliberate look that he had exhibited all the evening. “So you are determined, Nelly,” said he at length, “to continue this way of living?” “Yes,” said she. “Well, then,” he exclaimed, holding her firmly by the left hand, which she had extended for him to shake, while he drew his bayonet with his right, “take that,” and he drove it right through her body. The blow was given with such force that it actually tripped him over her, and both fell, the bayonet still sticking in her side. The poor woman gave a convulsive scream, and in a moment expired. The grenadier bounded instantly on his feet again, and stamping one foot on the body of his victim, jerked forth the bayonet reeking with her blood. Wheeling himself round on his heel, the fatal weapon tightly clutched in his right hand, his eyes instantaneously caught the direction Battersby had taken, and he flew after him with the speed and countenance of a fiend, to wreak a second vengeance. The sergeant fortunately arrived in the camp in time enough to call out the rear-guard, who, of course, were instantly on the alarm to meet him. The grenadier no sooner beheld him in safety than he stopped, and casting a half contemptuous smile towards the body of his dead wife, wiped the bayonet through his fingers, returned it to the scabbard, and drawing himself to his full height, calmly awaited the approach of the guard. When brought before the Colonel, he said in a rough and manly tone of voice, while he extended his arm towards his wife, “I have done the deed, but sorry her seducer has escaped.” He was afterwards brought to a court-martial, and sentenced to three months’ solitary confinement. But he suffered for one month only, when, as I suppose, in consideration of his case, he was ordered to return to his regiment. I have since been informed that he was shot in one of the actions on the Pyrennees. He certainly was a fine-looking fellow, and by name Bryen. As for Nelly, we buried her that very night near the spot where she fell, having dug her grave with the same kind of weapon as that by which she had been deprived of life.