Margaret, Cadieu's friend, had arrived, a pretty, fair-haired girl of the soubrette and ingénue type. Her presence exhilarated my neighbour to such an extent that our corner was one long roar of laughter. I alone did not cheer up. He cast sorrowful looks at me, and the girl took to bringing me flowers in the morning when she brought them for her Julot. How sorry they were for me! And my father! He certainly would not have questioned me. But his speech which was usually abrupt, softened, and his gaze grew more gentle when it rested on me. I was grateful to him for his tacit compassion, and I felt inclined to cry. CHAPTER II RELIEF How I trembled when at last I tore open...! My doom was to be pronounced. My secret terror was dissipated on glancing at the first lines. Jeannine reminded me that she was the daughter of a soldier, the niece and grand-daughter of a soldier. From time immemorial, glorious wounds had been revered in her family. She quoted the case of her great-uncle, who was also her godfather, who, in the year '70, had been hit by a bullet near his elbow, and had soon lost the use of his right arm, owing to rheumatism. Their admiration had surrounded him and followed in his train all his life long. My misfortune, she said, had not taken her by surprise. She had dreaded it all along. Had I not discerned her deep compassion beneath the encouragement even in her very first letter? At this point her tone grew more tender. She was aware, she said, of my bitterness and anguish which I tried in vain to conceal from her. However, I had turned to her. She thanked me for that. She was my faithful friend. She recognised herself as being picked out to help me in my trouble. After all, I was alive. Wasn't that all that mattered? My misfortune did not lower me. It all raised me, on the contrary. I must have fought superbly. How many times a day she had pictured me leading my men to the attack. I had been intoxicated, had I not, by all that life offered of sublime sensations. I should not assume my former scepticism again, even in play. What a lot we should have to tell each other when--and Heaven grant that the day might be near at hand--we met again. I read and re-read these six pages. I never tired of assuring myself of my joy and revelling in it. My heart melted as a result of the relief, and turned towards the wall; I wept the sweet tears which had been ready to flow for the last ten days. I now recognised clearly what I had dreaded and could smile at it. A revival of the dry mistrust which was dissipated at a word from Jeannine!