It contained definite marching orders, which were communicated officially that afternoon, to all the troops in St Louis. VII When Jean found himself once more in the deserted street he could restrain himself no longer, and with trembling hands he opened the envelope. This time it contained only his mother’s handwriting—handwriting that was shakier than usual, and stained with tears. He devoured the lines—dizziness seized him, poor fellow—clasping his head in his hands, he leaned against the wall. * * * * * The packet entrusted to him was very urgent, the Governor had said. He kissed old Françoise’s name piously, and went on his way like a drunken man. * * * * * Was this thing possible? It was over, over for ever. They had taken from him, the poor exile, the betrothed of his childish days, whom his old parents had chosen for him. “The banns are published. The marriage will take place before the month is over. I had been fearing this, my dear son, even since last month; for Jeanne no longer came to see us. But I did not dare to tell you just then for fear of distressing you, since there was nothing that we could do in the matter. “We are in deep despair. Now, my son, a thought struck Peyral yesterday which has alarmed us; it is that you may not wish to come home again now, but to remain in Africa. “We are both very old. My good Jean, my dear son, your poor mother begs you on her knees not to let this prevent you from being sensible and from coming back to us soon, as we had expected. Otherwise I would rather die at once, and Peyral too.” * * * * * Incoherent, tumultuous thoughts rushed through Jean’s brain. He made a rapid calculation of dates. No! It was not all over yet, it was not yet an accomplished fact. Telegraph! No! What possessed him? There was no telegraphic communication between France and Senegal. And after all, what could he have said? If he could have gone away, leaving everything behind, gone away on some very swift ship, and still have arrived in time, he might have thrown himself at their feet, with supplications and tears, and have yet succeeded in moving them to relent. But so far away! What futility! What impotence! All would be consummated before he could even reach them with his message of grief. And he felt as if his head were crushed by iron hands, and his breast in the grip of a remorseless vice. He halted again and reread the letter, and then remembering that he was the bearer of urgent orders from the Governor, he folded up the letter and went on. * * * * *