As if to renew the solemn pledge that united them thenceforth, he pressed his lips to the poor card whereon there shone a reflection of that charm, unique in his eyes, and, seating himself at his desk, he began a letter to Madame Olier which should describe the decisive episode of the morning, or, rather, which should try to describe it. He was constantly obliged to pause in order to choose among his thoughts. How painful that careful surveillance of his words was to him! Complete confidence is so natural, so necessary, with the person one loves! It is the very breath of the heart. That letter finished, he took another sheet to write another. It must not be that the marquis should learn from the newspapers of the episode of the Hugueville inventory. Landri owed it to himself as well as to him to conduct himself in his relations with him exactly as if the terrible revelation had never been made. But by what name should he call him? Thrice the young man dipped his pen in the ink and thrice he laid it down. His hand refused to trace the two affectionate syllables. At last, with a sort of devout horror, he wrote, "Dear father."--Rapidly, without choosing his words,--he was simply narrating facts now,--he filled four pages with his long, nervous handwriting, and signed, as usual, "Your respectful and affectionate son." "I am entitled to it," he said, as he closed the envelope, which he sealed with the Claviers arms; "I have paid dearly enough for it." These letters written and mailed, Landri was surprised to feel a sort of peace, depressed and gloomy to be sure, but peace none the less. How he had dreaded that turning-point of his destiny, that hour when he must cease to serve, when he would become once more, to use his own words, "an idler and useless,--a rich man with the most authentic coat-of-arms on his carriage,--an _émigré_ within the country!" That hour had struck, and he was almost calm. The misfortune that has happened has this merit at least: the tumult of ideas aroused by uncertainty subsides before the accomplished fact, and there ensues within us a sudden silence, as it were, which gives to the heart a simulacrum of repose. Assuredly Landri was very sad at the thought that he had taken part for the last time in the life of the regiment. But at all events he _knew_ that it was for the last time. The discomfort of indecision was at an end. During those long days of enforced retirement he would be able to apply the powers of his mind to his plans of a new future, without wondering whether or no that future was possible. It was possible--less simple, less in conformity with the aspirations of his youth than if he had remained a soldier while marrying Valentine; but as he still had Valentine, nothing was lost.