On the couch where I had left the priest sleeping, the old man was now seated, his head uncovered, and a scarf of light blue silk across his shoulders and falling to his feet. Before him, and kneeling, was a figure, of which for some minutes I in vain endeavored to ascertain the traits; for while in the military air of the dress there was something to mark the soldier, a waving mass of hair loosely falling on the back bespoke another sex. While I yet doubted, the flickering flame burst forth and showed me the small and beautiful shaped foot which from beneath a loose trouser peeped forth, and in the neat boot and tastefully ornamented spur I recognized in an instant it was a vivandière of the army,--one of those who, amid all the reckless abandon of the life of camps and battlefields, can yet preserve some vestige of coquetry and feminine grace. So strange the sight, so complete the heavy stupor of my faculties, that again and again I doubted whether the whole might not be the creation of a dream; but the well-known tones of the old man's voice soon reassured me, as I heard him say,-- “I know it too, my child; I have followed too long the fortunes of an army not to feel and to sorrow for these things. But be comforted.” A passionate burst of tears from her who knelt at his feet interrupted him here; nor did it seem that all he could speak of consolation was able to assuage the deep sorrow of the poor girl, whose trembling frame bespoke her agony. By degrees, however, she grew calmer. A deep sob or a long-drawn sigh alone would be heard, as the venerable father, with impassioned eloquence, depicted the happiness of those who sought the blessings of religion, and could tear themselves from the world and its ambitions. Warming with his theme, he descanted on the lives of those saints on earth whose every minute was an offering of heavenly love; and contrasted the holy calm of a convent with the wild revelry of the camp, or the more revolting carnage of the battlefield. “Speak not of these things, Father; your own voice trembles with proud emotion at the mention of glorious war. Tell me, oh! tell me that I may have hope, and yet leave not all that makes life endurable.” The old man spoke again; but his tones were low, and his words seemed a reproof, for she bowed her head between her hands and sobbed heavily. To the long and impassioned appeal of the priest there now succeeded a silence, only broken by the deep-drawn sighs of her who knelt in sadness and penitence before him. “And his name?” said the father; “you have not told his name.” A pause followed, in which not even a breathing was heard; then a low, murmuring sound came, and it seemed to meas though I heard my own name uttered. I started at the sound, and with the noise the vivandière sprang to her feet. “I heard a noise there,” said she, resolutely. “It is my companion of the journey,” said the priest. “Poor fellow! he is tired and weary; he sleeps soundly.”