In the ranks He took a private's place. What that war was Too well is known. Days came and went till weeks wore into months, Still she held back her rebel tears, and bravely strove To live debarred of tidings. Then came the siege of Paris-hideous time! Spreading through France as gangrene spreads, invasion Drew near Irene's chateau! Roger at Metz was with his regiment safe, Wakened, one morning, with a start, she heard In quick succession. It had indeed Been a mere skirmish-that, and nothing more. "Twould be well," Remarked Irene, "that an ambulance Were posted here." In fact, they had picked up Just at that moment, where the fight had been, A wounded officer-Bavarian he Shot through the neck. And, when they brought him in, That tall young man, all pale, eyes closed, and bleeding, Irene commanded he be borne Into the room by Roger occupied When he came wooing there. Then, while they put The wounded man to bed, she carried out Herself his vest and cloak all stained with blood; Bade the old valet wear an air less glum, And stir himself with more alacrity; And, when the doctor dressed the wound, lent aid, As of the Sisterhood of Charity, With her own hands. The officer at last, Wonder and gratitude upon his face, Sank down among the pillows deftly laid as one asleep. Bringing the doctor. When he saw his patient, As to himself he muttered: "Yes; flushed cheek; "Who knows? If possible, "Doctor, I am here." "Not you, young lady! Service such as this Roger perchance may be a prisoner yonder, Hurt, ill. If he such tending should require As does this officer, I would he had A gentle lady for his nurse." "So be it," "You will keep watch, then, through the night. The fever Must not take hold, or he will straightway die. Give him the potion four times every hour. I will return to judge of its effects But I heard every word. I thank you, lady; Do not excite yourself. "Hush! Sleep if you can. "No, no! On perfect quiet." I must at once unload me of a secret That weighs upon me. And I would keep it. I a promise made; Death may be at hand." "Speak, then," Irene said, "and ease your soul." "It was last month, by Metz; 'twas my ill fate To kill a Frenchman." She turned pale, and lowered The lamp-light to conceal it. He continued: "We were sent forward to surprise a cottage. I drove my sabre Into the soldier's back who sentry stood Before the door. He fell; nor gave the alarm. Every soul there. Disgusted with such carnage, Loathing such scene, I stepped into the air; Just then the moon broke through the clouds and showed me There at my feet a soldier on the ground. 'Twas he, The sentry whom my sabre had transpierced. I stooped, to offer him a helping hand ; But, with choked voice, 'It is too late,' he said. To forward this,' he said, his fingers clutching A gold medallion hanging at his breast, 'To-.' Then his latest thought Passed with his latest breath. The loved one's name, Mistress or bride affianced, was not told By that poor Frenchman. Seeing blazoned arms On the medallion, I took charge of it, To whom reverts the dying soldier's gift. Therewith He the medallion handed her; and on it Irene saw the Viscount Roger's blazoned arms. "I swear it, sir!" she murmured. "Sleep in peace!" Solaced by having this disclosure made, The wounded man sank down in sleep. Irene, Without or cry or call for comrades' help, The man who murdered him! Yes; he has boasted Who bade him sleep in peace! O With what cruel mockery, cruel and supreme Must I give him tendance here, By this couch watch till dawn of day, As loving mother by a suffering child! And there the flask upon the table stands Charged with his life. He waits it! Is not this Oh, away! such point Forbearance reaches not. What!-while it glitters There in sheath, the very sword Wherewith the murderer struck the blow. Fierce impulse bids it from the scabbard leap- To some fantastic notion that affects that. I need but leave to Fate to work the end. "Infamy!" |