- And, what weighed more than
all, - he did not look as if he had done amiss.
- 'Tis all very well, La Fleur, said I. - 'Twas sufficient. La
Fleur flew out of the room like lightning, and returned with pen,
ink, and paper, in his hand; and, coming up to the table, laid them
close before me, with such a delight in his countenance, that I
could not help taking up the pen.
I began and began again; and, though I had nothing to say, and that
nothing might have been expressed in half a dozen lines, I made
half a dozen different beginnings, and could no way please myself.
In short, I was in no mood to write.
La Fleur stepp'd out and brought a little water in a glass to
dilute my ink, - then fetch'd sand and seal-wax. - It was all one; I
wrote, and blotted, and tore off, and burnt, and wrote again. - Le
diable l'emporte! said I, half to myself, - I cannot write this
self-same letter, throwing the pen down despairingly as I said it.
As soon as I had cast down my pen, La Fleur advanced with the most
respectful carriage up to the table, and making a thousand
apologies for the liberty he was going to take, told me he had a
letter in his pocket wrote by a drummer in his regiment to a
corporal's wife, which he durst say would suit the occasion.
I had a mind to let the poor fellow have his humour. - Then prithee,
said I, let me see it.
La Fleur instantly pulled out a little dirty pocket book cramm'd
full of small letters and billet-doux in a sad condition, and
laying it upon the table, and then untying the string which held
them all together, run them over, one by one, till he came to the
letter in question, - La voila! said he, clapping his hands: so,
unfolding it first, he laid it open before me, and retired three
steps from the table whilst I read it.
THE LETTER.
Madame,
Je suis penetre de la douleur la plus vive, et reduit en meme temps
au desespoir par ce retour imprevu du Caporal qui rend notre
entrevue de ce soir la chose du monde la plus impossible.
Mais vive la joie! et toute la mienne sera de penser a vous.
L'amour n'est rien sans sentiment.
Et le sentiment est encore moins sans amour.
On dit qu'on ne doit jamais se desesperer.
On dit aussi que Monsieur le Caporal monte la garde Mercredi:
alors ce cera mon tour.
Chacun a son tour.
En attendant - Vive l'amour! et vive la bagatelle!
Je suis, Madame,
Avec tous les sentimens les plus respectueux et les plus tendres,
tout a vous,
