In the days of the convalescence
of Raoul Dauvray, the two friends of the soldier-artist, now waiting
the orders for the great attack, commune as to his rights. It would
not be well to disturb him with false hopes.
The gentle old priest tells Raoul the whole story of Lagunitas.
"Mon pere," says the sculptor, "I think there is something wrong
with the affairs of that estate. This great Judge may wish you
out of the way. He may wish to keep Armand out of his rights. He
is deceiving you. It would be well, when brighter days come, that
Armand should go to the western land and see this man."
"But he is poor," Raoul sighs, "and he cannot go."
"If he writes to the 'avocat,' the man will be on his guard."
Pere Francois takes many a pinch of snuff. He ponders from day to
day. When the fatal days of the surrender of Paris come, Armand
returns saddened and war-worn, but safe. The victorious columns
of the great German "imperator" march under the Arc de Triomphe.
Their bayonets shine in the Bois de Boulogne. Thundering cannon at
Versailles bellow a salute to the new-crowned Emperor of Germany.
The days of the long siege have been dreadful. Privation, the
streams of wounded, and the dull boom of the guns of the forts are
sad witnesses of the ruin of war.
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