This gentleman is your
superior; he is no longer young'--at which word you are to conceive
the Major's face. 'It is admitted he has broken his parole. I
know not his reason, and no more do you. It might be patriotism in
this hour of our country's adversity, it might be humanity,
necessity; you know not what in the least, and you permit yourself
to reflect on his honour. To break parole may be a subject for
pity and not derision. I have broken mine--I, a colonel of the
Empire. And why? I have been years negotiating my exchange, and
it cannot be managed; those who have influence at the Ministry of
War continually rush in before me, and I have to wait, and my
daughter at home is in a decline. I am going to see my daughter at
last, and it is my only concern lest I should have delayed too
long. She is ill, and very ill,--at death's door. Nothing is left
me but my daughter, my Emperor, and my honour; and I give my
honour, blame me for it who dare!'
At this my heart smote me.
'For God's sake,' I cried, 'think no more of what I have said! A
parole? what is a parole against life and death and love? I ask
your pardon; this gentleman's also. As long as I shall be with
you, you shall not have cause to complain of me again. I pray God
you will find your daughter alive and restored.
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