"They say Blucher will come soon to
expel the French from the capital, and father thinks I might then
repeat those words to his old chieftain."
"Sister, sister, the stage-coach is coming," shouted Charles,
rushing breathlessly into the room. "The postilion has already blown
his bugle for the third time!"
"Well, then, my child, we must part," said the old sergeant, deeply
moved, and clasping Leonora in his arms. "God bless you, my
daughter! Your father's thoughts will always be with you!" He
disengaged himself from her arms, and pushed her gently toward her
mother. The two women remained a long time locked in each other's
arms. Neither of them said a word, but their tears and their last
looks were more eloquent than words.
"And you forget me?" asked Charles, reproachfully. "You do not care
to take leave of me?"
Leonora released herself from her mother's embrace, and encircled
her brother's neck with her arms. "Farewell, darling of my heart!"
she cried. "Be a good son to father and mother, and remember that
you must henceforth love them for both of us. Farewell, brother, and
forgive me for being born earlier than you, and thus preventing your
being in my place. God decreed it thus, putting us in our own
places, and we must both fill them worthily."
"Yes," said Charles, amid his tears, "certainly we will."
A carriage was rattling over the pavement, and stopped in front of
the house.
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