It had taken Josephine a long time to read this letter; for every now and then they had stopped to talk over the incidents related in it. This was the first tidings which had reached them of the disastrous retreat of Bourbaki's army, through the passes of the Jura, into Switzerland; and great was the sympathy they expressed for their unfortunate fellow-countrymen in their sufferings, as well as indignation at the incapacity of their commanders. But they were all three full of joy and deeply grateful to God. Josephine was radiant with happiness.

"I must lose no time," she said; "I will write till post-time to-night. Pierre shall have a long letter from me.”

199

CHAPTER XXIV.

HOPES AND FEARS.

"To each his suffering; all are men
Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender, for another's pain,

The unfeeling, for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies,

Thought would destroy their Paradise."

GRAY.

JOSEPHINE was not the only one who was gladdened by good news of Pierre; for that same day the Dinan postman brought a letter to Jacques Plumier, bearing the Swiss postmark. Feelings of joy and gladness, mingled with deepest gratitude to God, filled the old man's heart. Pierre was safe. God's hand had been over him; his father's prayers had been heard; he had escaped the Prussian bullets; he had survived and bravely borne all the hardships and sufferings of that fearful retreat, which old Plumier justly said must have been nearly as bad as the disastrous Russian campaign in 1812. So brimful of happiness was the old man's heart, that he quite forgot his rheumatism, and, with Pierre's letter in his pocket, he took up his stick and hobbled off into the town, to acquaint his friend the curé with the good news.

We will leave them discussing the happy tidings, and return to our friends in Paris.

Madame Laforce, though as yet she had but few customers, had resumed her washing, for people were now beginning to return to the city. Josephine, too, was daily hoping to hear from her former mistress. Louis, still pale and weak, and with a troublesome cough, was nevertheless better; he was able to get out a little now, and with the help of a stick had even walked as far as the Louvre and back. Meunier, too,

was hoping that ere long he would be able to lay aside his crutches, and get to work again; he was also very eager to make an expedition to St. Cloud, to see in what state his cottage was, hoping that perhaps the walls would still be standing, and that it might yet be made habitable.

Meanwhile negotiations for peace were going on. forts of Paris, and of course all the environs were in the hands of the Prussians, but during the armistice the inhabitants of the city could pass freely in and out. Hundreds daily visited the surrounding villages, some as mere spectators, to behold the ravages which war had wrought, others far more interested, to ascertain what remained of their former property. Here and there groups of women might be seen shedding tears over blackened heaps of ruins, which were all that remained of their burned habitations. The men were more self-contained, though most of them wore a sullen, despondent look. But the light-heartedness and elasticity, so peculiar a characteristic of the French people, and especially of the Parisians, seemed generally to prevail. There was now a universal exodus from the city to the suburbs ; folks were so glad to get to their own homes, ruined and desolate as they were,—with hard work they hoped soon to repair them, and make them habitable again; it was such a relief to get out of the close, confined garrets and cellars in the city, and to breathe once more the fresh, pure air. Waggons and trucks piled up with furniture, moved in a slow procession from all the gates, there were the same beds and chairs, and tables, and ornaments we remarked before, but in most cases the domestic pets were wanting, for they had fallen victims to their masters' hunger, during the latter days of the siege.

M. Gérome had reopened his factory, and Camille went regularly to work again; the very first day the master inquired after Louis, asking Camille where he lived, for he said he was anxious to go and look up all his old workmen, who had been

wounded or had in any way suffered during the late troubles, as well as to visit the families of any of those who had fallen.

One morning while the little household in the Rue du Dragon, increased by Meunier and Cécile, who had come to pay them a visit, were sitting chatting round the fire, M. Gérome, to their no little surprise, walked in.

All rose to welcome their unexpected visitor.

"I am so glad to have found you out, my friends,” he said kindly, as he sat down on the chair which Josephine offered him. "I am trying to look up all my former workmen; this sad war, the siege and all the sickness it has brought with it, has made much havoc in our ranks."

“Alas! yes, sir,” replied Louis.

"I rejoice that it has spared both of you, Meunier and Laforce,” said M. Gérome, “but I regret that you both seem to have suffered.”

"I thank God, sir, that it is no worse," said Meunier, "I shall always be rather lame, and have to hobble on crutches for some weeks yet, perhaps ; still I trust I shall be able to work as well as ever.”

"I trust so too," said the master; "come to the workshop as soon as ever you can, never mind the crutches, if with them you can get as far. There is plenty of work you can do sitting, you know, Meunier; and never mind if you come a little late.” "Thank you, thank you, sir," replied Meunier; "I think if my daughter here, Cécile, comes with me just to prevent my being pushed down in the crowded streets, and to help me up if I should fall, I could get there well enough, so I will; with your permission, sir, try and come to-morrow."

“Very well, Meunier, and Mademoiselle can stay and rest in my house as long as she likes-but Laforce, my good fellowI want to know all about you—you look pale and ill. I fear these bad times have dealt more hardly with you than with our friend here."

"Thank you, sir," replied Louis cheerfully; "I certainly have had my share of suffering. I was severely wounded at Le Bourget, and afterwards had to submit to an operation, since then I have been very weak. Ah! if it hadn't been for all the kind care of my good mother and sister, I should long ago have been in my grave, but now I hope I am beginning to mend a little."

"Plenty of air and good nourishing food is what you require, my friend,” said Mr. Gérome. "I'll find some light work for you to do, when you are able to come to us; and I shall pay you the same wages as when you were strong and fit to do anything that came to hand. If it's too far for you to walk, you must take the omnibus."

"How kind you are, sir!" and the tears started to his eyes as he took his master's hand and respectfully kissed it. "God bless you for your goodness! Yes, to-morrow I will take the omnibus and come and do my best; but you, sir-pardon us that we have not asked before-have you suffered much from this sad war? how are your family? and has your country house been destroyed like so many others ? "

M. Gérome looked very sad, and they perceived now that he was dressed in very deep mourning. "Ah! my friends," he said with a sigh ; "there are few French families, to whatever class they belong, who have not suffered in some way from this terrible war, who have not to lament over the grave of some beloved member, who has fallen a victim either to it, or to the countless calamities it has brought with it. I have to deplore the loss of one of my daughters, who heroically devoted herself to the care of our sick and wounded soldiers, and who died of a fever brought on by fatigue and over-exertion. Ah! she fell a martyr to this siege, but thank God we know she is happy and at rest; but to us it is indeed a sad, irreparable loss," and the good man burst into tears.

"Oh, dear sir, we do indeed sympathize with you," said