Belle-Rose — page 60: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

— LOST ILLUSIONS. bie Naucrais, who loved him in his way, was only waiting, he said, for an occasion to let him get wounded in the ser- vice of the king in order to ask the epaulettes for him. Belle-Rose prayed for a battle; but the Spaniards remained upon the frontier, peaceably ensconced in their quarters. — After the generals the turn of the ambassadors had come. Instead of making war, they were carrying on negotia- tions. Louis XIV. had married. Peace did not suit Belle-Rose; therefore he was much vexed. When Monsieur de Naucrais, the morning after the report was read, saw Belle-Rose care-worn, he asked him if the news was warlike. : ‘‘No,’’ replied the sergeant; ‘‘it would be well-timed to give distaffs to the soldiers—at least, they would. be good for something. ’’ ‘Here is a droll fellow who, in order to light more quickly the nuptial torch, would willingly set fire to the four corners of, Europe, ’”’ Monsieur de N aucrais gayly 3 re- sponded. But as soon as the sergeant became too gloomy, the cap- tain confided to him the command of small detachments which were sent to serve in the fortifications at Bethune, Péronne, Amiens, St. Pal, and other towns in Picardy and Artois. ae In the meantime Belle-Rose received a letter whose su- perscription made his heart beat; he had just recognized Suzanne’s handwriting. -1t was the first time that she had written to him directly. There is in the first letter of the first woman you love an infinite sweetness which suffuses the eyes with divine tears. It brings an. indefinable emo- tion which nothing can ever afterward replace; the fingers caress the paper, the lips touch it softly; there escapes from it a perfume which the soul inhales, and it is an en- chantment whose recollection again makes warm the heart of the saddest old men. Belle-Rose kissed this letter a thousand times before breaking. the seal, then he ran into the country in order to give to his confused but delightful sensations the silence which permits them to be enjoyed. When he had concealed himself in the shade of the lin- dens, far from the dusty paths along which rises the noise of cities, he tore open the envelope and read what follows: - ‘‘When you left St. Omer, my friend, you were eighteen and I fif- teen ; more than three years have rolled away since that time, and not a single day has passed without my thinking of you. The memory of you dwells in my heart asI live in yours; each time that your letters announce your progress and your advancement, I have rejoiced. I EOMmIiGchbooks: Go