"
"I shall see nothing of the kind, Monsieur Maurice," said my father. "I
would not read a line of them for a marshal's baton. The King must make a
gaoler of me, if it so pleases him; but not a spy. I shall seal up the
papers and send them to Berlin."
"And I shall never see my manuscript again!" said Monsieur Maurice, with a
sigh. "Well--it was my first attempt at authorship--perhaps, my last--and
there is an end to it!"
My father ground some new and tremendous oath between his teeth.
"I hate to take it, Monsieur Maurice," he said. "'Tis an odious office."
"The office alone is yours, Colonel Bernhard," said the prisoner, with all
a Frenchman's grace. "The odium rests with those who impose it on you."
Hereupon they exchanged formal salutations; and my father, having warned me
not to be late for our mid-day meal, put the papers in his pocket, and left
me to take my daily French lesson.
7
The Winter lingered long, but the Spring came at last in a burst of
sunshine. The grey mists were rent away, as if by magic. The cold hues
vanished from the landscape. The earth became all freshness; the air all
warmth; the sky all light. The hedgerows caught a tint of tender green.
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