6. An Encounter

Was it the little childish voice, trembling and timid, or simply this question, which awakened the remembrance of the joys and sorrows of the past, hidden deep in this soldier’s breast? Whatever it might be, the stern, threatening face, which had so frightened Maroussia, became suddenly transformed, and you could see in it a reflection of all the tender feelings which a human heart contains.

Most certainly he was a strong man, but this reference to the past affected him.

Those eyes which had just been defiant and scrutinizing, became instantly gentle. They now looked at Maroussia with a strange emotion. Did he find any resemblance whatever, in the features of the little girl, to a little creature who was not there, who was far away, perhaps, but the remembrance, only, of whom was sufficient to soften him?

“Yes, I have a little girl,” he answered at last.

“Is your little girl large? ” asked Maroussia.

He smiled, and you felt that in this sad smile was passing and repassing the image of a very small, delicate creature.

“She is as large as you, yes indeed, quite as large,” he answered.

Then he lowered his head and Maroussia dared ask him no more questions. She left him with the image of his daughter.

They were advancing all the time. The air was warm, fresh and perfumed. A rosy streak appeared on the horizon. A little bird, awake very early, gave a faint cry, his good-morning to the break of day.

At the same time, back of the wagon, a sonorous voice arose:

“Remember, remember my beloved, our love of other days!”

It was a young soldier who was singing. His voice and his song were equally harmonious and sweet. Maroussia was deeply impressed by it. But what was her surprise when the soldier who had just been talking with her also began to sing. His voice was sad, a little low and deep, but it moved the depths of the heart. There was a profound silence during the first verse, but at the second, all the soldiers began to sing with him. It was thrilling! But what astonished and delighted Maroussia most, in spite of the anxiety of her little soul,—perhaps even by its melancholy the song answered these anxieties,—was, that, while the voices which had joined that of her neighbor had acquired a volume which recalled the rumbling of thunder, the voice of the soldier who had the little girl was never drowned by the voices of the other singers. Among them all, she heard and knew this voice with the sincere accent. When the song was finished, Maroussia noticed that the singer looked very sad.