Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 5).djvu/614

but if not, why, do not let us say any more about it."

"You are my greatest friend."

"I would rather tell you. Life is very uncertain on the battle-field, and I would rather not die with this secret untold. Perhaps, too, if you knew it you might be able to help me."

"If I could help you in any way, you know you have only to tell me how."

"Well, you shall hear all. You know that, before leaving Algeria, I went to Paris with a three months' leave."

"Which you never stayed out, for you were back again in six weeks."

"What could I do with myself in that Babylon, where everyone was gay while I was so wretched? How could I stand the sardonic laughter and gaiety around me when my heart was aching bitterly? As soon as my poor mother was buried I was only too anxious to get from that city of luxury, where the artificial lights only blinded and dazzled me.

"I wanted to get away from the noise and the vice and the hypocrisy, and go to the desert and be alone with Nature and with reality, where I could breathe pure, wholesome air, and not that atmosphere which bewilders and poisons you. I left what we call the civilized world to go to the savages whom I prefer.

"I gave up society for solitude, peace for war, I despise my life and long for death, but death does not come at my call."

Gauthier stopped for a minute, overcome with emotion.

"You are too sensitive," said Saussier. "Perhaps so, but I have had something to bear."

"Is it a love affair, Gauthier?"

"No, no! I have never loved anyone, and besides, I am one of those who must not, who dare not love——"

"I do not understand."

"No, I will explain. My mother, who was dying of consumption, brought on by some great grief that she had always suffered alone, sent for me to bid me farewell. Three days before her death I was at her bed-side.

"'My son,' she said, 'I have sent for you to tell you something which I feel you ought to know before my death. I have always led you to believe that your father was dead.'

"'And he is not dead. I have felt sure of that for a long time.'

"'How could you have guessed it?' exclaimed my mother.

"'By your sadness, and, too, because you have never taken me to his grave, nor even spoken of it. My poor mother, did he leave you?'

"'No, no! Do not blame him; it was not his fault that he had to leave us.'

"'He is in prison, then; but surely he is innocent?'

"'No, he is quite free.'

"'How is it, then——'

"'Listen, but do not interrupt me, for I have not strength for much. The name you have, Gauthier, was my father's and mine, but not your father's, Nicolas. My father