LAbbe Constantin, vol 2 | Page 4

ideas before making
an entire meal of them. D.W.]

THE ABBE CONSTANTIN
By LUDOVIC HALEVY

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER IV
A RIOT OF CHARITY
The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the bugle-call rang
through the barrack-yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, and
took his place with his division. By the end of May all the recruits in
the army are sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing in the
general evolutions. Almost every day manoeuvres of the mounted
artillery are executed on the parade-ground. Jean loved his profession;
he was in the habit of inspecting carefully the grooming and harness of
the horses, the equipment and carriage of his men. This morning,
however, he bestowed but scant attention on all the little details of his
duty.
One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him always undecided,
and this problem was one of those the solution of which is not given at
the Ecole Polytechnique. Jean could find no convincing reply to this
question: Which of the two sisters is the prettier?
At the butts, during the first part of the manoeuvre, each battery worked
on its own account, under the orders of the captain; but he often
relinquished the place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustom
them to the management of six field-pieces. It happened on this day
that the command was intrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great
surprise of the Captain, in whose estimation his Lieutenant held the
first rank as a well-trained, smart, and capable officer, everything went
wrong. The Captain was obliged to interfere; he addressed a little
reprimand to Jean, which terminated in these words:
"I can not understand it at all. What is the matter with you this morning?
It is the first time such a thing has happened with you."
It was also the first time that Jean had seen anything at the butts at
Souvigny but cannon, ammunition wagons, horses, or gunners.
In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the wagons and the hoofs

of the horses Jean beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 9th
Regiment of artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans with
black eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when he listened
respectfully to the well-merited lecture from his Captain, he was in the
act of saying to himself:
"The prettier is Mrs. Scott!"
Every morning the exercise is divided into two parts by a little interval
of ten minutes. The officers gathered together and talked; Jean
remained apart, alone with his recollections of the previous evening.
His thoughts obstinately gathered round the vicarage of Longueval.
"Yes! the more charming of the two sisters is Mrs. Scott; Miss Percival
is only a child."
He saw again Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little table. He heard her story
told with such frankness, such freedom. The harmony of that very
peculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted his ear. He was again in
the church; she was there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, her
pretty head resting in her two little hands; then the music arose, and far
off, in the dusk, Jean perceived the fine and delicate profile of Bettina.
"A child--is she only a child?"
The trumpets sounded, the practice was resumed; this time, fortunately,
no command, no responsibility. The four batteries executed their
evolutions together; this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages,
deployed in every direction, now drawn out in a long line, again
collected into a compact group. All stopped at the same instant along
the whole extent of the ground; the gunners sprang from their horses,
ran to their pieces, detached each from its team, which went off at a trot
and prepared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then the horses returned,
the men re-attached their pieces; sprang quickly to saddle, and the
regiment started at full gallop across the field.
Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina regained her advantage over
Mrs. Scott. She appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the sunlit

clouds of her floating hair. Monsieur Jean, she had called him,
Monsieur Jean, and never had his name sounded so sweet. And that last
pressure of the hand on taking leave, before entering the carriage. Had
not Miss Percival given him a more cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had
done? Yes, positively a little more.
"I was mistaken," thought Jean; "the prettier is Miss Percival."
The day's work was finished; the pieces were ranged regularly in line
one behind the other; they defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter, and in
a cloud of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before his Colonel,
the images of the two sisters were so confused and intermingled in his
recollection that they melted the one in the other,