The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1912-06-22


told her that he would be disgraced if
he did not go Ike the rest, and he
would tramp to the next town and
join regiment there. He would
send her his pay and come back an
officer and make her happy ever
AFTER"
"She was inconsolable, until three
weeks after another letter came. There
was a twenty-franc note in it, and
told how he had joined regiment of
mobiles, and was with D'Aurelle's
army on the Loire learning his drill
He would soon be fighting and would
distinguish himself. There would be
good news. 1t so happened that the
cure had a cousin who was an officer
in Pierre's regiment. He wrote and
asked him to look after his parish
ioner"
Then there was another letter, this
time from Orleans. Pierre (no doubt
you have seen his portrait) had been
under fire at the victory of Coulmiers.
He had not minded it bit, and had
laughed at seeing his comrades duck
their heads when the bullets whistled
by. War was fine sport, better than
rabbit-shooting.'
"A fortnight after the cure had a
sad task to perform. There came a
letter from his cousin. Pierre was
dead. She has told you about it; how
| he died bravely, and there is his mon
ument, mort pour la France in our
little church"
Eyes, have seen it, said. After
all, it was a good end. 1t might have
been worse anyhow, He might have
been killed in that affair with the
gamekeepers."
You know only part of the story
said the cure-"what everyone here
knows; for we have kept the secret,
for his mothers sake. The cure of
that day told me how, when he read
the letter, he thought for long time
what could be done. Was he justified
in telling only part of the truth? Then
he saw way, and the word he used is
on the monument Poor Pierre died
for France, but it was a sad kind of
death"
He was shot, l suppose, in some
wretched little affair at the outpost
killed treacherously, perhaps"
mo. Yet, sad as it all was, there
was a bright side to it. AS you said
just now, it might have been worse. I
told you how from his boyhood he was
self-willed, quick to anger, ready with
a hard blow in answer to sharp word.
He was undisciplined, to use formal
expression. Perhaps if he had year
or two of barrack life he might have
learned discipline; but he had only
three months as soldier, and scant
time to learn his new trade"
ION night, in some small town over
there On the Loire, he came back late
to the lines of his regiment, with
some comrades who had spent the
evening at a cafe, where the good
citizens were foolishly hospitable. He
had taken little too much, though he
was not exactly drunk. The sergeant
of the guard, an old veteran, gave him
a bit of his mind in rough soldier
phrase, and Pierre answered him
back. Arrest that scamp said the
sergeant. Scamp yourself, don't dare
to touch met was Pierres retort. II
the sergeant had been wiser man, he
would have let him pass and simply
reported him; but the old soldier ser
geant thought the volunteers must be
kept in their place. He strobe toward
Pierre to disarm and arres- him, anG
in moment he was lying on his
back; for Pierre's clenched fist haC
caught him between the eyes, and he
went down with blood on his face. He
was up in a moment, and roared tt
his men to arrest Pierre; but the vol
unteer had put his back against wal
and drawn his bayonet, and swore hi
would run through any man that came
within his reach. But they were too
many for him. While some came OF
with fixed bayonets and attracted hi.