Camille stole a joyful look at Josephine. She was in the same attitude
looking straight before her as at a coming horror. Presently Rose
uttered a faint cry, "The battle was BEFORE."
"To be sure," cried the doctor. "You forget, it is not the date of the
paper we want, but of the battle it records. For Heaven's sake, when was
the battle?"
"The 3d of May," said Josephine, in a voice that seemed to come from the
tomb.
Rose's hands that held the journal fell like a dead weight upon her
knees, journal and all. She whispered, "It was the 3d of May."
"Ah!" cried the baroness, starting up, "he may yet be alive. He must be
alive. Heaven is merciful! Heaven would not take my son from me, a poor
old woman who has not long to live. There was a letter; where is the
letter?"
"Are we mad, not to read the letter?" said the doctor. "I had it; it has
dropped from my old fingers when I went for the journal."
A short examination of the room showed the letter lying crumpled up near
the door. Camille gave it to the baroness. She tried to read it, but
could not.
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