"I am old," said she; "my hand shakes and my eyes are troubled. This
young gentleman will read it to us. His eyes are not dim and troubled.
Something tells me that when I hear this letter, I shall find out
whether my son lives. Why do you not read it to me, Camille?" cried she,
almost fiercely.
Camille, thus pressed, obeyed mechanically, and began to read Raynal's
letter aloud, scarce knowing what he did, but urged and driven by the
baroness.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I hope all are well at Beaurepaire, as I am, or I hope
soon to be. I received a wound in our last skirmish; not a very severe
one, but it put an end to my writing for some time."
"Go on, dear Camille! go on."
"The page ends there, madame."
The paper was thin, and Camille, whose hand trembled, had some
difficulty in detaching the leaves from one another. He succeeded,
however, at last, and went on reading and writhing.
"By the way, you must address your next letter to me as Colonel Raynal.
I was promoted just before this last affair, but had not time to tell
you; and my wound stopped my writing till now.
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