I received a wound in our last skirmish; not a very severe one; but it put an end to my writing for some time." "Poor fellow! it was his death wound.

Why, when was this written ?--why," and the doctor paused, and seemed stupefied: "why, my dears, has my memory gone, or"-- and again he looked eagerly at the letter--"what was the date of the battle in which he was killed?
for this letter is dated the 15th of May.

Is it a dream?
no! this was written since the date of his death." "No, doctor," said Rose, "you deceive yourself." "Why, what was the date of the Moniteur, then ?" asked Aubertin, in great agitation.
"Considerably later than this," said Camille.
"I don't think so; the journal! where is it ?" "My mother has it locked up.

I'll run." "No, Rose; no one but me.

Now, Josephine, do not you go and give way to hopes that may be delusive.