At the mouth of it a corporal, who was also his body-servant, met him, saluted, and asked respectfully if there were any orders.
"A few minutes' repose, Francois, that is all.

Do not let me be disturbed for an hour." "Attention!" cried Francois.

"Colonel wants to sleep." The tent was sentinelled, and Dujardin was alone with the past.
Then had the fools, that took (as fools will do) deep sorrow for sullenness, seen the fiery soldier droop, and his wan face fall into haggard lines, and his martial figure shrink, and heard his stout heart sigh! He took a letter from his bosom: it was almost worn to pieces.

He had read it a thousand times, yet he read it again.

A part of the sweet sad words ran thus:-- "We must bow.