THE PICTURE AND THE STAR
and the tidings of reverses only too real, if not yet great, the two women waited.
Casimir had found time and opportunity to send Sophy some half-dozen notes (assuming she preserved all she received). On the 5th of August, the eve of Worth, he wrote at somewhat greater length:
"It is night. I am off duty for an hour. I have been in the saddle full twelve hours, and I believe that, except the sentries and the outposts, I am the only man awake. We need to sleep. The Red Star, which shines everywhere for me, shines for all of us over our bivouac to-night. It must be that we fight to-morrow. Fritz is in front of us, and to-morrow he will come on. The Marshal must stop him and spoil his game; if we don't go forward now, we must go back. And we don't mean going back. It will be the first big clash—and a big one, I think, it will be. Our fellows are in fine heart (I wish their boots were as good!), but those devils over there—well, they can fight, too, and Fritz can get every ounce out of them. I am thinking of glory and of you. Is it not one and the same thing? For, in that hour, I didn't make you sure! I know it. Sophie, I'm hardly sorry for it. It seems sweet to have something left to do. Ah, but you're hard, aren't you? Shall I ever be sure of you? Even though I march into Berlin at the head of a regiment!
"I can say little more—the orderly waits for my letter. Yet I have so much, much more to say. All comes back to me in vivid snatches. I am with you in the old house—or by the Calvaire (you remember?); or again by the window; or while we walked back that Sunday night. I hear your voice—the low, fullcharged voice. I see your eyes; the star glows anew for me. Adieu! I live for you always so long as I
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