Her eyes had been getting glimpses of new horizons; our destiny is
not mere pleasure and selfish satisfaction; we ought to take our part in
pain and sacrifice.
She had wanted to work for her country, to share the general stress, to
serve as other women did; and since she was disposed to devote herself
to strangers, was it not natural that she should prefer to help this man
whom she had so greatly wronged? . . . There still lived in her memory
the moment in which she had seen him approach the station, completely
alone among so many who had the consolation of loving arms when
departing in search of death. Her pity had become still more acute on
hearing of his misfortune. A shell had exploded near him, killing all
those around him. Of his many wounds, the only serious one was that on
his face. He had completely lost the sight of one eye; and the doctors
were keeping the other bound up hoping to save it. But she was very
doubtful about it; she was almost sure that Laurier would be blind.
Marguerite's voice trembled when saying this as if she were going
to cry, although her eyes were tearless. They did not now feel
the irresistible necessity for tears. Weeping had become something
superfluous, like many other luxuries of peaceful days. Her eyes had
seen so much in so few days! . . .
"How you love him!" exclaimed Julio.
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