The home letters were being distributed on board the /Circe/, atanchor at Ha-Long, over on the other side of the earth. In the midstof a group of sailors, the purser called out, in a loud voice, thenames of the fortunate men who had letters to receive. This went on atevening, on the ship's side, all crushing round a funnel.

　　"Moan, Sylvestre!" There was one for him, postmarked "Paimpol," but itwas not Gaud's writing. What did that mean? from whom did it comeelse?

　　After having turned and flourished it about, he opened it fearingly,and read:

　　"PLOUBAZLANEC, March 5th, 1884.

　　"MY DEAR GRANDSON:"So, it was from his dear old granny. He breathed free again. At thebottom of the letter she even had placed her signature, learned byheart, but trembling like a school-girl's scribble: "Widow Moan.""Widow Moan!" With a quick spontaneous movement he carried the paperto his lips and kissed the poor name, as a sacred relic. For thisletter arrived at a critical moment of his life; to-morrow at dawn, hewas to set out for the battlefield.

　　It was in the middle of April; Bac-Ninh and Hong-Hoa had just beentaken. There was no great warfare going on in Tonquin, yet thereinforcements arriving were not sufficient; sailors were taken fromall the ships to make up the deficit in the corps already disembarked.

　　Sylvestre, who had languished so long in the midst of cruises andblockades, had just been selected with some others to fill up thevacancies.

　　It is true that now peace was spoken of, but something told them thatthey yet would disembarck in good time to fight a bit. They packedtheir bags, made all their other preparations, and said good-bye, andall the evening through they strolled about with their unfortunatemates who had t............