A long time ago, it had caused a terrible scandal in noble Lorraine. A young girl, beautiful and…

A long time ago, it had caused a terrible scandal in noble Lorraine. A young girl, beautiful and rich, Suzanne de Sirmont, had been carried off by a sergeant in the regiment that her father commanded. He was a handsome boy, the son of peasants, but looking good in his dress uniform, this soldier who had seduced the daughter of his colonel. No doubt she had seen him, noticed him, fell in love with him while watching the troops march by. But how had he spoken to her, how had they been able to see each other, to talk? How had she dared to make him understand that she loved him? No one ever knew. No one suspected anything. One night, as the soldier had just finished his enlistment, he disappeared with her. They sought for them, but never found them. They never heard from her again, and they considered her dead. And I had found her in that sinister valley. Then I said, in my turn, “Yes, I remember well. You are Suzanne.” She shook her head yes. Tears fell from her eyes. Then, with a glance at the old man sitting immobile on the doorstep of the shack, she told me, “It’s him.” And I understood that she still loved him, that she still saw him with seduced eyes. I asked, “Have you been happy, at least?” She answered, with a voice that came from the heart, “Oh! Yes, very happy. He has made me very happy. I have never regretted anything.” I contemplated her, sad, surprised, amazed by the power of love! This rich girl had followed this man, this peasant. She had herself become a peasant. She had lived her life without charms, without luxuries, without delicacies of any sort; she had bent herself to his simple habits. And she loved him still. She had become rustic, in a bonnet and canvas skirt. She ate on an earthenware plate on a crude wooden table, sitting on a cane seat, a gruel of cabbage and potatoes with lard. She lay on a straw mattress by his side. She had never thought of anything, but him! She had missed neither necklaces, nor fineries, nor elegances, nor soft seats, nor the perfumed warmth of rooms enveloped in curtains, nor the sweetness of downy cushions on which to rest one’s body. She had never needed anything but him; as long as he was there, she desired nothing. She had abandoned life while young, both the world and those who had raised her and loved her. She had come, along with him, to this wild ravine. And he had been everything for her, everything one desires, everything one dreams of, everything one constantly waits for, everything one endlessly hopes. He had filled her existence with happiness, from one end to the other. She couldn’t have been happier. And all night, listening to the rough breathing of the old soldier stretched out on his pallet, beside her who had followed him so far, I thought of that strange and simple adventure, of this happiness so complete, made of so little. And I left with the rising sun, after having shaken hands with the two old people, man and wife.” (519 words)