Sinopsis

All over Franche-Comté the snow had fallen for three days unceasingly, yet
through it for those three days a man—a soldier—had ridden, heading his
course north, for Paris.
Wrapped in his cloak, and prevented from falling by his bridle arm, he
bore a little child—a girl some three years old—on whom, as the cloak
would sometimes become disarranged, he would look down fondly, his
firm, grave features relaxing into a sad smile as the blue eyes of the little
creature gazed upward and smiled into his own face. Then he would
whisper a word of love to it, press it closer to his great breast, and again
ride on.
For three days the snow had fallen; was falling when he left the garrison of
...