The army

One day, in the morning, a rider is there,

and then a second, four, ten.

Wholly clad in iron, tall.

Then one thousand behind them: The army.

One must part.

"Have a happy return home, Marquis."

"May Mary protect you, Squire."

And they cannot leave each other.

They are suddenly friends, brothers.

They have more to confide in each other;

because they already know so much of each other.

They hesitate. Around them there is tumult and hooves beating.

The Marquis pulls off his large right glove.

He takes out the small rose, and removes one petal.

As if he were breaking the host.

"This will protect you. Good bye."

Von Langenau is astonished.

His eyes follow the Frenchman for a long while.

Then he places the foreign petal under his coat.

And it drifts up and down on the waves of his heart.

The trumpet calls. He rides to the army, the squire.

He smiles sadly:

he is protected by an unknown woman.