Forgotten, did I say?  Not wholly.  The Count never forgot her.  Stung by remorse (for in his heart of hearts he could not but believe her true and innocent), haunted by the recollection of the happiness he had flung from him, wifeless, childless, friendless, he could find no rest or forgetfulness except in the excitement and peril of the battle-field.  But the slaughter of men and the glory of victory were as dust and ashes in his mouth.  He had lost the joy of life, the pride of race, the exultation of power.  For one look from those sweet eyes, over which, doubtless, the hands of some grateful peasant had laid the earth, he would have joyfully exchanged renown and lordship, and even life itself.