thority.
Is he not the chief among them, in virtue of his sufferings and his
sacrifice?

Some one in the ward was talking this morning of love and marriage, and
a home.

I glanced at Leglise now and then; he seemed to be dreaming and he
murmured:

"Oh, for me, now..."

Then I told him something I knew: I know young girls who have sworn to
marry only a mutilated man. Well, we must believe in the vows of these
young girls. France is a country richer in warmth of heart than in any
other virtue. It is a blessed duty to give happiness to those who have
sacrificed so much. And a thousand hearts, the generous hearts of women,
applaud me at this moment.

Leglise listens, shaking his head. He does not venture to say "No."

Leglise has not only the Military Medal, but also the War Cross. The
notice has just come. He reads it with blushes.

"I shall never dare to show this," he says; "it is a good deal
exaggerated."

He hands me the paper, which states, in substance, that Corporal Leglise
behaved with great gallantry under a hail of bombs, and that his left
leg has been amputated.

"I didn't behave with great gallantry," he says; "I was at my post,
that's all. As to the bombs, I only got one."

I reject this point of view summarily.

"Wasn't it a gallant act to go to that advanced post, so near the enemy,
all alone, at the head of all the Frenchmen? Weren't they all behind
you, to the very end of the country, right away to the Pyrenees? Did
they not all rely on your coolness, your keen sight, your vigilance? You
were only hit by one bomb, but I think you might have had several, and
still be with us. And besides, the notice, far from being exaggerated,
is really insufficient; it says you have lost a leg, whereas you have
lost two! It seems to me that this fully compensates for anything
excessive with regard to the bombs."

"That's true!" agrees Leglise, laughing. "But I don't want to be made
out a hero."

"My good lad, people won't ask what you think before they appreciate and
honour you. It will be quite enough to look at your body."

Then we had to part, for the war goes on, and every day there are fresh
wounded.

Leglise left us nearly cured. He left with some comrades, and he was not
the least lively of the group.

"I was the most severely wounded man in the train," he wrote to me, not
without a certain pride.

Since then, Leglise has written to me often. His letters breathe a
contented calm. I receive