brought bad news," he said abruptly.

"The little house--"

"I do not know. I ran away, mademoiselle. I am a traitor. And the
Germans broke through last night."

"Henri!"

"They broke through. We were not ready. That is what I have done."

"Don't you think," Sara Lee said in a frozen voice, "that is what I have
done? I let you come."

"You? You are taking the blame? Mademoiselle, I have enough to bear
without that."

He explained further, still standing in his rigid attitude. If he had
been white before at times he was ghastly now. It had not been an attack
in force. A small number had got across and had penetrated beyond the
railway line. There had been hand-to-hand fighting in the road beyond
the poplars. But it looked more like an experiment, an endeavor to
discover the possibility of a real advance through the inundation; or
perhaps a feint to cover operations elsewhere.

"For every life lost I am responsible," he ended in a flat and lifeless
tone.

"But you might not have known," she protested wildly. "Even if you had
been there, Henri, you might not have known." She knew something of war
by that time. "How could you have told that a small movement of troops
was to take place?"

"I should have been there."

"But--if they came without warning?"

"I did not tell you," he said, looking away from her. "There had been a
warning. I disregarded it."

He went back to Belgium that night. Sara Lee, at the last, held out her
hand. She was terrified for him, and she showed it.

"I shall not touch your hand," he said. "I have forfeited my right to
do that." Then, seeing what was in her face, he reassured her. "I shall
not do _that_," he said. "It would be easier. But I shall have to go
back and see what can be done."

He was the old Henri to the last, however. He went carefully over her
steamship ticket, and inquired with equal care into the amount of money
she had.

"It will take you home?" he asked.

"Very comfortably, Henri."

"It seems very little."

Then he said, apropos of nothing: "Poor Jean!"

When he left her at last he went to the door, very erect and soldierly.
But he turned there and stood for a moment looking at her, as though
through all that was coming he must have with him, to give him strength,
that final picture of her.

The elderly chambermaid, coming into Sara Lee's room the next morning,
found her fully dressed in the frock she had worn the night before, face
down on her bed.