l not be able to give me any information. I shall have
lost all that I possess, and my house will have changed its master.

"You asked why I escaped. Because I could not support the mental anguish
which tortured me. I wept all the night, previous to taking flight; I
knew I was exposing myself to the risk of death. But at such a time, to
live or to die--is it not the same thing? If I had succeeded, I would
have saved my children; I have not succeeded--well, I shall die. Kismet!
It is not that death frightens me. Since the beginning of the war I have
been exposed to it every day, and have been accustomed to face it
without trembling. What dismays me is to know that my family are
deserted, unhappy and dying of hunger--to know that they are quite near
me and that I cannot fly to their help...."

The old Turk, burying his head in his hands, began to sob, to the great
embarrassment of the officers. The Colonel leaped from his seat, and
began to stride up and down the room. He made a gesture with his hand,
as though he wished to brush away something which prevented him seeing
distinctly; then he got angry with himself.

"The deuce!" he said, "I was nearly becoming a woman." He looked at the
Major, who as pale as himself, remained sitting at the table, on which
his fingers were tracing strange designs.

"Yes, war is a dreadful thing," he murmured.

The prisoner resumed his talk. "Before this war I had never left my
house. I had seen all my children born and watched their growth every
day. As they grew, their minds developed; no details escaped me; neither
the moment when they recognized me for the first time, nor the moment
when they began to stammer their first letters. I remember everything,
everything--their little limbs when still weak ... their mouths open
like nestlings. Who will bring them their daily food now? Their mother?
She is in danger herself. Only the other day...."

He could not finish; his strength failed him.

"Just as it is with us at home, my friend. The same thing exactly," said
the Colonel, pacing nervously up and down the room.

"What shall we do in the meantime? I think myself we might wait till
to-morrow before sending him to the general. What do you say, Colonel?"

"Yes, yes, to-morrow will do."

"Shall he stay with us for the present?"

"Yes, he can stay with us. I will tell Somione to make up a bed for him.
Four children! What a story!"

"And if the general has him shot, Colonel?"

"Hm