e-boy smile of his and say: 'Why not? We are still
gentlemen if we are at war. And listen, Francois--some day our little
Tourteron may fall into Boche hands. I would have them know many
kindnesses from us before that happens.'

"Eh bien, Tourteron did fall into their hands, ma'am'selle, and there it
has been until a fortnight ago. The German ranks swept it like a sea and
made it their own, as they made the houses, the cattle, the orchards, the
maids, quite their own. You comprehend? After that Bertrand fight like
the devil and pray like the saint. Then one day a Boche stabs
Paul--Nanette's brother Paul--as he stoops to succor him. Fauchet sees;
and he hears the tales that come across the trenches to us. The abbe is
crucified to the chapel door because he gives sanctuary to the young
girls; Pere Fauchet is shot in the Square with other anciens for example.
After that Capitaine Fauchet gives us the order 'no mercy,' and we kill in
battle and out. Ma'am'selle shudders--mais, que voulez-vous? He is
Monsieur Satan now; but I still think he prays.

"And now comes the big drive of the Supreme Command. Village after village
that has been Boche land for four years becomes French again. The people
go mad with joy; they come rushing out to meet our regiments like souls
turned out of hell by God Himself. But such souls, ma'am'selle! Be
thankful in your heart you shall never have the little places of America
thrown back to you by a retreating Boche army, never look into the faces
of the people who have been made to serve their desires. It is like when
the tide goes out on the coast and leaves behind it wreckage and slime.
Only here it was human wreckage.

"At last the night came when we lay outside Tourteron. Bertrand called for
me and we bivouacked together. We were to attack some time before dawn,
after the moon had set. We could not trust our tongues--at such times
things are better left unsaid; so we lay and smoked and prayed against
what we feared. Only once Bertrand spoke--'Francois, to-morrow will see me
always a devil or a saint, le bon Dieu knows which.'

"The moon shone bright till after midnight. We lay under cover of thin
weeds, and beyond lay the meadow and stream and then the town. About
twelve we heard the crisp bark of a sniper--two, three shots; then
everything was still as death again. We were watching the shadows play
across the meadow and timing the minutes before the moon would sink, when
out of one of those