tz. But why? It is not right for me to be
here, I know; but now that I have come, it is very nice, _mon ami_.
Why do you look so glum?"

For a while he did not reply, but paced the dug-out with long, uneven
steps. And the Kid, watching his lady of the jasmine, saw her bite her
lips, as a look of puzzled fear came into her great round eyes. At
last the man paused in front of her and took her roughly by the arms,
so that she cried out.

"You love me, Marie?" he demanded hoarsely. "You love me enough to
marry me when this accursed war is over?" His voice sank over the last
few words, and he glanced, half fearfully, at the curtained door.

"But of course, my Fritz," she answered softly. "You have been good to
me, and you are different to these others. Mon Dieu! they frighten
me--those harsh, brutal men; but they have been good to me and the
little mother for your sake. It is terrible, I suppose--a French girl
and a German officer; but the little god Love, _mon ami_, he laughs at
the great god Mars--sometimes. Poor little me--I cannot help myself."
She laughed adorably, and the Kid laughed with her. She seemed to him
like the spirit of the Spring, when the bluebells are flowering and the
world is young. But on the German's face there was no answering smile.
It was set and stern, and imprinted with a look of such utter
hopelessness that the Kid, who saw it over the girl's shoulder, almost
cried out with the pain of it.

"Do you love me enough, Marie," he went on at length, "to do a big
thing for me--a very big thing?"

"That depends on what it is." She spoke gaily, but the Kid could see
her body stiffen slightly. "I'm no good at big things."

"Will you go to Paris for me?" His voice was dull and jerky.

"Paris!" She gazed at him in amazement. "But how, and why?"

"It will be easy to get you there." He seized on the part of her
question which postponed for a few seconds the hideous thing he was to
ask her. "We can arrange all that quite easily. You see----" He
rambled on with the method of making plans for the journey, until he
caught her eyes, and the look in them made his faltering words die away
to a dreadful silence.

"And why do you want me to go to Paris, Fritz?" Her voice was hardly
above a whisper.

Twice he essayed to speak; twice he failed to do more than falter her
name. Then with a gasping cry he took her in his arms and kissed her
passionately. "They shan't," he muttered; "by Go