into a fitful sleep--a sleep broken by sudden intervals of
half-consciousness, when Pen's heart was wrung by the broken words
uttered by his companion: "Not going to shoot me, are they? Don't let
them do that, comrade." While, as the weary procession continued its
way on to the next village, where they were about to halt, Pen had
another distraction, for as he trudged painfully on by the side of the
creaking wagon a hand was suddenly placed on his arm.

He turned sharply.

"Eh, what?" he cried.

"Well?" said a half-familiar voice, and in the dim light he recognised
the features of the young French captain who had listened to his appeal
to save the bugler's life.

"Rough work, sir," said Pen.

"Yes. Your fellows played a bold game in trying to dislodge us. Nearly
succeeded, _ma foi_! But we drove them back."

"Yes," said Pen.

"How's your friend?" asked the captain.

"Better."

"That's well. And now tell me, where did you learn to speak French so
well?"

"From my tutor," answered Pen.

"Your tutor! And you a simple soldier! Well, well! You English are
full of surprises."

Pen laughed.

"I suppose so," he said; "but we are not alone in that."

The French captain chatted a little longer, and then once more Pen was
alone--alone but for the strange accompaniment of sounds incident to the
night march: the neighing of horses, the scraps of quick talking which
fell on his ear, along with that never-ceasing creak, rumble, and jolt
of the wagons, a creaking and jolting which seemed to the tired brain as
though they would go on for ever and ever.

He was aroused out of a strange waking dream, in which the past and the
present were weirdly blended, by a voice which called him by name, and
he tried to shake himself free from the tangle of confused thought which
hemmed him in.

"Aren't you there?" came the voice again.

"Yes, Punch, yes. What is it?"

"Ah, that's all right! I wanted to tell you that I feel such a lot
better."

"Glad to hear it, Punch."

"Yes, I feel as if I could get out of this now."

"You had better not try," said Pen with a forced laugh. "I think--I
think--" And then the confusion came again.

"What do you think?" said Punch.

"Think?" cried the other. "I--what do you mean?"

In the darkness of the heavy vehicle, Punch's face betrayed a feeling of
alarm, and he tried to figure it out. Something in Pen's voice
frightened him.

"He is not the same," he muttered; and