s
before today, but never one who had made such an impression.

General Alexis and the priest paused by the bedside of the Russian boy
who was Mildred's patient.

There the great man's face softened until it became almost womanish in
its sympathy. Slowly and reverently the dying boy attempted to raise his
general's hand to his lips.

General Alexis said a few words in Russian which the young soldier
understood, but Mildred could not. For he attempted to shake his head,
to whisper a denial, then smiling dropped his arms down by his sides.

Mildred made no effort to move forward to assist him, for she did not
feel that she had a place in the little group at this moment. She merely
watched and waited, trying to see clearly through the mist in her eyes.

The boy's broad chest, strong once as a young giant's, but now with a
scarcely beating heart beneath it, quivered with what seemed a final
emotion. The same instant General Alexis leaned down and pinned against
the white cotton of his rough shirt the iron cross of all the Russias.
Afterwards he kissed him as simply as a woman might have done.

That was all! So natural and so quiet it was, Mildred Thornton herself
was hardly aware of the significance of the little scene she had just
witnessed.

Here in a country where the gulf between the rich and the poor, the
humble and the great was well nigh impassable, a single act of courage
had bridged it.

What act of valor Peter had performed Mildred never knew. She only knew
that it had called from his duties one of the greatest men in Europe,
that he might by his presence and with his own hands show homage to the
humblest of soldiers.

When the simple ceremony was over the boy lay quite still, scarcely
noticing that his general knelt down beside his bed. For his eyes were
almost closing.

Neither did Mildred dare move or speak.

Against the walls the other nurses and doctors stood quiet as wooden
figures, while the wounded were hushed to unaccustomed silences.

Then the Russian priest began to intone in words which the American
girl could not understand, but in a voice the most wonderful she had
ever heard. His tones were those of an organ deep and beautiful, of
great volume but without noise.

Ceasing, he lifted an ikon before the young soldier's dimming eyes, and
pronounced what must have been a benediction.

The next moment the great stillness had entered the hospital chamber and
the Russian boy with the iron