n that, as I craned
forward to look at the valley. It was not for our entertainment, but
to make us forget our dead, to make us charge the valley again over our
dead--it being planned that a remnant might make the crossing and charge
the emplacements.... He came--a short barrel of a man and fat. They had
kept him well at the Center. He was valuable in the hospitals, it was
said.

The least soldierly kind of a man I had seen in many days, save the
Brigadier--so white and fat was Chautonville, the top of his head
small, his legs short and thick, hands fat and white and tapering,
a huge neck and chin with folds of white fat under it--a sort of a
perfect bird dressed for present to the Emperor. Chautonville was
big-eyed with all this--large, innocent brown eyes--innocent to me,
but it was the superb health of the creature, his softness, clearness
of skin and eye, that gave the impression to us, so lean and stringy.
For his eyes were not innocent--something in them spoiled that. We
were worn to buckskin and ivory, while here was a parlor kind of
health--so clean in his linen, white folds of linen, about his collar
and wrists. His chest was a marvel to look at--here in the field after
weeks in the Carpathians. We were all range and angles, but this was a
round barrel of a man, as thick as broad, his lips plump and soft,
while we for weeks had licked a dry faded line, our faces strange with
bone and teeth.

"What is it?" he asked the General.

I thought of a little doctor, called by others after consultation--an
extra bit of dexterity required, this being the high-priced man. There
was that indoor look of a barber about him, too.

The General explained that a new charge was to be ordered--that three
had failed--that the men (while not exactly rebellious) faltered before
the valley a fourth time this day--that the failures were costly in
men--in short, that the inspiration of Chautonville was required now to
sing them and the reserves across.... The Austrians would quickly give
way, if the valley were passed.... Then the thousands would flood up the
slopes and--Budapest and holidays.

"You want me to sing to them for courage--as it were?" Chautonville
questioned.

I had marked his voice. I saw now that he needed all the thickness of
throat and bust--that he used it all. I hoped they would not send me
away with a message....

"You want me to walk up and down the trenches?"

"Yes, singing."

He puffed his cheeks and