* * * * * There was gayety in the little house that night. Every candle was

lighted. They were stuck in rows on mantel-shelves. They blazed--and

melted into strange arcs--above the kitchen stove. There were

cigarettes for everybody, and food; and a dry uniform, rather small, for

Henri. Marie wept over her soup, and ran every few moments to the door

to see if he was still there. She had kissed him on both cheeks when

he came in, and showed signs, every now and then, of doing it again.

Sara Lee did her bandaging as usual, but with shining eyes. And soon

after Henri's arrival a dispatch rider set off post haste with certain

papers and maps, hurriedly written and drawn. Henri had not only

returned, he had brought back information of great value to all the

Allied armies.

So Sara Lee bandaged, and in the little room across the way, where no

longer Harvey's photograph sat on the mantel, Henri told his story to

the officers--of his imprisonment in the German prison at Crefeld; of

his finding Jean there, weeks later when he was convalescing from

typhoid; of their escape and long wandering; of Jean's getting into

Holland, whence he would return by way of England. Of his own business,

of what he had done behind the lines after Jean had gone, he said

nothing. But his listeners knew and understood.

But his dispatches off, his story briefly told, Henri wandered out among

the men again. He was very happy. He had never thought to be so happy.

He felt the touch on his sleeves of hard brown, not overclean hands,

infinitely tender and caressing; and over there, as though she had never

gone, was Sara Lee, slightly flushed and very radiant.

And as though he also had never gone away, Henri pushed into the salle

a manger and stood before her smiling.

"You bandage well, mademoiselle," he said gayly. "But I? I bandage

better! See now, a turn here, and it is done! Does it hurt, Paul?"

The man in the dressing chair squirmed and grinned sheepishly.

"The iodine," he explained. "It is painful."

"Then I shall ask you a question, and you will forget the iodine. Why

is a dead German like the tail of a pig?"

Paul failed. The room failed. Even Colonel Lilias confessed himself at

fault.

"Because it is the end of the swine," explained Henri, and looked about

him triumphantly. A gust of laughter spread through the room and even

to the kitchen. A door banged. Henri upset a chair. There was noise

again, and gayety in the little house of mercy. And much happiness.




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