and deeply into mine, and I thought I understood the unspoken
message. So, tired as I was, I immediately set out with a guard of
twenty men to transport the two hundred and forty Russian
prisoners, among whom were two officers, back behind the fighting
line. They seemed not unhappy over their lot--in fact, were smoking
and chatting freely while we marched back. One of the Russian
officers had a wound in his leg and was carried on a stretcher, but
he, too, seemed quite at ease, conversing with me in French and
congratulating me upon the bravery our isolated detachment had
shown against the terrific onslaught. As soon as I had delivered
them safely into the hands of the commander of our reserves, I
inquired the way to the nearest field hospital in search of the young
officer, the son of our brigadier-colonel. It was then about nine
o'clock at night, and on entering the peasant's hut where the field
hospital was established, I saw at a glance that I had come too late.
He lay there still, hands folded over his breast with as serene and
happy an expression as if asleep. His faithful orderly sat weeping
next to him, and some kind hand had laid a small bunch of field
flowers on his breast.

From the doctor I got the full information. He had received a shot in
the abdomen and a rifle bullet had grazed his cheek. His last words
had been a fervent expression of joy over the relief brought by his
father and the knowledge that the position would not be taken by the
Russians. He had died as simply as a child, without regret, and
utterly happy. I took the orderly with me, asking him to carry all the
belongings of the young officer with him in order to transmit them to
his father.

When I returned with the orderly, the brigadier was issuing orders to