rushed at me with a bayonet. I believed, then, that I had come upon a
German patrol. Each thought the other a Hun. I managed to wrest from the
poilu his rifle with the bayonet, but as we fought another shot me--in
the side."

"You were wounded?"

"Yes, my colonel."

"In hospital?"

"Yes, my colonel."

"How long?"

"Three months, my colonel."

"Why are you not again in the army?"

The face of the erect soldier, Hirondelle, the dare-devil, was suddenly
the face of a man grown old, ill, and broken-hearted. He stared at the
stalwart French officer, gathering himself with an effort. "I--was
discharged, my colonel, as--unfit." His head in its old felt hat dropped
into his hands suddenly, and he broke beyond control into sobs that
shook not only him but every man there.

The colonel stepped forward and put an arm around the bent shoulders.
"_Mon héros!_" said the colonel.

With that Rafael found words, never a hard task for him. Yet they came