her power."

"Well," said the younger man, "she sacrificed herself and she saved
France. That was the great thing."

"Yes," said the elder man, stretching his hand across the table to
clasp the hand of his companion, "there is nothing greater than that.
If we do that, God will forgive us all."

They put on their caps to go. Pierre rose and stood at attention. They
returned his salute with a friendly smile and passed out.

After a few moments he finished his bread and wine, paid his score, and
followed them. He watched them going down the village street toward the
railway station. Then he turned and walked slowly back to the spring in
the dell.

The afternoon was hot, in spite of the steady breeze which came out of
the north. The air felt as if it had passed through a furnace. The low,
continuous thunder of the guns rolled up from Verdun, with now and then
a sharper clap from St. Mihiel.

Pierre was very tired. His head was heavy, his heart troubled. He lay
down among the ferns, looking idly at the foxglove spires above him and
turning over in his mind the things he had heard and seen at Domremy.
Presently he fell into a profound sleep.

How long it was he could not tell, but suddenly he became aware of some
one near him. He sprang up. A girl was standing beside the spring.