The joy of a mind made up is a potent cordial.

The greetings of comrades on the road put gladness into his heart and
strength into his legs.

It was a hot and dusty journey, and a sober one. But it was not a sad
on. He was doing that which France asked of him, that which God told
him to do. Josephine would be proud of him. He would never be ashamed
to meet her eyes. As he went, alone or in company with others, he
whistled and sand a bit. He thought of "_L'Alouette_" a good deal. But
not too much. He thought also of the forts of Douaumont and Vaux.

"_Dame!_" he cried to himself. "If I could help to win them back again!
That would be fine! How sick that would make those cursed Bodies and
their knock-kneed Crown Prince!"

At the little village of the headquarters behind Verdun he found many
old friends and companions. They greeted him with cheerful irony.

"Behold the prodigal! You took your time about coming back, didn't you?
Was the hospital to your taste, the nurses pretty? How is the wife? Any
more children? How goes it, old man?"

"No more children yet," he answered, grinning; "but all goes well. I
have come back from a far country, but I find the pigs are still
grunting. What have you done to our old cook?"

"Nothing at all," was the joyous reply. "He tried to swim in his own
soup and he was drowned."