I, too, had left in the invaded country those I loved, and also my possessions. I felt, therefore, in the presence of Dauche the effect of that solidarity which is aroused by a common misfortune. I ought, however, to admit that my comrade had suffered more terrible calamities than mine with greater fortitude, though he was more sensitive, as I observed on several occasions. Of pleasing height, Dauche had the pink complexion and the fair hair characteristic of my country. A delicate beard adorned and prolonged a face full of gentleness and life, like those young men whom Flemish artists have portrayed, often so happily, wearing a frilled collar and a heavy golden chain gleaming on a waistcoat of dark velvet. A light bandage passed over his forehead. He seemed so little disturbed by it that I did not trouble for some time to talk to him about his wound. Besides, he never referred to it himself. I saw him once change the dressing, and it was then that he explained to me in a few words how a piece of grenade had struck him during a skirmish. He seemed to treat the incident with the most perfect indifference. “Nothing draws me away from the front,” he added, with a melancholy smile, “and I was intending forthwith to return to my corps; but the doctor is flatly opposed to it.” He confessed it was not without pleasure that he looked forward to spending the period of convalescence in the Château de S----, which autumn adorned so nobly. From the second week, in spite of the state of my wound on my shoulder, I was given permission to walk a little. Dauche helped me with a brotherly tenderness, and it was through his encouragement that I was able soon to venture in the avenues of the park. The doctor who looked after us both said to me in rather an embarrassed tone: “You are going out with Lieutenant Dauche? See that you don’t go too far.” This doctor was of a reticent nature. I did not ask for explanations; I was confident in my recovered strength. It never struck me--naturally enough--that the doctor was in fact thinking of Dauche. Several days went by, blessed with all that is warm, young, affectionate in a growing friendship. The war, among a thousand other miseries, has compelled us to live occasionally in the company of men whom in time of peace we should have carefully avoided. It was, then, with a trembling joy that I recognised in Dauche those qualities which would move my nature to love and affection--a nature which had ever perhaps been unduly difficult and uneasy. I thought that a deep predestined purpose operated there: the men of this age who can become my friends are marked, and determined, in the universe with the same mysterious sign; but I may not know them all, and perhaps I shall never be fated to meet my best friend.