One day he admitted a pain about his heart; and time, too, for at moments he would look like death itself. His nurse, Corporal Mignan, had long left his _'deux phénomènes!_' having drifted away on the tides of the system, till he should break down again and drag through the hospitals once more. Gray had a room to himself now; the arrogant civilian's groaning at night disturbed the others. Yet, if you asked him in the morning if he had slept well, he answered invariably, '_Oui--oui--toujours, toujours!_' For, according to him, you see, he was still strong; and he would double his arm and tap his very little muscle, to show that he could work. But he did not believe it now, for one day a 'Power,' dusting the men's writing-room, saw a letter on the blotter, and with an ashamed eye read these words:-- _'Cher Oncle,_ _J'ai eu la rage contre toi, mais c'est passé maintenant. Je veux seulement me reposer. Je ne peux pas me battre pour la France--j'ai voulu travailler pour elle; mais on ne m'a pas permi._ _Votre neveu, qui t'embrasse de loin.'_ _Seulement me reposer_--only to rest! Rest he will, soon, if eyes can speak. Pass, and leave for ever that ravished France for whom he wished to work--pass, without having seen again his _petite fille_. No more in the corridor above the stove, no more in the little dining-room or the avenue of pines will be seen his long, noiseless, lonely figure, or be heard his thick stumbling cry: _'Les Boches--ils vont en payer cher--les Boches!_' 1917. IV THE BRIGHT SIDE