The General explained that a new charge was to be ordered--that three had failed--that the men (while not exactly rebellious) faltered before the valley a fourth time this day--that the failures were costly in men--in short, that the inspiration of Chautonville was required now to sing them and the reserves across.... The Austrians would quickly give way, if the valley were passed.... Then the thousands would flood up the slopes and--Budapest and holidays. "You want me to sing to them for courage--as it were?" Chautonville questioned. I had marked his voice. I saw now that he needed all the thickness of throat and bust--that he used it all. I hoped they would not send me away with a message.... "You want me to walk up and down the trenches?" "Yes, singing." He puffed his cheeks and blew out a long breath--as if enjoying the effect of the steam in the icy light. "Are they under fire?" he asked. "You see them from here--how silent they are! The enemy does not fire until we reach the valley." So he made no bones about his fears. Nothing of the charge would be required of him. He could withdraw after his inspiration.... Hate was growing within me. God, how I came to hate him--not for his cowardice--that was a novelty, and so freely acknowledged, but because he would sing the men to their death. This was the tame elephant that they use to subdue the wild ones--this the decoy--the little white bastard. "Very well, I will walk up and down the trenches, singing--" He said it a bit cockily. I was in no way a revolutionist, yet I vowed some time to get him, alone.... I seemed to see myself in a crowded city street at night--some city full of lights, as far as heaven from now--going in with the crowd under the lights--to hear him sing. There I could get him.... Not a revolutionist, at all; no man in the enlisted ranks more trusted than I; attached for dispatch-work at brigade-headquarters; in all likelihood of appearance so stupid, as to be accepted as a good soldier and nothing more.... Now I remembered how far I was from the lights of any city and crowded streets--here in the desperate winter fighting, our world crazed with punishment, and planning for real fighting in the Spring. The dead of the valley arose before my eyes.... Perhaps within an hour _my_ room would be ready. Still I should be sorry to pass, and leave Chautonville living on. They beckoned me to his escort. I followed, hoping to see him die presently. This new hope was to watch him die--and not do it with my hands. Yes, I _trusted_ that Chautonville would not come back from the trenches.