"You do, eh?... What about your unfairness to Des Rosiers and his little French girl, when he faces a firing-squad in the early morning?" With an angry gesture, Campbell left the dugout and hurried to Battalion Headquarters. For twenty minutes he and the colonel, a gentleman and a soldier, quietly but firmly discussed the case of desertion. "I agree with everything you say, Campbell," said the older man, "and I will strongly recommend mercy to the court; but I am commanding a unit made up of many personalities, and must think of the example to all." "Very good, sir. By the way, colonel, I know where Des Rosiers is." "You do? Then send word to the A.P.M." "Excuse me, sir; may I go and bring him myself? I ask this as a very great favor." The colonel pondered for a moment. "When will you be back?" he said. "Before 'Stand to' in the morning." "Right--but, Campbell, my boy." "Sir." "Whatever you have in mind, remember that your duty and mine is to think of the example to the battalion." The blue in Campbell's eyes deepened; then, with an imperious gesture of the head, like that of a horse that hears the sound of galloping hoofs a mile away, he saluted. "I shall not forget what you say, sir." "Thank you, Douglas." With a restless impatience for delay, Campbell left the dug-out and climbed from the trench to open land. Heedless of a machine-gun that spat at him from the enemy lines, he hurried on until he reached the brigade transport lines, where he secured a motor-car. "Where to, sir?" asked the driver. "Le Curois," said the major; "and drop me just before you come to the village." VII In the scorching heat of a summer afternoon, Petite Simunde was washing some linen outside her cottage home. The silence, like the heat, was oppressive, and seemed more so by contrast with the noise of the troops who had been there a week before. An apple falling from a tree to the ground; the restless pounding of a horse's hoof in its stall; the distant hum of an aeroplane; the rumble of guns, faint but ominous--these and the sighs of the little woman at her task, were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the air. She heard footsteps, and her heart, more than her eyes, told her that the man she dreaded had come. Her face blanched, and she caught her breath with a spasm of pain. "Simunde"--Campbell's voice was gentle but firm--"where is Jacque?" She continued her work without looking up. "Simunde"--again the quiet monotone--"where is Jacque?" She shook her head. "No compree" she faltered, falling into the jargon of war.