"I understand," she answered softly. "I will tell them, as gently as I can, and you will answer what they ask you. Is not that best?" [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Sphere."_ THE CHARGE IRRESISTIBLE. Bengal lancers in the open warfare of the first few months driving the Germans before them like chaff before the wind.] "Oh, Madame!" His voice was full of thankfulness. She sighed long and heavily. "We shall soon grow accustomed to telling and hearing sad news in Belgium," she said. Then, turning to Croquier, she added, "You have the bird safe?" "Safe as the grave!" boomed the hunchback in reply and disappeared into the darkness. The village street, usually so quiet at this hour, stirred feverishly. Lights glimmered in every house. One woman was kneeling at the foot of the great wooden cross which stood in the marketplace. Another came out from the church, weeping silently. Their husbands were in the army. The boy's heart sank as he came up to the little house from which he had started a few hours before with Deschamps and the master. He opened the garden gate and Mme. Maubin entered. The click of the latch, as the gate closed behind Horace, had been heard. The door opened and the burly figure of Deschamps' father stood outlined. He welcomed the master's wife with hearty hospitality. The woman said nothing, but entered the house. She went straight to the mother, who had risen to her feet and was standing by the table, a frightened look in her eyes. "You are of Belgium, Madame?" the master's wife began. The mother winced. "But yes," she said. "Then you will know how to be brave." Mme. Deschamps' lips trembled. "Is it my boy?" she asked anxiously, turning to Horace. "He is not killed, Madame," said the boy, chokingly. "He is hurt! He is dying!" "No, Madame," Horace answered, "the doctor said that he would soon get well. But--" The master's wife intervened. "Your son will need you now more than ever before," she said softly. "He is not lost to you. He is closer to you." The mother struggled for composure. "He is crippled?" "He is blind, Madame," said Horace. She staggered back a step and steadied herself with a hand on the table. "My boy! My boy! Blind!" she cried. No one moved. The distant guns beat their menace more insistently into the room. "M. Maubin told me to say," added Horace, in a low voice, "that he bid you remember that your son was Belgium's first boy hero." "Where is he?" broke in the father. "At Embourg, Monsieur, at the house of Dr. Mallorbes." "I will go see him. Tell me exactly how it happened." So Horace, overcoming his embarrassment in the sight of the mother's courage, told the story of the bursting shell, of the splinter which struck the boy's forehead and of the removal to the doctor's house. Then he told of the surgeon's work and, finally, of the departure for Liége and his own return.