holding his breath and listening. There was a tiny window opposite to
the door, but it only declared itself a window, it gave no light. And
illusions came to Lieutenant Fevrier, such as will come to the bravest
man so long as he listens hard enough in the dark--illusions of
stealthy footsteps on the floor, of hands scraping and feeling along
the walls, of a man's breathing upon his neck, of many infinitesimal
noises and movements close by.

The challenge was repeated and Fevrier remembered his orders.

"I am Lieutenant Fevrier of Montaudon's division."

"You are alone."

Fevrier now distinguished that the voice came from the right-hand
corner of the room, and that it was faint.

"I have fifty men with me. We are deserters," he blurted out, "and
unarmed."

There followed silence, and a long silence. Then the voice spoke
again, but in French, and the French of a native.

"My friend, your voice is not the voice of a deserter. There is too
much humiliation in it. Come to my bedside here. I spoke in German,
expecting Germans. But I am the curé of Vaudère. Why are you
deserters?"

Fevrier had expected a scornful order to marshal his men as prisoners.
The extraordinary gentleness of the curé's voice almost overcame him.