knee. It hung by the skin and tendons. He was a brave lad. I could not
leave him to die there. So I hoisted him on my back. Three shots struck
me. They felt just like hard blows from a heavy fist. One of them made
my left arm powerless. I sank my teeth in the sleeve of my lieutenant's
coat as it hung over my shoulder. I must not let him fall off my back.
Somehow--God knows how--I gritted through to our redoubt. They took my
lieutenant from my shoulders. And then the light went out."

The priest leaned forward, his hands stretched out around the soldier.
"But you are a hero," he cried. "Let me embrace you!"

The soldier drew back, shaking his head sadly. "No," he said, his voice
breaking--"no, my father, you must not embrace me now. I may have been
a brave man once. But now I am a coward. Let me tell you everything. My
wounds were bad, but not desperate. The _brancardiers_ carried me down
to Verdun, at night, I suppose, but I was unconscious; and so to the
hospital at Vaudelaincourt. There were days and nights of blankness
mixed with pain. Then I came to my senses and had rest. It was
wonderful. I thought that I had died and gone to heaven. Would God it
had been so! Then I should have been with my lieutenant. They told me
he had passed away in the redoubt. But that hospital was beautiful, so
clean and quiet and friendly. Those white nurses were angels. They
handled me like a baby. I would have liked to stay there. I had no
desire to get better. But I did. One day several officers visited the
hospital. They came to my cot, where I was sitting up. The highest of
them brought out a Cross of War and pinned it on the breast of my
nightshirt. 'There,' he said, 'you are decorated, Pierre Duval! You are
one of the heroes of France. You are soon going to be perfectly well
and to fight again bravely for your country.' I thanked him, but I knew
better. My body might get perfectly well, but something in my soul was