"Yes, yes, I know. But my farm is such a small part of France. I am
only one man. What difference does one man make, except to himself?
Moreover, I had done my part, that was certain. Twenty times, really,
my life had been lost. Why must I throw it away again? Listen, Father.
There is a village in the Vosges, near the Swiss border, where a
relative of mine lives. If I could get to him he would take me in and
give me some other clothes and help me over the frontier into
Switzerland. There I could change my name and find work until the war
is over. That was my plan. So I set out on my journey, following the
less-traveled roads, tramping by night and sleeping by day. Thus I came
to this spring at the same time as you by chance, by pure chance. Do
you see?"

Father Courcy looked very stern and seemed about to speak in anger.
Then he shook his head and said, quietly: "No, I do not see that at
all. It remains to be seen whether it was by chance. But tell me more
about your sin. Did you let your wife, Josephine, know what you were
going to do? Did you tell her good-by, parting for Switzerland?"

"Why, no! I did not dare. She would never have forgiven me. So I
slipped down to the post-office at Bar-sur-Aube and stole a telegraph
blank. It was ten days before my furlough was out. I wrote a message to
myself calling me back to the colors at once. I showed it to her. Then
I said good-by. I wept. She did not cry one tear. Her eyes were stars.
She embraced me a dozen times. She lifted up each of the children to
hug me. Then she cried: 'Go now, my brave man. Fight well. Drive the
damned Boches out. It is for us and for France. God protect you. _Au
revoir!_' I went down the road silent. I felt like a dog. But I could
not help it."