slightly, gripped the table-edge, while his eyes glowed like
opals, and began:

"Fellow-soldiers glorious - true friends and hospitables. It was
an accident, and deplorable - most deplorable." Here he smiled
sweetly all round the mess. "But you will think of this little,
little thing. So little, is it not? The Czar! Posh! I slap my
fingers - I snap my fingers at him. Do I believe in him? No! But
in us Slav who has done nothing, him I believe. Seventy - how much
- millions peoples that have done nothing - not one thing. Posh!
Napoleon was an episode." He banged a hand on the table. "Hear
you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the world - out here.
All our work is to do; and it shall be done, old peoples. Get a-
way!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the man. "You
see him. He is not good to see. He was just one little - oh, so
little -accident, that no one remembered. Now he is

That! So will you be, brother soldiers so brave so will you be.
But you will never come back. You will all go where he is gone,
or" - he pointed to the great coffin-shadow on the ceiling, and
muttering, "Seventy millions - get a-way, you old peoples," fell
asleep.

"Sweet, and to the point," said little Mildred. "What's the use of
getting wroth? Let's make this poor devil comfortable."

But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving
hands of the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go
away again three days later, when the wail of the Dead March, and
the tramp of the squadrons, told the wondering Station, who saw no