"Yes," said the elder man, stretching his hand across the table
to clasp the hand of his companion, "there is nothing greater than
that. If we do that, God will forgive us all."

They put on their caps to go. Pierre rose and stood at attention.
They returned his salute with a friendly smile and passed out.

After a few moments he finished his bread and wine, paid his score,
and followed them. He watched them going down the village street
toward the railway station. Then he turned and walked slowly back
to the spring in the dell.

The afternoon was hot, in spite of the steady breeze which came out
of the north. The air felt as if it had passed through a furnace.
The low, continuous thunder of the guns rolled up from Verdun,
with now and then a sharper clap from St. Mihiel.

Pierre was very tired. His head was heavy, his heart troubled. He
lay down among the ferns, looking idly at the foxglove spires above
him and turning over in his mind the things he had heard and seen
at Domremy. Presently he fell into a profound sleep.

How long it was he could not tell, but suddenly he became aware
of some one near him. He sprang up. A girl was standing beside the
spring.

She wore a bright-red dress and her feet were bare. Her black hair
hung down her back. Her eyes were the color of a topaz. Her form was
tall and straight. She carried a distaff under her arm and looked