"Welcome!--But the fort?" he gasped.

"It is ours," said the priest.

Something like a smile passed over the face of Pierre. He could
not speak for a long time. The blood in his throat choked him. At
last he whispered:

"Tell Josephine--love."

Father Courcy bowed his head and took Pierre's hand. "Surely," he
said. "But now, my dear son Pierre, I must prepare you--"

The struggling voice from the cot broke in, whispering slowly,
with long intervals: "Not necessary.... I know already.... The
penance. ... France.... Jeanned'Arc.... It is done."

A few drops of blood gushed from the corner of his mouth. The
look of peace that often comes to those who die of gunshot wounds
settled on his face. His eyes grew still as the priest laid the
sacred wafer on his lips. The broken soldier was made whole.






THE HEARING EAR