he little pools between the cobbles and ricochetted with a
multitudinous hiss. Now and again a gust of wind swept across, and the
rain rattled against the windows. On the opposite side of the square one
of the houses gaped curiously, with bedroom and parlour exposed to view,
as though some one had snatched away the walls and laid the scene for
one of those Palais Royal farces in which the characters pursue a
complicated domestic intrigue on two floors at once. That house, with
its bed exposed to the rain dripping from the open rafters, was indeed
both farcical and indecent; it stood among its unscathed neighbours like
a pariah. The rain was loud and insistent, but not so loud as to dull
the distant thunder of the guns. The intermittent gusts of wind now and
again interrupted its monotonous theme, but the intervals were as brief
as they were violent, and in this polyphonic composition of rain, wind,
and guns, the hissing of the raindrops came and went as in a fugue and
with an inexpressible mournfulness.

Inside the room was a table covered with green baize, on which were
methodically arranged in extended order a Bible, an inkstand, a sheaf of
paper, and a copy of the _Manual of Military Law_. Behind the table were
seven chairs, and to the right and left of them stood two others. The
seven chairs were for the members of the court; the chair on the extreme
right was for the "prisoner's friend," that on the left awaited the
Judge-Advocate. About five yards in front of the table, in the centre of
an empty space, stood two more chairs turned towards it. Otherwise the
room was as bare as a guard-room. And this austere meagreness gave it a
certain dignity of its own as of a place where nothing was allowed to
distract the mind from the serious business in hand. At the door stood
an orderly with a red armlet bearing the imprint of the letters "M.P."
in black.

"I have read the summary pretty carefully," the Judge-Advocate was
saying, "and it seems to me a clear case. The charge is fully made out.
And yet the curious thing is, the fellow has an excellent record, I
believe."

"That proves nothing," said the Colonel; "I've had a fellow in my
battalion found sleeping at his post on sentry-go, a fellow I could have
sworn by. And you know what the punishment for that is. It's these night
attacks; the men must not sleep by night and some of them cannot sleep
by day, and there are limits to human nature. We've no reserves to speak
of