f."

She paused. "Duilia, her name was," she added quietly.

"Eh?" said Jovannic.

"Duilia, the same as mine."

"But--the officer?" asked Jovannic. "Was he--did he?"

"No," she said. "He did not keep the oath which he swore upon the
crucifix."

From the terrace before the house came the blare of the bugle
sounding the officers' mess call. She turned to go to her door.

"But, signorina!" Jovannic moved towards her. The sense of her, of
the promise and power of her beauty and womanhood, burned in him. And
to the allurement of her youth and her slender grace were added a
glamour of strangeness and the quality of the moment. She paused and
faced him once more.

"It is good night, Signor Tenente," she said.

He watched her pass round the end of the building, unhurried, sad and
unafraid. He stood for some seconds yet after she had disappeared;
then, drawing a deep breath, like one relaxing from a strain, he
turned and walked back to the front of the house.

The burden of the evening lay upon him through the night at mess,
where the grey-clad German and Austrian officers ate and drank below
the mild faces of Pordenone's frescoed saints, and afterwards in his
room, where he dozed and woke and dozed again through the hot,
airless hours. The memory of the girl, the impression of her
attitude, of her pale, unsmiling face, of her low, strong voice,
tormented him; he felt himself alone with her in a hag-ridden land
where all men were murderers or murdered; and she would have none of
him. He arose sour and unrefreshed.

In the great dining-room the splendor of the morning was tainted with
the staleness of last night's cigars, and, for a further flavor,
sitting alone at the table, with his cap on his head and his cane on
the tablecloth beside him, was Captain Hahn. The mess waiter, lurking
near the door, looked scared and worried. He had slept but little.

"Good morning, Herr Hauptmann," said Jovannic, clicking his heels.

Captain Hahn gave him a furious glance and grunted inarticulately. He
made the effect as he sat of emitting fumes, vapors of an overcharged
personality; his naturally violent face was clenched like a fist.

"Here, you dog!" he exploded. The mess waiter all but leaped into the
air. "Get me another glass of brandy." The man dived through the
door. "And now you, Jovannic!"

"At your orders, Herr Hauptmann?" Jovannic looked up in astonishment.
The other's face was blazing at him across the table.

"