ssed each other. Her eyes stared in front of her, full of pain like a
hurt beast's. She sat as though carved in stone, dark against the
window, the lines of her body rigid and clear-cut like a statue's.

At last an aide came toward her, spruce and alert, holding a paper in
his hand. She rose at his approach, leaning on the back of her chair,
her body bent forward tensely. He spoke to her in a low voice,
consulting the slip of paper in his hand. All at once she straightened
herself, and a burning expression came into her face. One hand went to
her heart, exactly as though a bullet had pierced her breast. Then she
gave a sharp cry, and hurling her pocketbook across the room with all
her strength, she rushed outside.

Every one dodged as though the pocketbook had been aimed at him. A young
second lieutenant picked it from the floor and stood twisting it in his
hands, not knowing what to do with it. People looked uneasy and ashamed
as though a door had been suddenly opened on a terrible secret thing
that was customarily locked up in a closet. But the uncomfortable
feeling soon passed, and they began to talk about the strange woman and
to gossip and play and amuse themselves with her sorrow. A crowd
collected about the aide, who grew more and more voluble and important
each time he repeated his explanation of the incident.

Shortly afterward, Mr. Douglas and I were admitted to the Chief of
Staff. The walls of his office were covered with large maps, with tiny
flags marking the battlefronts, and he sat at a large table occupying
the center of the room.

When we entered, he rose and bowed, and after waving me to a chair,
reseated himself. He was rather like a university professor, courteous,
with a slightly ironical twist to his very red lips. His pale face was
narrow and long, with a pointed black beard, and a forehead broad and
high and white. While he listened or talked, he nervously drew
arabesques on a pad of paper on the table.

"I have your petition, but since I have just been appointed here, I am
not very familiar with routine matters." Here he smiled slightly. "Yours
is a routine matter, I should say. How long have you waited for an
answer--four months? We'll see what can be done. I have sent to the
files and I should have a report in a few minutes."

An aide brought in a collection of telegrams and papers, and the chief
glanced through them. Then he looked at me searchingly and suddenly
smiled again.

"From y