utelles_
fell? What he did know was that something seemed to spring up within
him to answer that call. He felt that he would rather die than desert
such a leader.

The figure on the horse turned away as if to go.

"Do not leave me," he cried, stretching out his hands to her. "Stay
with me. I will obey you joyfully."

She turned again and looked at him very earnestly. Her eyes shone deep
into his heart. "Here I cannot stay," answered a low, sweet, womanly
voice. "It is late, and my other children need me."

"But forgiveness? Can you give that to me--a coward?"

"You are no coward. Your only fault was to doubt a brave man."

"And my wife? May I go back and tell her?"

"No, surely. Would you make her hear slander of the man she loves? Be
what she believes you and she will be satisfied."

"And the absolution, the word of peace? Will you speak that to me?"

Her eyes shone more clearly; the voice sounded sweeter and steadier
than ever. "After the penance comes the absolution. You will find peace
only at the lance's point. Son of France, go, go, go! I will help you.
Go hardily to Verdun."

Pierre sprang forward after the receding figure, tried to clasp the
knee, the foot of the Maid. As he fell to the ground something sharp
pierced his hand. It must be her spur, thought he.

Then he was aware that his eyes were shut. He opened them and looked at
his hand carefully. There was only a scratch on it, and a tiny drop of
blood. He had torn it on the thorns of the wild-gooseberry bushes.

His head lay close to the clear pool of the spring. He buried his face
in it, and drank deep. Then he sprang up, shaking the drops from his
mustache, found his cap and pistol, and hurried up the glen toward the
old Roman road.

"No more of that damned foolishness about Switzerland," he said, aloud.
"I belong to France. I am going with the other boys to save her. I was
born for that." He took off his cap and stood still for a moment. He
spoke as if he were taking an oath. "By Jeanne d'Arc!"

The Victorious Penance

It never occurred to Pierre Duval, as he trudged those long kilometers
toward the front, that he was doing a penance.

The joy of a mind made up is a potent cordial.

The greetings of comrades on the road put gladness into his heart and
strength into his legs.

It was a hot and dusty journey, and a sober one. But it was not a sad
on. He was doing that which France asked of him, that which God told
him to do. Jo