t was sore with long thirst and the sand that she
seemed to have swallowed till no draught of water or wine would take the
scorched, dry pain out of it. But, as she had given up her fete-day in
the hospital, so she sat now--as patient in the self-sacrifice as she
was impatient when the vivacious agility of her young frame was longing
for the frenzied delights of the dance or the battle.

Yonder she knew, where her Spahis bivouacked on the hard-won field,
there were riotous homage, wild applause, intoxicating triumph waiting
for the Little One who had saved the day, if she chose to go out for it;
and she loved to be the center of such adoration and rejoicing, with all
the exultant vanity of a child and a hero in one. Here there were warmth
of flames, quietness of rest, long hours for slumber; all that her
burning eyes and throbbing nerves were longing for, as the sleep she
would not yield to stole on her, and the racking pain of fatigue cramped
her bones. But she would not go to the pleasure without, and she would
not give way to the weariness that tortured her.

Cigarette could crucify self with a generous courage, all the purer
because it never occurred to her that there was anything of virtue or of
sacrifice in it. She was acting en bon soldat--that was all. Pouf! That
wanted no thanks.

Silence settled over the camp; half the slain could not be buried, and
the clear, luminous stars rose on the ghastly plateau. All that were
heard were the challenge of sentinels, the tramp of patrols. The guard
visited her once.

She kept herself awake in the little dark tent, only lit by the glow of
the fire. Dead men were just without, and in the moonlight without, as
the night came on, she could see the severed throat of the scullion, and
the head further off, like a round, gray stone. But that was nothing to
Cigarette; dead men were no more to her than dead trees are to others.

Every now and then, four or five times in an hour, she gave him whom
she tended the soup or the wine that she kept warmed for him over the
embers. He took it without knowledge, sunk half in lethargy, half in
sleep; but it kept the life glowing in him which, without it, might have
perished of cold and exhaustion as the chills and northerly wind of the
evening succeeded to the heat of the day, and pierced through the canvas
walls of the tent. It was very bitter; more keenly felt because of the
previous burning of the sun. There was no cloak or covering t