he assistance of his
soldier attendant, had got those of his belongings which he intended to
take with him sorted out and packed up. He dismissed the man and in
the midst of his disordered sitting-room settled himself for his last
cigar before turning in for the night. At that moment he heard a tap
at the door, and opening it, Lawrence was standing on the threshold.
He entered, taking off his cap and loosening his heavy uniform
greatcoat. Once he had been a handsome fellow, but he had danced too
long to the devil's fiddling, and that always spoils a man's looks.

For the first time, Lawrence seemed to forget the distance between the
private soldier and the officer. He sat down heavily, without waiting
for an invitation, and turned a haggard face on Broussard.

"So you are going," said Lawrence.

"Yes," replied Broussard.

Broussard saw that Lawrence was oppressed at the thought, there would
be no more Broussard to help him pay the post trader's bills and to
give him a good word when he got into trouble with the non-coms.

Broussard handed him a box of cigars and Lawrence absently took one.
It was a very expensive cigar, as Broussard's things were all
expensive. Lawrence, after rolling it in his fingers for a moment,
laid it down.

"It's a shame not to be able to smoke such a brand as that," he said,
"but the truth is, I can't stand tobacco to-night. It makes me nervous
instead of soothing me."

Broussard, lighting a cigar for himself, looked closely at Lawrence,
whose face was pallid and his eye sombre and uneasy.

"What's the trouble? More bills at the post trader's?" asked Broussard.

"Worse," replied Lawrence, becoming more agitated as he spoke. "My
wife--the best wife that ever lived--has been traced here by her
people. Of course, my name isn't Lawrence, and there was some trouble
in finding her. They want her to leave me, and offer to provide for
her and the boy. The work is killing her--you see how pale and thin
she is--and the boy hasn't the chance he ought to have. They are worth
more than a broken and beaten man like I am. But ever since I married
her I've led a fairly decent life--she is the one creature who can keep
me a little on this side of the jail. If she leaves me, I'm lost.
What shall I do?"

Lawrence rose to his feet, and stood, trembling like a leaf. Broussard
rose, too. By some strange, psychic foreknowledge, Broussard knew that
some disclosure, poignant and even vital to