he received this note. Suppose
Anita should see him? She had already seen Mrs. Lawrence put her hand
on his shoulder. There was, however, no gainsaying the C. O., and at
ten o'clock Broussard rang the bell at the Commandant's house.
Sergeant McGillicuddy opened the door for him and showed him into the
little office across the hall, saying:

"Them's the Colonel's orders, sir."

At the same moment Mrs. Lawrence, pale, beautiful and stately, walked
in from the back entrance. As she and Broussard met in the sunny hall,
brimming with the morning light, Anita walked down the stairs and came
face to face with Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence.

Broussard's dark skin turned dull red; Mrs. Lawrence, calmly
unconscious, bowed to Anita, who, in her turn, bowed and passed on; her
head, usually with a graceful droop, was erect; she radiated silent
displeasure. Then Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence entered the office and
Broussard closed the door. He was full of discomfort and chagrin, but
it did not make him forgetful of the pale woman before him.

Mrs. Lawrence sat down in a chair; it was plain that she was not
strong. Broussard, taking her hand, said to her affectionately:

"Last night Lawrence told me all. Remember, after this, that you and
he have a brother, and the boy will be to me as a son."

The slow tears gathered in Mrs. Lawrence's eyes and fell upon her thin
cheeks.

"My husband told me when he came home last night. I can't express what
I feel--but the boy shall remember you in his innocent prayer."

"It's the boy I want to speak about," said Broussard, "Lawrence tells
me that you have a chance of going back to your own people and that you
are breaking down under the hard work of a soldier's wife. You can
never get used to it."

"Perhaps not," replied Mrs. Lawrence, calmly, "especially as I was
brought up to have a French maid. But I don't intend to leave my
husband. I love him too well. Don't ask me why I love him so. I
couldn't explain it to you to save my life, but I will say that since
the day we were married--I ran away to marry him--he has never spoken
an unkind word to me. He had nothing to give me except his love, but
he has given me that. Whatever his faults may be as a soldier, he has
been a good husband to me."

"A good husband!"

Broussard involuntarily repeated the words, marvelling and admiring the
constancy, the self-delusion, the blind devotion of the woman before
him.

"A loving husb