sorry to have spoken of it."

"After all, you are my greatest friend. Why should I not tell you about
it? Perhaps, too, it might relieve me to speak of my trouble."

"If it will be any relief to you, tell me; but if not, why, do not let
us say any more about it."

[Illustration: YOU ARE MY GREATEST FRIEND.]

"I would rather tell you. Life is very uncertain on the battlefield, and
I would rather not die with this secret untold. Perhaps, too, if you
knew it you might be able to help me."

"If I could help you in any way, you know you have only to tell me how."

"Well, you shall hear all. You know that, before leaving Algeria, I went
to Paris with a three months' leave."

"Which you never stayed out, for you were back again in six weeks."

"What could I do with myself in that Babylon, where everyone was gay
while I was so wretched? How could I stand the sardonic laughter and
gaiety around me when my heart was aching bitterly? As soon as my poor
mother was buried I was only too anxious to get from that city of
luxury, where the artificial lights only blinded and dazzled me.

"I wanted to get away from the noise and the vice and the hypocrisy, and
go to the desert and be alone with Nature and with reality, where I
could breathe pure, wholesome air, and not that atmosphere which
bewilders and poisons you. I left what we _call_ the civilized world to
go to the savages whom I prefer.

"I gave up society for solitude, peace for war. I despise my life and
long for death, but death does not come at my call."

Gauthier stopped for a minute, overcome with emotion.

"You are too sensitive," said Saussier.

"Perhaps so, but I have had something to bear."

"Is it a love affair, Gauthier?"

"No, no! I have never loved anyone, and besides, I am one of those who
must not, who dare not love----"

"I do not understand."

"No, I will explain. My mother, who was dying of consumption, brought on
by some great grief that she had always suffered alone, sent for me to
bid me farewell. Three days before her death I was at her bedside.

"'My son,' she said, 'I have sent for you to tell you something which I
feel you ought to know before my death. I have always led you to believe
that your father was dead.'

"'And he is not dead. I have felt sure of that for a long time.'

"'How could you nave guessed it?' exclaimed my mother.

"'By your sadness, and, too, because you have never taken me to his
grave, nor even spoken of it.