ow came trooping into his mind. He had the original hero before his
very eyes.

"Are you content, satisfied? . . . You do not repent of your decision?"

"Yes, I am content, father . . . very content."

Julio spoke without boasting, modestly. His life was very hard, but just
like that of millions of other men. In his section of a few dozens
of soldiers there were many superior to him in intelligence, in
studiousness, in character; but they were all courageously undergoing
the test, experiencing the satisfaction of duty fulfilled. The common
danger was helping to develop the noblest virtues of these men. Never,
in times of peace, had he known such comradeship. What magnificent
sacrifices he had witnessed!

"When all this is over, men will be better . . . more generous. Those
who survive will do great things."

Yes, of course, he was content. For the first time in his life he was
tasting the delights of knowing that he was a useful being, that he
was good for something, that his passing through the world would not be
fruitless. He recalled with pity that Desnoyers who had not known how to
occupy his empty life, and had filled it with every kind of frivolity.
Now he had obligations that were taxing all his powers; he was
collaborating in the formation of a future. He was a man at last!

"I am content," he repeated with conviction.

His father believed him, yet he fancied that, in a corner of that
frank glance, he detected something sorrowful, a memory of a past which
perhaps often forced its way among his present emotions. There flitted
through his mind the lovely figure of Madame Laurier. Her charm was,
doubtless, still haunting his son. And to think that he could not bring
her here! . . . The austere father of the preceding year contemplated
himself with astonishment as he caught himself formulating this immoral
regret.

They passed a quarter of an hour without loosening hands, looking
into each other's eyes. Julio asked after his mother and Chichi. He
frequently received letters from them, but that was not enough for his
curiosity. He laughed heartily at hearing of Argensola's amplified and
abundant life. These interesting bits of news came from a world not much
more than sixty miles distant in a direct line . . . but so far, so very
far away!

Suddenly the father noticed that his boy was listening with less
attention. His senses, sharpened by a life of alarms and ambushed
attacks, appeared to be withdrawing i