f that of others.
She, too, was looking toward the distant horizon. There she seemed to
see a procession of the enemy, grieving in the same way as were her
family. She saw Elena with her daughters going in and out among the
burial grounds, seeking a loved one, falling on their knees before a
cross. Ay, this mournful satisfaction, she could never know completely!
It would be forever impossible for her to pass to the opposite side in
search of the other grave, for, even after some time had passed by, she
could never find it. The beloved body of Otto would have disappeared
forever in one of the nameless pits which they had just passed.

"O Lord, why did we ever come to these lands? Why did we not continue
living in the land where we were born?" . . .

Desnoyers, too, uniting his thoughts with hers, was seeing again the
pampas, the immense green plains of the ranch where he had become
acquainted with his wife. Again he could hear the tread of the herds. He
recalled Madariaga on tranquil nights proclaiming, under the splendor of
the stars, the joys of peace, the sacred brotherhood of these people
of most diverse extraction, united by labor, abundance and the lack of
political ambition.

And as his thoughts swung back to the lost son he, too, exclaimed with
his wife, "Oh, why did we ever come? . . ." He, too, with the solidarity
of grief, began to sympathize with those on the other side of the battle
front. They were suffering just as he was; they had lost their sons.
Human grief is the same everywhere.

But then he revolted against his commiseration. Karl had been an
advocate of this war. He was among those who had looked upon war as the
perfect state for mankind, who had prepared it with their provocations.
It was just that War should devour his sons; he ought not to bewail
their loss. . . . But he who had always loved Peace! He who had only one
son, only one! . . . and now he was losing him forever! . . .

He was going to die; he was sure that he was going to die. . . . Only a
few months of life were left in him. And his pitiful, devoted companion
kneeling at his feet, she, too, would soon pass away. She could not long
survive the blow which they had just received. There was nothing further
for them to do; nobody needed them any longer.

Their daughter was thinking only of herself, of founding a separate
home interest--with the hard instinct of independence which separates
children from their parents in order that hu