, sir," began one of the fellows, before his
superior had time to ask a question. "I assure you, it's not his
fault. He's just back from Saloniki--his first furlough in a year,
sir. It must have gone to his head. I swear he hasn't had anything
but cider to drink, sir."

"But that's no excuse for making all this noise. Show me his military
book!"

The officer took it, ran through the pages, and then approached Cyprien.

At the sight of the gold braid Cyprien stood up and saluted.

"Before you went to Saloniki, I see you fought at Verdun."

"Yes, sir."

"And at Beausejour?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Vauquois?"

"Yes, sir."

The eyes of the two veterans met; the officer's glance seeking to
pierce that of the soldier in front of him. Then suddenly, in an
irresistible burst of sympathy and respect, he thrust out his hand and
caught up one of Cyprien's bandaged pair.

"I was there, too," was all he said.

Instantly sobered, our hero straightened up and literally crushed his
superior's fingers in his mighty fist.

"Come with me," said the officer; "I know a place where you can rest
until it's time to leave. And you boys here," said he turning towards
them, "you'll see to it that he doesn't miss his train."

Night, inky black, fathomless night, had now settled about us. In the
distance one could just discern the red and green signal lamps--at
closer range the burning tip of a cigar or cigarette. The soldiers
turned up their collars. The wind shifting to the north was piercing
cold. One had to walk briskly up and down to avoid becoming chilled.
Way at the other end of the platform the flare of fugitive matches
revealed shadows moving about as though searching for something upon
the ground.

"What are you looking for?"

"A third-class return ticket for Royan. That old lady over there has
lost hers."

We turned about to see a poor old wrinkled soul, in her native Norman
costume, wringing her hands in distress.

"What a misfortune! Oh dear, oh dear, what a misfortune! What will
become of me now? What shall I do?"

And to each inquisitive newcomer she babbled forth her story of a
wounded grandson whom she was on her way to visit. The curate and
another man of her village had seen to her expenses. They had
purchased her ticket and handed it to her with strict instructions not
to lose it. For safety's sake she had knotted it in the corner of her
handkerchief--and now it wasn't there!

The inquir