ffered it to him for a
loaf, but he refused."

And there was a whole history of human suffering and temptation--of the
human fall--in his curt laugh. While Desiree was looking at the treasure
in speechless admiration, he turned suddenly and took the bread and meat
in his grimy hands. His crooked fingers closed over the loaf, making the
crust crack, and for a second the expression of his face was not human.
Then he hurried to the room that had been his, like a dog that seeks to
hide its greed in its kennel.

In a surprisingly short time he came back, the greyness all gone from
his face, though his eyes still glittered with the dry, hard light of
starvation. He went back to the chair near the door, and sat down.

"Seven hundred miles," he said, looking down at his feet with a shake of
the head, "seven hundred miles in six weeks."

Then he glanced at her and out through the open door, to make sure none
could overhear.

"Because I was afraid," he added in a whisper. "I am easily frightened.
I am not brave."

Desiree shook her head and laughed. Women have from all time accepted
the theory that a uniform makes a man courageous.

"They had to abandon the guns," he went on, "soon after quitting Moscow.
The horses were starving. There was a steep hill, and the guns were left
at the bottom. Then I began to be afraid. There were some marching
with candelabras on their backs and nothing in their carnassieres. They
carried a million francs on their shoulders and death in their faces. I
was afraid. I carried salt--salt--and nothing else. Then one day I saw
the Emperor's face. That was enough. The same night I crept away while
the others slept round the fire. They looked like a masquerade. Some of
them wore ermine. Oh! I was afraid, I tell you. I only had the salt and
some horse. There was plenty of that on the road. And that toy. I found
it in Moscow. I stood in a cellar, as big as this room, full of such
things. But one thinks of one's life. I only carried salt, and that
picture for you... to say your prayers to. The good God will hear you,
perhaps; He has no time to listen to us others."

And he used the last words as a French peasant, which is a survival of
serfdom that has come down through the furnace of the Revolution.

"But I cannot take it," said Desiree. "It is worth a million francs."

He looked at her fiercely.

"You think that I look for something in return?"

"Oh no!" she answered, "I have nothing to give y