is there in front, looking at it. For
some long time, no doubt, he has been going round it and gazing.
Field-hospital orderly Sambremeuse, of the Division, returning from
errands, is climbing the portable stair of painted wood which leads to
the van door. In his arms he carries a bulky box of biscuits, a loaf of
fancy bread, and a bottle of champagne. Blaire questions him--"Tell me,
Sir Rump, this horse-box--is it the dentist's?"

"It's written up there," replies Sambremeuse--a little corpulent man,
clean, close-shaven, and his chin starch-white. "If you can't see it,
you don't want the dentist to look after your grinders, you want the
vet to clean your eyesight."

Blaire comes nearer and scrutinizes the establishment. "It's a queer
shop," he says. He goes nearer yet, draws back, hesitates to risk his
gums in that carriage. At last he decides, puts a foot on the stair,
and disappears inside the caravan.

We continue our walk, and turn into a footpath where are high, dusty
bushes and the noises are subdued. The sunshine blazes everywhere; it
heats and roasts the hollow of the way, spreading blinding and burning
whiteness in patches, and shimmers in the sky of faultless blue.

At the first turning, almost before we had heard the light grating of a
footstep, we are face to face with Eudoxie!

Lamuse utters a deep exclamation. Perhaps he fancies once more that she
is looking for him, and believes that she is the gift of his destiny.
He goes up to her--all the bulk of him.

She looks at him and stops, framed by the hawthorn. Her strangely
slight and pale face is apprehensive, the lids tremble on her
magnificent eyes. She is bareheaded, and in the hollowed neck of her
linen corsage there is the dawning of her flesh. So near, she is truly
enticing in the sunshine, this woman crowned with gold, and one's
glance is impelled and astonished by the moon-like purity of her skin.
Her eyes sparkle; her teeth, too, glisten white in the living wound of
her half-open mouth, red as her heart.

"Tell me--I am going to tell you," pants Lamuse. "I like you so much--"
He outstretches his arm towards the motionless, beloved wayfarer.

She starts, and replies to him, "Leave me alone--you disgust me!"

The man's hand is thrown over one of her little ones. She tries to draw
it back, and shakes it to free herself. Her intensely fair hair falls
loose, flaming. He draws her to him. His head bends towards her, and
his lips are ready. His de