m as they are.

"There," said Joan at last, pleased with her success; "another could
have done it no better--not as well, I think. Tell me--what is it you did?
Tell me all."

The giant said:

"It was this way, my angel. My mother died, then my three little
children, one after the other, all in two years. It was the famine;
others fared so--it was God's will. I saw them die; I had that grace;
and I buried them. Then when my poor wife's fate was come, I begged for
leave to go to her--she who was so dear to me--she who was all I had;
I begged on my knees. But they would not let me. Could I let her die,
friendless and alone? Could I let her die believing I would not come?
Would she let me die and she not come--with her feet free to do it if
she would, and no cost upon it but only her life? Ah, she would come--she
would come through the fire! So I went. I saw her. She died in my arms.
I buried her. Then the army was gone. I had trouble to overtake it, but
my legs are long and there are many hours in a day; I overtook it last
night."

Joan said, musingly, as if she were thinking aloud:

"It sounds true. If true, it were no great harm to suspend the law this
one time--any would say that. It may not be true, but if it is true--" She
turned suddenly to the man and said, "I would see your eyes--look up!"
The eyes of the two met, and Joan said to the officer, "This man is
pardoned. Give you good day; you may go." Then she said to the man, "Did
you know it was death to come back to the army?"

"Yes," he said, "I knew it."

"Then why did you do it?"

The man said, quite simply:

"Because it was death. She was all I had. There was nothing left to
love."

"Ah, yes, there was--France! The children of France have always their
mother--they cannot be left with nothing to love. You shall live--and you
shall serve France--"

"I will serve you!"--"you shall fight for France--"

"I will fight for you!"

"You shall be France's soldier--"

"I will be your soldier!"--"you shall give all your heart to France--"

"I will give all my heart to you--and all my soul, if I have one--and all
my strength, which is great--for I was dead and am alive again; I had
nothing to live for, but now I have! You are France for me. You are my
France, and I will have no other."

Joan smiled, and was touched and pleased at the man's grave
enthusiasm--solemn enthusiasm, one may call it, for the manner of it was
deeper than mere gravity--and she sa