whispered to the
doctor: "How is it?" Something in his eyes, in the tone of that faint
question, required the grace of a soldier's truth in answer.

"Bad!" said the doctor.

"Then, good-by!" And his head fell to one side, his lips set in his
cheery smile.

Had ever any martyr shown a finer spirit dying for any cause? Marta
wondered. She felt the sublimity of a great moment, an inexorable
sadness. She knew that she should never forget that cheery smile or that
white face. What was danger to anybody? What was death if you had seen
how he had died?

His company was a company with his smile out of its heart and in its
place blank despair. Many of the men had stopped firing. Some had even
run back to look at him and stood, caps off, backs to the enemy,
miserable in their grief. Others leaned against the parapet, rifles out
of hand, staring and dazed.

"They have killed our captain!"

"They've killed our captain!"--still a captain to them. A general's
stars could not have raised him a cubit in their estimation.

"And once we called him 'Baby Dellarme,' he was so young and bashful!
Him a baby? He was a king!"

"Men, get to your places!" cried the surviving lieutenant rather
hopelessly, with no Dellarme to show him what to do; and Marta saw that
few paid any attention to him.

In that minute of demoralization the Grays had their chance, but only
for a minute. A voice that seemed to speak some uncontrollable thought
of her own broke in, and it rang with the authority and leadership of a
mature officer's command, even though coming from a gardener in blue
blouse and crownless straw hat.

"Your rifles, your rifles, quick!" called Feller. "We're only beginning
to fight!"

And then another voice in a bull roar, Stransky's:

"Avenge his death! They've got to kill the last man of us for killing
him! Revenge! revenge!"

That cry brought back to the company all the fighting spirit of the
cheery smile and with it another spirit--for Dellarme's sake!--which he
had never taught them.

"Make them pay!"

"He was told to stay till noon!"

"They'll find us here at noon, alive or dead!"

Stransky picked up one of several cylindrical objects that were lying at
his feet.

"He wouldn't use this--he was too soft-hearted--but I will!" he cried,
and flung a hand-grenade, and then a second, over the breastwork. The
explosions were followed by agonized groans from the Grays hugging the
lower side of the terrace. For this they