The day began for Henri when first he saw the girl. It might be evening,
but it was the beginning for him. So he went in when he had finished
his toilet and bowed over her hand.
"You are cold, mademoiselle."
"I think I am nervous. There was an attack this morning."
"Yes?"
Marie had gone into the next room, and Sara Lee raised haggard eyes
to his.
"Henri," she said desperately--it was the first time she had called him
that--"I have something to say to you, and it's not very pleasant."
"You are going home?" It was the worst thing he could think of. But
she shook her head.
"You will think me most ungrateful and unkind."
"You? Kindness itself!"
"But this is different. It is not for myself. It is because I care a
great deal about--about--"
"Mademoiselle!"
"About your honor. And somehow this morning, when I found you here
asleep, and those poor fellows in the trenches fighting--"
Henri stared at her. So that was it! And he could never tell her. He
was sworn to secrecy by every tradition and instinct of his work. He
could never tell her, and she would go on thinking him a shirker and a
coward. She would be grateful.
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