"The cottage door stood ajar also. He thrust this open too, and for the first time stood face to face with Mademoiselle Henriette.
"She sat by the kitchen table, with one arm flung across it, and her body bowed with grief. At her feet lay a trodden bunch of the monkey flowers: and at the tap-tap of his wooden leg on the threshold she sprang up and faced him, across the yellow blossoms.
"'Mademoiselle,' he began, 'I have just learnt—but it is an infamy! Permettez—I am French, I also, though you do not know me perhaps.'
"And with that M. Benest stammered and came to a halt, for her eyes were worse than woeful. They were accusing—yes, accusing him. Of what? Nom de tonnerre, what had he done?
"'You, Monsieur! You—an officer of France!'
"'Mais quel rapport y a-t-il?'
"'Your parole, Monsieur!'
"'Peste! I forgot,' said M. Benest, half to himself.
"'Forgot? Forgot your parole? Mais ecoutez donc! Nous savons souffrir, nous autres franfaises . . . Et la petite qui meurt—et—et moi qui mourrai Presqu' a l'heure—mais nous nous en tenons a' ne pas dishonorer la Patrie a la fin. Ca finira bien, sous-officier—allez- vous—allez-vous en. Mais allez!'
"She stamped her foot upon the flowers, and M. Benest turned and fled from her. Nay, in his haste, taking a short-cut towards the signpost, he plunged his wooden leg deep in the marsh, and tumbled helpless, overwhelmed with shame.