Desiree did not answer, but smiled a little and looked straight in front of her.
Barlasch made a movement of the shoulders and eyebrows indicative of a hidden anger.
“We are friends,” he asked suddenly, “you and I?”
“Yes.”
“We have been friends since—that day—when you were married?”
“Yes,” answered Desiree.
“Then between friends,” said Barlasch, gruffly; “it is not necessary to smile—like that—when it is tears that are there.”
Desiree laughed.
“Would you have me weep?” she asked.
“It would hurt one less,” said Barlasch, attending to his horses. They were in the town now, and the narrow streets were crowded. Many sick and wounded were dragging themselves wearily along. A few carts, drawn by starving horses, went slowly down the hill. But there was some semblance of order, and thus men had the air and carriage of soldiers under discipline. Barlasch was quick to see it.