"So could I," said Colonel Fortescue.
"Of course," continued Broussard, "I told her and wrote her that neither she nor her child should ever suffer. I have sent her money—all that was needed, as I have something besides my pay."
The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, and other articles de luxe, which Broussard had once possessed, thought Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay.
"I don't think she has had much use for money since her husband deserted," said Colonel Fortescue. "She has been constantly ill. My wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy. McGillicuddy feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away. He said something exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran away."
"So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her."
"The army is the place for good hearts," said the Colonel, well knowing what he was talking about.
As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to pass the window. The next moment a tap came at the door, and when Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in.
The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in him. He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily acquire. His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been. He saluted the Colonel, and said quietly:
"I have come, sir, to give myself up—I am the man, John Lawrence, who struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted."
"You were a great fool," replied the Colonel, "I think it was a clear case of a fool's panic."