“Oui, mon commandant.”
“Good. Just a moment.” He turned to me, designating Von Holwitz with his thumb. “You have your revolver?”
“Oui, mon commandant.”
I drew it but I did not trust myself to meet the eyes of Von Holwitz, who was sitting and staunching his wound with a handkerchief.
“Save yourself the trouble,” I heard him say. “I expect nothing!”
De Saint Omer, moving to one side, began to talk to Père Glorieux. Once or twice I saw the soldier start and glance in our direction, but immediately he controlled himself. Finally they returned.
“Mademoiselle, it is customary to confess,” Père Glorieux began, to my growing amazement.
“Mon père—I did—this morning.”
“I shall take communion, too,” said De Saint Omer. “If you will hear me, first—”
The poilu, for he still was the soldier, passed on and confronted Von Holwitz.