"What part of France do you come from?" asked Jean.
"About five leagues from here, in the mountain."
"Have you served your time in the army?"
The brigadier took his pipe from his mouth and his hand quickly touched the medal hanging on his breast.
"Six years," said he—"two furloughs. When I left I was a sergeant, with this medal, which I brought back from Tonquin. A fine time when it is finished." He spoke like travellers who prefer the remembrance of a journey but all the same have not disliked it. And he continued:
"With you, they say it is harder."
"Yes."
"I have always heard it said Germany is a great country, but the officer and the soldier are not relatives as in France."
The sun was going down; the great golden landscape became tawny in places and purple in shadow. This purple spread with the rapidity of racing clouds on shadowed slopes and veiled plains—how Jean Oberlé would have loved to see you again in strong light! He asked:
"Do you ever see any deserters?"