traces—” he could only mutter.     

       One day, when we had passed through a particularly devastated little place, and had got from the curé some more than usually abominable details of things done there, Réchamp broke out to me over the kitchen-fire of our night’s lodging. “When I hear things like that I don’t believe anybody who tells me my people are all right!”      

       “But you know well enough,” I insisted, “that the Germans are not all alike—that it all depends on the particular officer....”      

       “Yes, yes, I know,” he assented, with a visible effort at impartiality.       “Only, you see—as one gets nearer....” He went on to say that, when he had been sent from the ambulance at the front to a hospital at Moulins, he had been for a day or two in a ward next to some wounded German soldiers—bad cases, they were—and had heard them talking. They didn’t know he knew German, and he had heard things.... There was one name always coming back in their talk, von Scharlach, Oberst von Scharlach. One of them, a young fellow, said: “I wish now I’d cut my hand off rather than do what he told us to that night.... Every time the fever comes I see it all again. I wish I’d been struck dead first.” They all said “Scharlach”        with a kind of terror in their voices, as if he might hear them even there, and come down on them horribly. Réchamp had asked where their regiment came from, and had been told: From the Vosges. That had set his brain working, and whenever he saw a ruined village, or heard a tale of savagery, the Scharlach nerve began to quiver. At such times it was no use reminding him that the Germans had had at least three hundred thousand men in the East in August. He simply didn’t listen....     

  

       III     

       The day before we started for Réchamp his spirits flew up again, and that night he became confidential. “You’ve been such a friend to me that there are certain things—seeing what’s ahead of us—that I should like to explain”; and, noticing my surprise, he went on: “I mean about my people. The state of mind in my milieu must be so remote from anything you’re used to in your happy country.... But perhaps I can make you understand....”      

       I saw that what he wanted was to talk to me of the girl he was engaged to. Mlle. Malo, left 

 Prev. P 8/33 next