What words he said, half English and half French. I only knew

Both men were suffering, not one but two.

And then that face came into view,

Gaunt and unshaved, with shadows and wild eyes,

A face of madness and of desolation. And his cries,

For all his mate could do,

Rang out, a shrill and savage noise,

And tears ran down the stubble of his cheek.

The other face was younger, clean and sad

With the manful stricken beauty of a lad

Who had intended always to be glad.

.... The touch of his compassion, like a mother’s,

Pitied the madman, soothed him and caressed.

And then I heard him speak,

In a low voice: “Mon frère, mon frère!

Calme-toi! Right here’s your place.”

And, opening his coat, he pressed

Upon his heart the wanderer’s face

And smoothed the tangled hair.

After a moment peaceful there,

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