well outside the gate, "they are so," Participled,
"sentimental!"

His way back, lay by the military gymnasium-
ground. And there he passed the Corporal
glibly instructing young soldiers how to swing
themselves over rapid and deep water-courses on
their way to Glory, by means of a rope, and
himself deftly plunging off a platform and flying
a hundred feet or two as an encouragement
to them to begin. And there he also
passed, perched on a crowning eminence
(probably by the Corporal's careful hands), the
small Bebelle, with her round eyes wide open,
surveying the proceeding like a wondering sort
of blue and white bird.

"If that child was to die;" this was his
reflection as he turned his back and went his
way, "—and it would almost serve the fellow
right for making such a fool of himself—I
suppose we should have him sticking up a wreath
and a waiter in that fantastic burying-ground."

Nevertheless, after another early morning or
two of looking out of window, he strolled down
into the Place, when the Corporal and Bebelle
were walking there, and touching his hat to the
Corporal (an immense achievement) wished him
Good Day.

"Good day, monsieur."

"This is a rather pretty child you have here,"
said Mr. The Englishman, taking her chin in his
hand, and looking down into her astonished blue
eyes.

"Monsieur, she is a very pretty child,"
returned the Corporal, with a stress on his polite
correction of the phrase.

"And good?" said The Englishman.

"And very good. Poor little thing!"

"Hah!" The Englishman stooped down and
patted her cheek: not without awkwardness, as
if he were going too far in his conciliation.
"And what is this medal round your neck, my
little one?"

Bebelle having no other reply on her lips than
her chubby right fist, the Corporal offered his
services as interpreter.

"Monsieur demands, what is this, Bebelle?"

"It is the Holy Virgin," said Bebelle.

"And who gave it you?" asked The
Englishman.

"Théophile."

"And who is Théophile?"

Bebelle broke into a laugh, laughed merrily
and heartily, clapped her chubby hands, and beat
her little feet on the stone pavement of the
Place.

"He doesn't know Théophile! Why he
doesn't know any one! He doesn't know
anything!" Then, sensible of a small solecism in her
manners, Bebelle twisted her right hand in a leg
of the Corporal's Bloomer trousers, and laying
her cheek against the place, kissed it.

"Monsieur Théophile, I believe?" said The
Englishman to the Corporal.

"It is I, monsieur."

"Permit me." Mr. The Englishman shook
him heartily by the hand and turned away. But
he took it mighty ill that old Monsieur Mutuel
in his patch of sunlight, upon whom he came
as he turned, should pull off his cap to him with
a look of pleased approval. And he muttered,
in his own tongue, as he returned the salutation,
"Well, walnut-shell! And what business is it
of yours?"

Mr. The Englishman went on for many weeks
passing but disturbed evenings and worse nights,
and constantly experiencing that those aforesaid
windows in the houses of Memory and Mercy
rattled after dark, and that he had very
imperfectly nailed them up. Likewise, he went on
for many weeks, daily improving the acquaintance
of the Corporal and Bebelle. That is to
say, he took Bebelle by the chin, and the
Corporal by the hand, and offered Bebelle sous and
the Corporal cigars, and even got the length of
changing pipes with the Corporal and kissing
Bebelle. But he did it all in a shamefaced way,
and always took it extremely ill that Monsieur
Mutuel in his patch of sunlight should note
what he did. Whenever that seemed to be the
case, he always growled in his own tongue,
"There you are again, walnut-shell! What
business is it of yours?"

In a word, it had become the occupation of
Mr. The Englishman's life to look after the
Corporal and little Bebelle, and to resent old
Monsieur Mutuel's looking after him. An
occupation only varied by a fire in the town one
windy night, and much passing of water-buckets
from hand to hand (in which the Englishman
rendered good service), and much beating of
drums—when all of a sudden the Corporal
disappeared.

Next, all of a sudden, Bebelle disappeared.

She had been visible a few days later than the
Corporal—sadly deteriorated as to washing and
brushing—but she had not spoken when
addressed by Mr. The Englishman, and had looked
scared and had run away. And now it would
seem that she had run away for good. And
there lay the Great Place under the windows,
bare and barren.

In his shamefaced and constrained way, Mr.
The Englishman asked no question of any one,
but watched from his front windows, and watched
from his back windows, and lingered about the
Place, and peeped in at the Barber's shop, and
did all this and much more with a whistling and
tune-humming pretence of not missing anything,
until one afternoon when Monsieur Mutuel's
patch of sunlight was in shadow, and when
according to all rule and precedent he had no
right whatever to bring his red ribbon out of
doors, behold here he was, advancing with his
cap already in his hand twelve paces off!

Mr. The Englishman had got as far into his
usual objurgation as "What bu—si——" when
he checked himself.

"Ah, it is sad, it is sad! Helas, it is unhappy,
it is sad!" Thus, old Monsieur Mutuel, shaking
his grey head.

"What busin——at least, I would say what
do you mean, Monsieur Mutuel?"

"Our Corporal. Helas, our dear Corporal!"

"What has happened to him?"