women under forty-five, or those who hadn't children
under three."

Nidart swallowed hard, looked sick, and obstinately
said nothing. His lieutenant turned with a sigh and mo-
tioned the fourrier to start the red tape for the authori-
zation for the furlough. "All right, I think I can man-
age a three weeks' 'permission' for you. They're
allowing that, I hear, to men from the invaded regions
who haven't taken any furloughs since the beginning of
the war."

"Yes, mon Lieutenant. Thank you, mon Lieuten-
ant." Nidart saluted and went back to his squad.

His lieutenant shook his head, murmuring to the
fourrier: "Those north-country men! There is no use
saying a word to them. They won't believe that their
homes and families aren't there, till they see with their
own eyes . . . and when they do see. . . . I've heard
that some of the men in these first regiments that fol-
lowed up the Boche retreat across the devastated regions
went crazy when they found their own villages . . .
Nidart has just one idea in his head, poor devil!--to go
straight before him, like a homing pigeon, till . . ."
He stopped, his face darkening.

"Oh, damn the Boches!" the fourrier finished the
sentence fervently.

"You see, Nidart is a master-mason by trade, and
he built their own little house. He carries around a
snapshot of it, with his wife and a baby out in
front."

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