[Footnote A:  See the Daily News War Correspondence, 1870.]

The Lieutenant had it on his lips to shout, “Then why not lead us out to die?” But he kept silence.  He could have flung his kepi in the General’s face; but he saluted.  He went out again into the streets and among the lighted cafes and reeled like a drunken man, thinking confusedly of many things; that he had a mother in Paris who might hear of his desertion before she heard of its explanation; that it was right to claim obedience but lache to exact dishonour—­but chiefly and above all that if he had been wise, and had made light of his duty, and had come up to Metz to re-arrange the campaign with dominoes on the marble-tables, he would not have been specially selected for ignominy.  It was true, it needed an obedient officer to desert!  And so laughing aloud he reeled blindly down to the gates of Metz.  And it happened that just by the gates a civilian looked after him, and shrugging his shoulders, remarked, “Ah!  But if we had a Man at Metz!”

From Metz Lieutenant Fevrier ran.  The night air struck cool upon him.  And he ran and stumbled and fell and picked himself up and ran again until he reached the Belletonge farm.

“The General,” he cried, and so to the General a mud-plastered figure with a white, tormented face was admitted.

“What is it?” asked Montaudon.  “What will this say?”

Lieutenant Fevrier stood with the palms of his hands extended, speechless like an animal in pain.  Then he suddenly burst into tears and wept, and told of the fine plan to diminish the demands upon the commissariat.

“Courage, my old one!” said the General.  “I had a fear of this.  You are not alone—­other officers in other divisions have the same hard duty,” and there was no inflection in the voice to tell Fevrier what his General thought of the duty.  But a hand was laid soothingly upon his shoulder, and that told him.  He took heart to whisper that he had a mother in Paris.

“I will write to her,” said Montaudon.  “She will be proud when she receives the letter.”

Then Lieutenant Fevrier, being French, took the General’s hand and kissed it, and the General, being French, felt his throat fill with tears.

Fevrier left the headquarters, paraded his men, laid his sword and revolver on the ground, and ordered his fifty to pile their arms.  Then he made them a speech—­a very short speech, but it cost him much to make it in an even voice.

“My braves,” said he, “my fellow-soldiers, it is easy to fight for one’s country, it is not difficult to die for it.  But the supreme test of patriotism is willingly to suffer shame for it.  That test your country now claims of you.  Attention!  March!”