“Nothing, sir, unless I should make a long speech,” he said.  “Do you want me to do that, sir?”

Westerling held his irritation in control and looked around at Marta.  He saw only wonder in her eyes as she intently regarded Hugo, which was his own feeling, he suddenly realized.

“I have hardly time to listen to long speeches,” he remarked.

“I thought not, sir,” replied Hugo, unmoved.  “That is why I said I had nothing to say.  And in want of a long speech the best that I could do to explain would be to ask you to read certain books.”

An explosion of his breath in astonishment saved Westerling from harsh expletives.  For one thing, he was piqued.  Though he would not admit it even to himself, he had, perhaps, fancied the idea of playing the gentle and patient dispenser of justice before Marta A private on trial for the greatest of military crimes seraphically advising a chief of staff to read books!  There were not enough words in the dictionary to rebuke the insubordination of such conceit!  The only way to look at the thing was as a kind of grim jest.  He retrieved his vexation with a laugh as he turned to Marta.

She was smiling irresistibly, in concert with his own mood, as she continued to regard Hugo.  Hugo’s mask was entirely for Westerling.  He did not seem to see Marta now, and through his mask radiated the considerate understanding of one who can put himself in another’s place—­which was Hugo’s besetting fault or virtue, as you choose.  In short, the chief of staff had a feeling that this private knew exactly what he, the chief of staff, was thinking.

“Yes, I was certain, sir,” said Hugo, “that you were too busy either to listen to speeches or to read books.  You have months of hard work before you, sir.”

His respectful “sirs” had the deference of youth to an elder; otherwise, he was an equal in conversation with an equal.  Westerling still kept his temper, but the way that his under jaw closed indicated that he had made up his mind.

“One charge is enough,” he said in a businesslike fashion.  “On the firing-line you threw down your rifle.  You refused to fight any more.  You said:  ‘Damn patriotism!  I’m through!’ Is that so?”

A slight flush shot into Hugo’s cheeks; he twisted his shoulder on his crutch as if he had a twinge of pain, but his face did not change its expression.

“No, sir.  I did not say:  ‘Damn patriotism!’ I’m afraid Captain Fracasse was out of temper when he reported that.  I didn’t say, ’Damn patriotism!’ because I did not think that then and do not now.  Would you care to have my recollection of what I said?”

“Yes!” breathed Marta with so intent an emphasis that Westerling turned sharply, only to find her smiling at him.  Her smile said that she thought that Hugo’s story would be interesting.

“Yes; go ahead!” said Westerling.

“I think that I can recall my words very accurately, sir,” Hugo proceeded.  “They were important to me.  I was the individual most affected in the matter.  I said:  ’I am through.  I will not murder my fellowmen who have done me no wrong.  I cannot, I will not kill!’”