“But, go on, Lanny.  Play your part as you see it—­as Westerling sees his and Feller his and I mine,” she said.  “That is the only logic clear to me; only I can’t play any more.  I haven’t the strength.”

“Yes, I shall go on, Marta,” he replied, “but you must not.  Your work is over, and perhaps this last service may bring a quick end and save countless lives.”

“Don’t.  It’s too like Westerling!  It has become too trite!” she protested.  “The end!  If I really were helping toward that and to save lives and our country to its people, what would my private feelings matter’ My honor, my soul—­what would anything matter?  For that, any sacrifice.  I’m only one human being—­a weak, lunatic sort of one, just now!”

“Marta, don’t suffer so!  You are overwrought.  You—­”

“I can say all that for you, Lanny,” she interrupted with the faintest laugh.  “I’ve said it so many times to myself.  Perhaps when I call you up again I shall not be so hysterical.  Tell Feller how I have played his part, and, in the midst of all your responsibilities, remember to give him a chance.”

Lanstron was not thinking of war or war’s combination when he hung up the receiver.

“Yes, it is Gustave!” he thought.  “I understand!” It was some moments before he returned to the staff room, and then he had mastered his emotion.  He was the soldier again.

* * * * *

“They are clearing the wires for the chief of staff to speak to you, sir,” announced the telephone aide in Feller’s eyrie artillery lookout.

Feller received the word with his clucking “La, la, la!” and hummed a tune while the connection was being made.  He had not spoken with Lanny since his own promotion to a colonelcy and Partow’s death.

“My ear-drums split for joy at hearing your voice again!” Feller cried.  “A regiment of guns for yours truly!  You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.  And haven’t I smacked the Grays in the tummy, not to mention in the nose and on the shins!  Well, I should say so!  La, la, la!”

“You certainly have, you bully old boy!” said Lanstron.  “Miss Galland sends her congratulations and regards.”

“Eh, what?  Her regards to me!  The telephone still continues to work?  Our own original trunk-tunnel private line?  Eh?  Tell me; tell me, quick!”

“Yes, she has performed the greatest service of the war—­better than you could have done it, Gustave!”

“Whee-ee!  Why not?  Of course!  I’m not surprised.  She’s the greatest woman in the world, I tell you, and I know!  And she sends her regards to her old gardener?  Think of that!  If trouble never comes singly, why shouldn’t joys come in a pour?  Oh, it she could see me now, so cosey up here among the birds, chucking shells about as cheerily as if I were tossing roses to the ladies in a ballroom!”

“She wants you to have every chance,” said Lanstron.