“Thank you,” said Broussard.  Once more he wiped the cold drops from his forehead, and continued in a low voice, tremulous and often broken.

“I told you that Lawrence and I had been playmates in our boyhood, although he is much older than I. Sir, Lawrence is my half-brother—­the son of my mother.  She was an angel on earth, and she is now an angel in Heaven.  If heavenly spirits can suffer, my mother suffers this day that her son should have deserted from his duty.”

Never had Colonel Fortescue felt greater pity for a man than for Broussard then.  The shame of confessing that his mother’s son had forfeited his honor was like death itself to Broussard.

“But there is joy in Heaven over a penitent sinner,” said Colonel Fortescue, who believed in God, and was neither afraid nor ashamed to say so.

Broussard bowed his head.

“My mother—­God bless her—­was the very spirit of honor.  She was the daughter of an officer.  When I was a little chap and said I wanted to be a soldier, she would tell me the stories of the Spartan mothers, who hade their sons return with their shields or on them.  Thank God, she was taken away before dishonor fell upon her eldest son.  She thought him dead, and so did I, until last January, when Lawrence told me, the night before I left this post, who he really was.  When I met him in San Francisco I told him I would come with him here to give himself up, that I would acknowledge him for my half-brother, that I would sit by him at his court-martial and go to the door of the military prison with him.  He begged me to keep our relationship secret for the sake of our mother’s memory.”

Colonel Fortescue held out his hand, and grasped that of Broussard.

“You speak like a man,” he said, “but Lawrence is right in keeping the relationship a secret, and it shows that he understands the height from which he has fallen.  Does his wife know of the relationship?”

“Yes, sir,” Broussard replied.  “I thought it best to tell her.  But she kept the secret well.  My brother’s wife is worthy of my mother.”

“There are many heroic women in the world,” said Colonel Fortescue.

“True,” answered Broussard.  “My sister-in-law was glad when my brother enlisted.  She said it was a good thing for him, and he undoubtedly did better at this post than he had done for a long time.  And his wife, who was born and bred to luxury, stood by my brother and tried to save him.  She worked and slaved for him harder than any private’s wife I ever saw.  She never uttered a reproach to him.  Each day she mounted a Calvary.  I could kiss the hem of that woman’s gown, in reverence for her.”

“So could I,” said Colonel Fortescue.

“Of course,” continued Broussard, “I told her and wrote her that neither she nor her child should ever suffer.  I have sent her money—­all that was needed, as I have something besides my pay.”