The Colonel, recalling the motors, the oriental rugs, the grand piano, and other articles de luxe, which Broussard had once possessed, thought Broussard had a trifle too much beside his pay.

“I don’t think she has had much use for money since her husband deserted,” said Colonel Fortescue.  “She has been constantly ill.  My wife and daughter and the other ladies at the post have done everything possible for her, and Sergeant McGillicuddy took the boy.  McGillicuddy feels himself responsible for Lawrence running away.  He said something exasperating to Lawrence, who struck him in a fit of rage, and then ran away.”

“So my sister-in-law wrote, or rather Miss Fortescue wrote for her.”

“The army is the place for good hearts,” said the Colonel, well knowing what he was talking about.

As Colonel Fortescue spoke, a man was seen, in the fast falling dusk, to pass the window.  The next moment a tap came at the door, and when Colonel Fortescue answered, the door opened and Lawrence walked in.

The Colonel, who had watched Lawrence closely, saw a subtle change in him.  He held his head up, and his face, always handsome, had lost the dissipated, reckless look that dissipated and reckless men readily acquire.  His hair and mustache, which a year before had been coal black, were now quite grey; he seemed another man than he had once been.  He saluted the Colonel, and said quietly: 

“I have come, sir, to give myself up—­I am the man, John Lawrence, who struck Sergeant McGillicuddy last January, and deserted.”

“You were a great fool,” replied the Colonel, “I think it was a clear case of a fool’s panic.”

“All I have to say, sir,” said Lawrence, after a moment, “is, that I had no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened.  And I’ve been trying to get back for the last two months.  Mr. Broussard can tell you all about it.”

“Mr. Broussard has told me all about it,” said the Colonel.  “Consider yourself under arrest until nine o’clock tomorrow morning, when you will report at the headquarters building.  Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is a million times too good for you.”

“I know it, sir,” replied Lawrence.

“And my wife is a million times too good for me,” added the Colonel, reflectively.

Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go.

“You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential,” said the Colonel, “nevertheless, I shall so consider it.  As your Colonel, I advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence’s relationship to you.  This much is due your mother’s memory.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart.