What hope Sara Lee had had died almost entirely early in December. On
the evening of a day when a steady rain had turned the roads into slimy
pitfalls, and the ditches to canals, there came, brought by a Belgian
corporal, the man who swore that Henri had passed him in his trench
while the others slept, had shoved him aside, which was unlike his usual
courtesy, and had climbed out over the top.
To Sara Lee this Hutin told his story. A short man with a red beard and
a kindly smile that revealed teeth almost destroyed from neglect, he was
at first diffident in the extreme.
"It was the captain, mademoiselle," he asserted. "I know him well. He
has often gone on his errands from near my post. I am"--he smiled--"I
am usually in the front line."
"What did he do?"
"He had no cap, mademoiselle. I thought that was odd. And as you
know--he does not wear his own uniform on such occasions. But he wore
his own uniform, so that at first I did not know what he intended."
"Later on," she asked, "you--did you hear anything?"
"The usual sniping, mademoiselle. Nothing more."
"He went through the inundation?"
"How else could he go? Through the wire first, at the barrier, where
there is an opening, if one knows the way, I saw him beyond it, by the
light of a fusee. There is a road there, or what was once a road. He
stood there. Then the lights went out."