THE FALSE ZOUAVE 123

and slips past the beehives. ‘Good
evening, mother !’

Her Christian is before her, all dis-
hevelled in his uniform, shamefaced,
troubled, thick of speech. The poor
fellow had come back to his country
with the others, and had been hanging
round the house, waiting for the de-
parture of his father before he ventured
to enter. She tried to scold him, but
her courage failed her. It was so long
since she had seen or embraced him.
Then he gave such good reasons: he
was weary of the strange country, of
the force, of the life so far away from
them; besides, the discipline had grown
so harsh, and his comrades called him
‘Prussian’ because of his Alsatian
accent. All that he said she believed.
She had only to look at him to
believe him. Still talking they entered
the basement room, The little ones
awakened, came running on their bare
feet to embrace their big brother.
They tried to make him eat, but he