"Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the
world--out here. All our work is to do: and it shall be done, old
peoples. Get away!" He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the
man. "You see him. He is not good to see. He was just one little--oh,
so little--accident, that no one remembered. Now he is _That_. So will
you be, brother-soldiers so brave--so will you be. But you will never
come back. You will all go where he has gone, or"--he pointed to the
great coffin shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, "Seventy
millions--get away, you old people," fell asleep.
"Sweet, and to the point," said Little Mildred. "What's the use of
getting wroth? Let's make the poor devil comfortable."
But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving hands
of the White Hussars. The lieutenant had returned only to go away
again three days later, when the wail of the "Dead March" and the
tramp of the squadrons told the wondering station, that saw no gap in
the table, an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found
commission.
And Dirkovitch--bland, supple, and always genial--went away too by a
night train. Little Mildred and another saw him off, for he was the
guest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the open
hand the law of the mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality.
"Good-by, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey," said Little Mildred.
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