The Valley of Vision

d was bowed. His shoulders drooped. His hands trembl

ltered-"you could receive it under the seal of confession? But no. How could you do th

ace, a holy place. Heaven is over our heads and

The priest pronounced the sacred wo

pray for pardon." He stopped for a moment and then continued, "But first I mus

hat is what I am waiting to he

g for France. I was in the Nth Infantry, We were in the centre division under General Foch at the battle of the Marne. Fichtre! but that was fierce fighting! And what a general! He did not know how to spell 'defeat.' He wrote it 'victory.' Four times we went across that cursed Marsh of St.-Gond. The dried mud was trampled full of dead bodies. The trickling streams of water ran red. Four t

lf in his recital. His face lighted up, his hands wer

is a beautiful confession-no

e fighting with men. It was like trying to stop a monstrous thing, a huge, terrible mass that was rushing on to overwhelm us. The waves tumbled and broke before they reached us. Sometimes they fell flat. Sometimes they turned and rushed the other way. It was wild, wild, like a change of the wind and tide in a storm, everything torn and confused. Then perhaps the word came to go over the top and at them. That was furious. That was fighting with men, for sure-bayonet, revolver

ells us if we are smitten on one cheek we must turn the other. But it does not tell us to turn the cheek of a little child, of the woman we

ce sitting in his safe little cottage hidden in the woods somewhere-they say he had flowers and vines planted around it-drinking stolen champagne and sicking on his dogs of death. He was in no danger. I cursed him in my heart, that blood-lord! The shells rained on Verdun. The houses were riddled; the cathedral was pierced in a dozen places; a hundred fires broke out. The old citadel held good. The outer forts to the north and east were ta

ng the story in. "And you, Pierre? W

the village of Vaux. They sent wave after wave up the slope to drive us out. But we stuck to it. That ravine of La Caillette was a boiling caldron of men. It bubbled over with smoke and fire. Once, when their second wave had broken just in front of us, we went out to hurry the fragments down the hill. Then the guns from Douaumont and the village of Vaux hammered us. Our men fell like ninepins. Our lieutenant called to us to turn back. Just then a shell tore away his right leg at t

tched out around the soldier. "But you ar

Would God it had been so! Then I should have been with my lieutenant. They told me he had passed away in the redoubt. But that hospital was beautiful, so clean and quiet and friendly. Those white nurses were angels. They handled me like a baby. I would have liked to stay there. I had no desire to get better. But I did. One day several officers visited the hospital. They came to my cot, where I was sitting up. The highest of them brought out a Cross of War and pinned it on the breast of my nightshirt. 'There,' he said, 'you are decora

and moistened his dry lips

feeling that is piercing and dull at the same time, like a heavy weight pressing on you with sharp stabs in it. It was what they call shell-s

ffice. He said: 'You are cured, Pierre Duval, but you are not yet fit to fight. You are low in your mind. You need cheering up. You are to have a month's furlough and repose. You shall go home to your farm. How is it that you call it?' I suppose I had been babbling about it in my sleep and one of the nurses had told him. He was always that way, that little Doctor Roselly, taking an interest in the men, talking with them and acting friendly. I said the farm was called 'L'Alouette''-rather a foolish n

nder through the pleasant paths of that little garden of

ghing and planting. The harvest she sold as it stood. Our yoke of cream-colored oxen and the roan horse were in good condition. Little Pierrot, who is five, and little Josette, who is three, were as brown as berries. They hugged me almost to death. But it was Josephine herself who was the best of all. She is only twenty-six, Father, and so beautiful still, with her long

me any stronger in my heart. Perhaps it was too sweet. I thought too much of it. I could not bear to think of anything else. The idea of the war was hateful, horrible, disgusting. The noise and the dirt of it, the mud in the autumn and the bitter cold in the winter, the rats and the lice in the dugouts, And then the fury of the charge, and the everlasting killing, killing, or being killed! The danger had seemed little or nothing to me when I was there. But at a dis

nd lower. Father Courc

ce. You belong to France. He tha

again? Listen, Father. There is a village in the Vosges, near the Swiss border, where a relative of mine lives. If I could get to him he would take me in and give me some other clothes and help me over the frontier into Switzerland. There I could change

, I do not see that at all. It remains to be seen whether it was by chance. But tell me more about your sin. Did

f calling me back to the colors at once. I showed it to her. Then I said good-by. I wept. She did not cry one tear. Her eyes were stars. She embraced me a dozen times. She lifted up each of the children to hug me

wife. You forged; you tricked her who trusted you. You have done the thing which you yourself say she would never forgive. If she loves you a

his face in the weeds. "Yet I did it part

t of love for her, it was the kind of love she did not want. She would spit upon it. If you are going to Switzerland now y

ver. "It is true," he said slowly, "I am a coward. But not altogether such a coward as you think, Father. It is not merely death that I fear. I could face that, I think.

y, and dropped it behind him. He turned to Pierre and regarded him curiously. "Go on with

a low, shaken voice: "It is this, Father. By my broken

t is nonsense. Fear cannot hurt you. If you fight it you can conquer it.

the dark. It is stronger than I am. Since something is broken inside of me, I know I can never conquer it. No, it would wrap its shapeless arms around me and stab me to the heart with its fiery eyes. I should t

ntly on Pierre's quivering

ave

ourself that f

a lie. This f

o tremble at

. I am afra

rden, your cross. Take it

ison the others. It woul

o God f

n. Father, I have made my confession. Wi

to the army and figh

r shall I turn? I can decide nothing. I am broken. I repent of my gr

went to the spring. He scooped up a few drops in the hollow of his hand. He spri

tion is not for me to speak while you think of forsaking France. Put that thought

he blue sky with white cloude drifting across it. He sighed. "Ah, i

believeth. Strength will come. Perhap

man like me. She is a great

She would speak to you, gladly and kindly, if you

t know enoug

cognized and caught. You shall go down to the village and visit the places that belong to her-her basilica, her house, her

tear-stained face. But his eyes were quieter. "Yes

ll, my son. Peace in war be w

ntly. "And with you,