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There was no chance.
The colonel placed him under arrest and he marched back between the
orderlies, with an old soldier of the Contemptibles behind him.
Later in the day he was lined up for identification by the girl, among
a crowd of other men.
The girl looked down the line, and we watched her curiously--a slim
creature with dark hair neatly coiled.
She stretched out her right hand with a pointing finger.
"Le voila! . . . c'est l'homme."
There was no mistake about it, and the man looked sheepishly at her,
not denying. He was sent off under escort to the military prison in
St. Omer for court-martial.
"What's the punishment--if guilty?" I asked.
"Death," said the colonel, resuming his egg.
He was a fine-looking fellow, the prisoner. He had answered the call
for king and country without delay. In the estaminet, after coming
down from the salient for a machine-gun course, he had drunk more beer
than was good for him, and the face of a pretty girl had bewitched
him, stirring up desire.


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