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Presently a soldier appeared with a bowl of coffee.
Gabord rose, took it from him, waved him away, and handed it to me.
Never did coffee taste so sweet, and I sipped and sipped till Voban
had ended his work with me. Then I drained the last drop and stood
up. He handed me a mirror, and Gabord, fetching a fine white
handkerchief from his pocket, said, "Here's for your tears, when
they drum you to heaven, dickey-bird."
But when I saw my face in the mirror, I confess I was startled.
My hair, which had been black, was plentifully sprinkled with
white, my face was intensely pale and thin, and the eyes were sunk
in dark hollows. I should not have recognized myself. But I laughed
as I handed back the glass, and said, "All flesh is grass, but a
dungeon's no good meadow."
"'Tis for the dry chaff," Gabord answered, "not for young
grass--aho!"
He rose and made ready to leave, Voban with him. "The commissariat
camps here in an hour or so," he said, with a ripe chuckle.
It was clear the new state of affairs was more to his mind than
the long year's rigour and silence.


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