“If there had been no one here last night,” she said to the photograph, “many more would have died.  How can you say I am cruel to you?  Isn’t this worth the doing?”

But Harvey remained impassive, detached, his eyes on the photographer’s white muslin screen.  And the angle of his jaw was set and dogged.

XII

That morning there was a conference in the little house—­Colonel Lilias, who had come in before for a mute but appreciative call on Sara Lee, and for a cup of chocolate; Captain Tournay, Jean and Henri.  It was held round the little table in the salle a manger, after Marie had brought coffee and gone out.

“They had information undoubtedly,” said the colonel.  “The same thing happened at Pervyse when an ammunition train went through.  They had the place, and what is more they had the time.  Of course there are the airmen.”

“It did not leave the main road until too late for observation from the air,” Henri put in shortly.

“Yet any one who saw it waiting at the crossroads might have learned its destination.  The drivers talk sometimes.”

“But the word had to be carried across,” said Captain Tournay.  “That is the point.  My men report flashes of lights from the fields.  We have followed them up and found no houses, no anything.  In this flat country a small light travels far.”

“I shall try to learn to-night,” Henri said.  “It is, of course, possible that some one from over there—­” He shrugged his shoulders.

“I think not.”  Colonel Lilias put a hand on Henri’s shoulder affectionately.  “They have not your finesse, boy.  And I doubt if, in all their army, they have so brave a man.”

Henri flushed.

“There is a courage under fire, with their fellows round—­that is one thing.  And a courage of attack—­that is even more simple.  But the bravest man is the one who works alone—­the man to whom capture is death without honor.”

The meeting broke up.  Jean and Henri went away in the car, and though supplies came up regularly Sara Lee did not see the battered gray car for four days.  At the end of that time Henri came alone.  Jean, he said briefly, was laid up for a little while with a flesh wound in his shoulder.  He would be well very soon.  In the meantime here at last was mutton.  It had come from England, and he, Henri, had found it lying forgotten and lonely and very sad and had brought it along.

After that Henri disappeared on foot.  It was midafternoon and a sunny day.  Sara Lee saw him walking briskly across the fields and watched him out of sight.  She spoke some French now, and she had gathered from Rene, who had no scruples about listening at a door, that Henri was the bravest man in the Belgian Army.

Until now Sara Lee had given small thought to Henri’s occupation.  She knew nothing of war, and the fact that Henri, while wearing a uniform, was unattached, had not greatly impressed her.  Had she known the constitution of a modern army she might have wondered over his freedom, his powerful car, his passes and maps.  But his detachment had not seemed odd to her.  Even his appearance during the bombardment in the uniform of a German lieutenant had meant nothing to her.  She had never seen a German uniform.