If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. . A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain.
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