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His tone had the confidence of the flow of a mighty river in its destination on its way to the sea. There was nothing in it of prayer, of hope, of desperation, as there had been in Lanstron's "We shall win!" spoken to her in the arbor at their last interview. She drew forward slightly in her chair. Her eyes seemed much larger and nearer to him.
They were recalling Lanstron's relief at seeing her; how he had passed them by to speak to her; the intensity of the two in their almost wordless meeting. Her bloodless lips, the imploring passion in her eyes, her quivering impatience told the rest. "Division headquarters!" called the operator. "They're getting brigade headquarters," he added while he waited in silence.
Partow spatted the flat of his hand resoundingly on the map. "As I decided the first time I met her, she has a head, and when a woman has a head for that sort of thing there is no beating her. Well " he was looking straight into Lanstron's eyes, "well, I think we know the point where we could draw them in on the main line, eh?" "Up the apron of the approach from the Engadir valley.
He was amazingly light and vigorous on his feet as he rose and hurried after Lanstron with the quick, short steps of active adiposity. "She may have seen or heard something. Ask ask what is the spirit of the staff, of the soldiers who have fought? What is the truth about their losses? What " He broke off at the door of Lanstron's bedroom.
It was the laugh of the red, of bastardy, of blanketless nights in the hedgerows, and boot soles worn through to the macadam, with the dust of speeding automobiles blown in the gaunt face of hunger. Dellarme still hesitated, recollecting Lanstron's remark. He pictured Stransky in a last stand in a redoubt, and every soldier was as precious to him as a piece of gold to a miser.
It was Lanstron's way to be suggestive; to let ideas develop in council and orders follow as out of council. "The chance!" exclaimed some one. "The chance!" others said in the same breath. "The God-given chance for a quick blow! The chance! We attack! We attack!"
Through the day he had attended to the dispositions for receiving the Grays' attack, enlivening routine as usual with flashes of humor and reflection ranging beyond the details in hand. An hour or so before dark he had reached across the table and laid his big, soft palm on the back of Lanstron's hand.
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