A little love⁠ ⁠… a little laughter⁠—alluring words to boys out of one battle, expecting another, hating it all, lonely in their souls because of the thought of death, in exile from their own folk, in exile from all womanhood and tender, feminine things, up there in the ditches and shell-craters of the desert fields, or in the huts of headquarters staffs, or in reserve camps behind the fighting-line. A little love, a little laughter, and then⁠—who knows? The sirens had whispered their own thoughts. They had translated into pretty French the temptation of all the little devils in their souls.

“ Un peu d’amour⁠— ”

One flash-lamp was enough for two down a narrow street toward the riverside, and then up a little dark stairway to a lamp-lit room⁠ ⁠… Presently this poor boy would be stricken with disease and wish himself dead.