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And those darling Zouaves!--oh, we are just bursting with pride over our Zou-zous----" They had turned away together, walking slowly through the grove toward a little cart road deep in golden seeded grass which wound down a hollow all moist with ferns and brambles and young trees in heavy leaf.
Her hand, unconsciously, had sought his nestling into it with a confidence that touched him; her pale, happy face turned continually to meet his as she chatted innocently of the things which went to make up the days of life for her, never conscious of herself, or that the artless chatter disclosed anything admirable in her own character.

She prattled on at random, sometimes naive, sometimes wistful, sometimes faintly humourous--a brave, clean spirit that was content to take the consequence of duty done--a tender, gentle soul, undeformed amid the sordid horrors that hardened or crippled souls less innocent.
Calm, resourceful, patient, undismayed amid conditions that sickened mature experience to the verge of despair, she went about her business day after day, meeting all requisitions upon her slender endurance without faltering, without even supposing there was anything unusual or praiseworthy in what she did.
She was only one of many women who did full duty through the darkest days the nation ever knew--saints in homespun, martyrs uncanonised save in the hearts of the stricken.
There was a small wooden foot-bridge spanning the brook, with a rough seat nailed against the rail.
"One of my convalescents made it for me," she said proudly.

"He could use only one arm, and he had such a hard time sawing and hammering! and the foolish boy wouldn't let anybody help him." She seated herself in the cool shade of a water oak, retaining his hand in hers and making room for him beside her.
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how good you have been to me.
You changed all my life.