The whistlers and mockers were pointedly invited to keep silence, and one or two addresses were taken.

Under the trees, well at the back of the crowd, a young man stood watching the long stretch of road along which the Scouts should come.

Something had drawn him there, against his will, to witness the Imperial Triumph, to watch the writing of yet another chapter in the history of his country's submission to an accepted fact.
And now a dull flush crept into his grey face; a look that was partly new- born hope and resurrected pride, partly remorse and shame, burned in his eyes.

Shame, the choking, searing shame of self-reproach that cannot be reasoned away, was dominant in his heart.

He had laid down his arms--there were others who had never hoisted the flag of surrender.