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 just another fine play, something that men wanted him to do. The men were also to his liking, for they were the soldier-men. Men that a dog could worship. Men like Jean and the Colonel. Men whose will was law. Men whose will gripped you like a great force that must be obeyed. This was the sort of life Pierre liked, for he was masterly himself. He could even give up his pampered taste and take the fare as he found it, as the soldiers did.

He had not troubled his good friends, the author and his wife in America, because he was really bad. He was just so full of energy that he had to work it off in some way or blow up. There was no such danger in this new life, for they worked him from dawn to dark.

Finally, after three or four weeks Pierre was perfected and put at the head of a