On that very meadow he had ridden over the day before, a soldier was lying athwart the rows of scented hay, with his head thrown awkwardly back and his shako off.
He was still lying on the bed as before, but the stern expression of his quiet face made Princess Mary stop short on the threshold.
"We were just talking of you," she said with the facility in lying natural to a society woman.
You see down there where the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there's the bridge.
His first unconscious feeling of joyful animation produced by the sights and sounds of the battlefield was now replaced by another, especially since he had seen that soldier lying alone in the hayfield.