d----"

She sighed unconsciously.

"It is lonely in the Wood of Aulnes," she said.

"Indeed it must be very lonely here," he returned in a low voice.

"Yes.... Aulnes Wood is--too remote for them to send our wounded here for
their convalescence. I offered Aulnes. Then I offered myself, saying that
I was ready to go anywhere if I might be of use. It seems there are
already too many volunteers. They take only the trained in hospitals. I am
untrained, and they have no leisure to teach ... nobody wanted me."

She turned and gazed dreamily at the forest.

"So there is nothing for me to do," she said, "except to remain here and
sew for the hospitals." ... She looked out thoughtfully across the
fern-grown _carrefour_: "Therefore I sew all day by the latticed window
there--all day long, day after day--and when one is young and when there
is nobody--nothing to look at except the curlew flying--nothing to hear
except the _vanneaux_, and the clocks striking the hour----"

Her voice had altered subtly, but she lifted her proud little head and
smiled, and her tone grew firm again:

"You see, Monsieur, I am truly becoming a trifle morbid. It is entirely
physical; my heart is quite undaunted."

"You heart, Madame, is but a part of the great, undaunted heart of
France."

"Yes ... therefore there could be no fear--no doubt of God.... Affairs go
well with France, Monsieur?--may I ask without military impropriety?"

"France, as always, faces her destiny, Madame. And her destiny is victory
and light."

"Surely ... I knew; only I had heard nothing for so long.... Thank you,
Monsieur."

He said quietly: "The Light shall break. We must not doubt it, we English.
Nor can you doubt the ultimate end of this vast and hellish Darkness which
has been let loose upon the world to assail it. You shall live to see
light, Madame--and I also shall see it--perhaps----"

She looked up at the young man, met his eyes, and looked elsewhere,
gravely. A slight flush lingered on her cheeks.

On the doorstep of the house they paused. "Is it possible," she asked,
"that an enemy aeroplane could land in the Aulnes Etang?--L'Etang aux
Vanneaux?"

"In the Etang?" he repeated, a little startled. "How large is it, this
Etang aux Vanneaux?"

"It is a lake. It is perhaps a mile long and three-quarters of a mile
across. My old servant, Anne, had seen the werewolf in the reeds--like a
man without a face--and only two great eyes--" She forced a pale smile