ed table--such a house as men
keep, untidy and unhomelike. A burnt kettle stood on the hearth, and
leaning against the wall was the bag of grain Maurice had carried from
the crossroads.

"A mill which grinds without grain," Henri said to himself.

There was a boxed-in staircase to the upper floor, and there, with the
door slightly ajar, he stationed himself, pistol in hand. Now and then
he glanced uneasily at the clock. Sara Lee must not be back before he
had taken his prisoners to the little house and turned them over to
those who waited there.

There were footsteps outside, and Henri drew the door a little closer.
But he was dismayed to find it Marie. She crept in, a white and broken
thing, and looked about her.

"Maurice!" she called.

She sat down for a moment, and then, seeing the disorder about her, set
to work to clear the table. It was then that Henri lowered his pistol
and opened the door.

"Don't shriek, Marie," he said.

She turned and saw him, and clutched at the table.

"Monsieur!"

"Marie," he said quietly, "go up these stairs and remain quiet. Do not
walk round. And do not come down, no matter what you hear!"

She obeyed him, stumbling somewhat. For she had seen his revolver, and
it frightened her. But as she passed him she clutched at his sleeve.

"He is good--Maurice," she said, gasping. "Of the father I know nothing,
but Maurice--"

"Go up and be silent!" was all he said.

Now, by all that goes to make a story, Sara Lee should have met Mabel at
the Hotel des Arcades in Dunkirk, and should have been able to make that
efficient young woman burn with jealousy--Mabel, who from the safety of
her hospital in Boulogne considered Dunkirk the Front.

Indeed Sara Lee, to whom the world was beginning to seem very small, had
had some such faint hope. But Mabel was not there, and it was not until
long after that they met at all, and then only when the lights had gone
down and Sara Lee was again knitting by the fire.

There were a few nurses there, in their white veils with the red cross
over the forehead, and one or two Englishwomen in hats that sat a trifle
too high on the tops of their heads and with long lists before them
which they checked as they ate. Aviators in leather coats; a few Spahis
in cloak and turban, with full-gathered bloomers and high boots; some
American ambulance drivers, rather noisy and very young; and many
officers, in every uniform of the Allied armies--sat at food togethe