didn't want to go, didn't want to accept
favours,--nevertheless he went. They walked together along a
dusty road that ran between half-ripe wheat fields, bordered with
poplar trees. The wild morning-glories and Queen Anne's lace that
grew by the road-side were still shining with dew. A fresh breeze
stirred the bearded grain, parting it in furrows and fanning out
streaks of crimson poppies. The new officer was not intrusive,
certainly. He walked along, whistling softly to himself, seeming
quite lost in the freshness of the morning, or in his own
thoughts. There had been nothing patronizing in his manner so
far, and Claude began to wonder why he felt ill at ease with him.
Perhaps it was because he did not look like the rest of them.
Though he was young, he did not look boyish. He seemed
experienced; a finished product, rather than something on the
way. He was handsome, and his face, like his manner and his walk,
had something distinguished about it. A broad white forehead
under reddish brown hair, hazel eyes with no uncertainty in their
look, an aquiline nose, finely cut,--a sensitive, scornful mouth,
which somehow did not detract from the kindly, though slightly
reserved, expression of his face.

Lieutenant Gerhardt must have been in this neighbourhood for some
time; he seemed to know the people. On the road they passed
several villagers; a rough looking girl taking a cow out to graze,
an old man with a basket on his arm, the postman on his bicycle;
they all spoke to Claude's companion as if they knew him well.

"What are these blue flowers that grow about everywhere?" Claude
asked suddenly, pointing to a clump with his foot.

"Cornflowers," said the other. "The Germans call them
Kaiser-blumen."

They were approaching the village, which lay on the edge of a
wood,--a wood so large one could not see the end of it; it met
the horizon with a ridge of pines. The village was but a single
street. On either side ran clay-coloured walls, with painted
wooden doors here and there, and green shutters. Claude's guide
opened one of these gates, and they walked into a little sanded
garden; the house was built round it on three sides. Under a
cherry tree sat a woman in a black dress, sewing, a work table
beside her.

She was fifty, perhaps, but though her hair was grey she had a
look of youthfulness; thin cheeks, delicately flushed with pink,
and quiet, smiling, intelligent eyes. Claude thought she looked
like a New England wo