ound her. Their
shadows bobbed and darted, swelling and shrinking on the plaster walls.
Soon breathless, Mademoiselle sank down on the side of her bed, panting
and volleying raillery and broken tinkles of laughter at Miriam standing
goosestepping on the strip of matting with an open umbrella held high
over her head. Recovering breath, she began to lament.... Miriam had
not during the whole evening of dressing up seen the Martins' summer
hats.... They were wonderful. Shutting her umbrella Miriam went to
her dressing-table drawer.... It would be impossible, absolutely
impossible... to imagine hats more beautiful.... Miriam sat on her
own bed punctuating through a paper-covered comb.... Mademoiselle
persisted... non, ecoutez--figurez-vous--the hats were of a pale
straw... the colour of pepper... "Bee..." responded the comb on a
short low wheeze. "And the trimmings--ah, of a charm that no one
could describe."... "Beem!" squeaked the comb... "stalks of barley"...
"beem-beem"... "of a perfect naturalness"... "and the flowers, poppies,
of a beauty"--"bee-eeem--beeem"... "oh, oh, vraiment"--Mademoiselle
buried her face in her pillow and put her fingers to her ears.

Miriam began playing very softly "The March of the Men of Harlech," and
got to her feet and went marching gently round the room near the walls.
Sitting up, Mademoiselle listened. Presently she rounded her eyes and
pointed with one finger to the dim roof of the attic.

"Les toiles, d'araignees auront peur!" she whispered.

Miriam ceased playing and her eyes went up to the little window frames
high in the wall, farthest away from the island made by their two little
beds and the matting and toilet chests and scarcely visible in the
flickering candle-light, and came back to Mademoiselle's face.

"Les toiles d'araignees," she breathed, straining her eyes to their
utmost size. They gazed at each other. "Les toiles..."

Mademoiselle's laughter came first. They sat holding each other's eyes,
shaken with laughter, until Mademoiselle said, sighing brokenly, "Et
c'est la cloche qui va sonner immediatement." As they undressed, she
went on talking--"the night comes the black night... we must sleep...
we must sleep in peace... we are safe... we are protected... nous
craignons Dieu, n'est ce pas?" Miriam was shocked to find her at her
elbow, in her nightgown, speaking very gravely. She looked for a moment
into the serious eyes challenging her own. The mouth was frugally
compr