sleeping town! I felt as though we had just committed an act of
sacrilege. We listened, and heard, through the door, the noise of
chairs dragged over the stone floor; then a light footstep
approaching, a sound of keys and bolts, and the door was gently opened
and held ajar.

"Sister," said B., with a bow, "what we are doing is, I know, most
unusual; but we are dying of hunger and very tired, and, so far,
nobody has been willing to open their door to us. Could we not have
something to eat here, and sleep in a bed?"

The Sister looked at us and appeared not to understand. However, I was
more at ease when I saw she was neither frightened nor displeased. She
was a very old nun, dressed in black, and held in her hand a little
lamp which flickered in the night breeze. Her face was furrowed with
deep wrinkles, and her skinny hand, held before the lamp, seemed
transparent. She made up her mind at once. Her face lit up with a kind
smile, and she signed to us to come in, with words which were probably
friendly. This was a supposition, for the worthy nun only spoke
Flemish, and we could not understand anything she said. She carefully
pushed the bolts again, placed her lamp on the floor, and made a sign
to us to wait. Then she went away with noiseless steps, and we were
left alone.

"You see," said B., "it is all going swimmingly. Now that we have got
in, you must leave everything to me."

The flickering lamp lighted the hall dimly. The walls were bare, and
there was no furniture but some rush chairs set in a line against the
partition. Opposite the door, there was a simple wooden crucifix, and
the stretched-out arms seemed to bid us welcome. A perfume of hot soup
came from the door the old Sister had just shut.

"I say!" said B., "did you smell it? I believe it is cabbage soup, and
if so, I shall take a second helping."

"Just wait a bit," I replied; "I'll wager they are going to turn us
out."

From the other side of the door, by which the portress had just
disappeared, we heard a voice calling:

"Sister Gabrielle!... Sister Gabrielle!..."

And a moment after, the same door opened, and another nun came in very
quietly, and rather embarrassed, as it seemed to me. She came towards
us.

Sister Gabrielle, your modesty will certainly suffer from all the good
I am going to say of you.... But I am wrong, you will not suffer, for
you certainly will never read the pages I have scribbled during the
course of this war, at odd t