with stones for our pillows. No, you couldn't treat us so cruelly. I
feel sure that in a few minutes you will show me the bed in the
dormitory you will keep for me when I come to take up my quarters with
you after the war."

Sister Gabrielle's smile had disappeared. For the first time, she
seemed really distressed. She stopped in front of B., and looked at
him with her large clear eyes. She made the same gesture as before;
lifted up both her hands, in token of powerlessness, and seemed to be
thinking how she could avoid hurting our feelings. Then she said, in a
disheartened tone:

"But we have not a single spare bed."

A long silence followed this sentence, which seemed to plunge B. into
despair. The guns continued their ominous booming, making the windows
rattle terribly. I too thought now that it would be dreadful to leave
the house, go and look for our troops in the dark, and put our men to
the inconvenience of making room for us on their straw, so I too
looked at Sister Gabrielle imploringly. All at once she seemed to have
decided what to do. She began by opening one of the cupboards in the
wall, took out of it two small glasses with long tapering stems, and
placed them before us, with a goodly bottle of Hollands. She had
recovered her exquisite smile, and she hurried, for she seemed anxious
to put her idea into execution.

"There, drink. It's good Hollands, ... and we give it to our poor old
people on festivals."

"Thank you. Sister, thank you."

But she had already run out of the room, and we were left there, happy
enough, sipping our glass of Hollands, and enjoying the luxurious
peace that surrounded us. The guns seemed to be further off; we only
heard a distant growling in the direction of Ypres. Our eyelids began
to droop, and it was almost a pleasure to feel the weariness of our
limbs and heads, for now we felt sure that Sister Gabrielle would not
send us away.

She came back into the room, with a candle in her hand.

"Come," she said.

She was now quite rosy, and seemed ashamed, as though she were
committing a fault. We followed her, enchanted, and went back through
the kitchen, now dark and deserted. The flickering light of the candle
was reflected here and there on the curves of the copper pots and
glass bowls. The house was sleeping. We crossed the hall, and went up
a broad wooden staircase, polished and shining.

What a strange party we were, the youthful Sister, going in front,
treading so