owing evidence of having been hastily
donned with no time to think of looking in the mirror.

An old lantern and a kerosene lamp but dimly lighted the groups which
were shrouded in deep velvety shadows.

Presently a man, a man that I had never seen before, a man with a long
emaciated face and dark pointed beard, rose in the background, holding
a blanket draped about him by flattening his thin white hand against
his breast. The whole scene seemed almost biblical, and instantly my
mind evoked Rembrandt's masterpiece--the etching called 'The Hundred
Florin Piece,' which depicts the crowds seated about the standing
figure of our Saviour and listening to His divine words.

But the spell was quickly broken when an instant later my vision
coughed and called--

"Josephine, did you bring down the 'Petit Parisien,' as I told you?"

Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed, and then a rather distant explosion
gave us reason to believe that the enemy planes were retiring.

"_Jamais de la vie_! No such luck to-night. Why we've got a good
couple of hours ahead of us, just like last time. You'll see! Much
better to make yourself as comfortable as possible and not lose any
sleep over it."

The tiny babies had scarcely waked at all, and peacefully continued to
slumber on their mothers' knees, or on improvised cots made from a
blanket or comforter folded to several thicknesses.

The women soon yawned, and leaning their backs against the wall nodded
regularly in spite of their efforts not to doze off, and each time,
surprised by the sudden shock of awakening would shudder and groan
unconsciously.

Tightly clasped in their hands, or on the floor between their feet lay
a bag which never got beyond their reach, to which they clung as
something sacred. Certain among them were almost elegant in their grey
linen covers. Others had seen better days, while still others dated
back to the good old times of needlework tapestry. There were carpet,
kit and canvas bags, little wooden chests with leather handles, and one
poor old creature carefully harboured a card-board box tied about with
a much knotted string.

What did they all contain? In France amid such a gathering it were
safe to make a guess.

First of all, the spotless family papers--cherished documents
registering births, deaths and marriages. A lock of hair, a baby
tooth, innumerable faded photographs, a bundle of letters, a scrap of
paper whereon are scrawled the last words of