tstretched arms. It
was an expressionless face, with dull, slow-moving eyes that never
changed. She and Joan shared a small _grenier_ in one of the barns. Joan
had brought with her a camp bedstead; but the woman, wrapping a blanket
round her, would creep into a hole she had made for herself among the
hay. She never took off her clothes, except the great wooden-soled
boots, so far as Joan could discover.

The medical staff consisted of a Dr. Poujoulet and two assistants. The
authorities were always promising to send him more help, but it never
arrived. One of the assistants, a Monsieur Dubos, a little man with a
remarkably big beard, was a chemist, who, at the outbreak of the war, had
been on the verge, as he made sure, of an important discovery in
connection with colour photography. Almost the first question he asked
Joan was could she speak German. Finding that she could, he had hurried
her across the yard into a small hut where patients who had borne their
operation successfully awaited their turn to be moved down to one of the
convalescent hospitals at the base. Among them was a German prisoner, an
elderly man, belonging to the Landwehr; in private life a photographer.
He also had been making experiments in the direction of colour
photography. Chance had revealed to the two men their common interest,
and they had been exchanging notes. The German talked a little French,
but not sufficient; and on the day of Joan's arrival they had reached an
impasse that was maddening to both of them. Joan found herself up
against technical terms that rendered her task difficult, but fortunately
had brought a dictionary with her, and was able to make them understand
one another. But she had to be firm with both of them, allowing them
only ten minutes together at a time. The little Frenchman would kneel by
the bedside, holding the German at an angle where he could talk with
least danger to his wound. It seemed that each was the very man the
other had been waiting all his life to meet. They shed tears on one
another's neck when they parted, making all arrangements to write to one
another.

"And you will come and stay with me," persisted the little Frenchman,
"when this affair is finished"--he made an impatient gesture with his
hands. "My wife takes much interest. She will be delighted."

And the big German, again embracing the little Frenchman, had promised,
and had sent his compliments to Madame.

The other was a