convents."

"It is true. Since then I have seen many things."

She stared across the room, not at Doggie, and he thought again of the
ghosts.

"Tell me some of them, Mademoiselle Jeanne," he said in a low voice.

She shot a swift glance at him and met his honest brown eyes.

"I saw my father murdered in front of me," she said in a harsh voice.

"My God!" said Doggie.

"It was on the Retreat. We lived in Cambrai, my father and mother and
I. He was a lawyer. When we heard the Germans were coming, my father,
somewhat of an invalid, decided to fly. He had heard of what they had
already done in Belgium. We tried to go by train. _Pas moyen._ We took
to the road, with many others. We could not get a horse--we had
postponed our flight till too late. Only a handcart, with a few
necessaries and precious things. And we walked until we nearly died of
heat and dust and grief. For our hearts were very heavy, monsieur. The
roads, too, were full of the English in retreat. I shall not tell you
what I saw of the wounded by the roadside. I sometimes see them now in
my dreams. And we were helpless. We thought we would leave the main
roads, and at last we got lost and found ourselves in a little wood.
We sat down to rest and to eat. It was cool and pleasant, and I
laughed, to cheer my parents, for they knew how I loved to eat under
the freshness of the trees." She shivered. "I hope I shall never have
to eat a meal in a wood again. We had scarcely begun when a body of
cavalry, with strange pointed helmets, rode along the path and, seeing
us, halted. My mother, half dead with terror, cried out, '_Mon Dieu,
ce sont des Uhlans!_' The leader, I suppose an officer, called out
something in German. My father replied. I do not understand German, so
I did not know and shall never know what they said. But my father
protested in anger and stood in front of the horse making gestures.
And then the officer took out his revolver and shot him through the
heart, and he fell dead. And the murderer turned his horse's head
round and he laughed. He laughed, monsieur."

"Damn him!" said Doggie, in English. "Damn him!"

He gazed deep into Jeanne's dark tearless eyes. She continued in the
same even voice:

"My mother became mad. She was a peasant, a Bretonne, where the blood
is fierce, and she screamed and clung to the bridle of the horse. And
he rode her down and the horse trampled on her. Then he pointed at me,
who was supporting the body of my fathe