just thinking that, if anything happened to the _petit
monsieur_, I couldn't have the heart to go on putting his snuff up my
old nose."

"Nothing will happen to him," said Jeanne.

The old woman sighed and re-engulfed the snuff-box. "Who knows? From
one minute to another who knows whether the little ones who are dear
to us are alive or dead?"

"And this _petit monsieur_ is dear to you, Toinette?" Jeanne asked, in
her even voice, without looking up from her sewing.

"Since he resembles my _petiot_."

"He will come back," said Jeanne.

"I hope so," said the old woman mournfully.

In spite of manifold duties, Jeanne found the days curiously long. She
slept badly. The tramp of the sentry below her window over the archway
brought her no sense of comfort, as it had done for months before the
coming of Doggie. All the less did it produce the queer little thrill
of happiness which was hers when, looking down through the shutter
slats she had identified in the darkness, on a change of guard, the
little English soldier to whom she had spoken so intimately. And when
he had challenged the rounds, she had recognized his voice.... If she
had obeyed an imbecile and unmaidenly impulse, she would have drawn
open the shutter and revealed herself. But apart from maidenly
shrinkings, familiarity with war had made her realize the sacred
duties of a sentry, and she had remained in discreet seclusion, awake
until his spell was over. But now the rhythmical beat of the heavy
boots kept her from sleeping and would have irritated her nerves
intolerably had not her sound common sense told her that the stout
fellow who wore them was protecting her from the Hun, together with a
million or so of his fellow-countrymen.

She found herself counting the days to Doggie's return.

"At last, it is to-morrow!" she said to Toinette.

"What is it to-morrow?" asked the old woman.

"The return of our regiment," replied Jeanne.

"That is good. We have a regiment now," said Toinette ironically.

The Midland company marched away--as so many had marched away before;
but Jeanne did not go to the little embankment at the turn of the road
to wish anyone good luck. She stood at the house door, as she had
always done, to watch them pass in the darkness; for there is always
something in the sight of men going into battle which gives you a lump
in the throat. For Jeanne it had almost grown into a religious
practice.

The sergeant had told her that the new