"Yes, it is two o'clock and the general who was quartered on us slept
four hours and has gone. When leaving he warned us that the battle
would be on here by morning. We who have a motor are safe, but you who
have but horses must flee at once!"

"But I can't leave the wounded!"

"But you must. The worst that can happen to them is to be made
prisoners--more than likely they will be carried away by one of our
emergency ambulances. But think of all the young people who look to you
for protection! You cannot desert them; you must go!"

I looked at Madame Guix.

"Go, Madame Huard, you must. You owe it to the others. None of you
need me and I can be of service here, so if the sisters will keep me
I'll stay."

Reluctantly I shook hands with my nurse, and hastened down the steps.
Maitre Baudoin and his wife took leave of me at the comer, and I elbowed
my way between the horses of a cavalry regiment, whose riders were sound
asleep on the hard cobble pavement beside them.

On the further side of the square noisy rolling sounds told me that the
artillery was crossing the city, and mounting a doorstep, I beheld
battery after battery of the famous Seventy-fives clattering out of
sight over the road we had come by in the morning. When I got down, I
found my way blocked by the 18th Chasseurs a cheval, who, four abreast
and lance in hand, were setting out for battle. They were anything but
a beaten army--most of them were softly humming some popular song, while