peace, but war."

And as he looked at her, her face hardened, her steady eyes wavered for
once.

"Ah!" she said, her hands dropping sharply against her dingy black dress
in a gesture of despair. "Again!"

"Yes, mademoiselle," answered Lory, gently; for he had a quick intuition,
and knew at a glance that war must have hurt this woman at one time of
her life.

She stood for a moment tapping the ground with her foot, looking
reflectively across the valley.

"Assuredly," she said, "Frenchwomen must be the bravest women in the
world, or else there would never be a light heart in the whole country.
Come, let us go in and tell Denise. It is Germany, I suppose?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. They have long wanted it, and we are obliging them at
last. You look grave. It is not bad news I bring you, but good."

"Women like soldiers, but they hate war," said mademoiselle, and walked
on slowly in silence.

After a pause, she turned and looked at him as if she were going to ask
him a question, but checked herself.

"I almost did a foolish thing," she explained, seeing his glance of
surprise. "I was going to ask you if you were going?"