song in each and wear the same coloured feathers." She stirred the snow
in the yard with her foot. "An inch already and the Renault has so
little grip upon the snow. Shall we be able to start to-morrow?"

Then she set out to look for a heap of snow chains which she had noticed
before in a corner of the yard. Not far from her another little torch
moved in the darkness, and under its downward ray she caught sight of a
khaki skirt and a foot. "Someone else has thought of chains, too! And
there are so few!" She clicked off her light and moved stealthily along
the forest of cars, her fingers sweeping blankets of snow from the
mudguards. Passing the first line of corpse-cars she saw the light
again. "She's in the wrong place!" she thought, and hurried on. "Those
bags of chains are just behind the Berliet they brought in backwards."
Behind the Berliet little mounds showed in the snow. She stooped over
them, shading her light with her knees, and dug in the light powder with
her hand, pulling out a small canvas bag which she dusted and beat with
her fingers.

"Are you looking for chains?" she called to the other light, her bag
safely in her arms.

"Yes."

"They are here. Here! In this corner!"

"Who are you?" cried the voice.

But she slipped away in silence to the garage door; for on this last
black and white night in Metz she longed to creep about unspoken to,
unquestioned. A little soldier sat on guard by a brazier of glowing