“About Protection,” she answered. “It’s one of the few subjects I haven’t made up my mind about.” How long Joan remained there she was never quite sure. There was little difference between day and night. After it had been quiet for an hour or so, Madame Lelanne would go out, to return a little later with a wounded man upon her back; and when one died, she would throw him across her shoulder and disappear again up the steps. Sometimes it was a Frenchman and sometimes a German she brought in. One gathered that the fight for the village still continued. There was but little they could do for them beyond dressing their wounds and easing their pain. Joan and the little chemist took it in turns to relieve one another. If Madame Lelanne ever slept, it was when she would sit in the shadow behind the stove, her hands upon her knees. Dubos had been in the house when it had fallen. Madame Lelanne had discovered him pinned against a wall underneath a great oak beam that had withstood the falling débris. His beard had been burnt off, but otherwise he had been unharmed.!

“What’s Carleton got to do with it?” demanded Joan with a note of indignation. “You will help?” she added, fixing on Joan her great, grave eyes.

The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot a pleading look from the old stern eyes. “I don’t suppose you will agree with me,” he said. “Somehow I felt I had to.” She waited till they had reached a quiet road leading to the hills.