I asked him where he was going.

He glanced at the paper in his hand, and replied:—­

“Our orders are to advance to Saint-Fiacre,—­a little east of Meaux,—­ but before I go I am happy to relieve your mind on two points.  The French cavalry has driven the Uhlans out—­some of them were captured as far east as Bouleurs.  And the English artillery has come down from the hill behind you and is crossing the Marne.  We follow them.  So you see you can sit here in your pretty library and read all these nice books in security, until the day comes—­perhaps sooner than you dare hope—­when you can look back to all these days, and perhaps be a little proud to have had a small part in it.”  And off he went upstairs.

I sat perfectly still for a long time.  Was it possible that it was only a week ago that I had heard the drum beat for the disarming of the Seine et Marne?  Was there really going to come a day when all the beauty around me would not be a mockery?  All at once it occurred to me that I had promised Captain Simpson to write and tell him how I had “come through.”  Perhaps this was the time.  I went to the foot of the stairs and called up to the chef-major.  He came to the door and I explained, asking him if, we being without a post-office, he could get a letter through, and what kind of a letter I could write, as I knew the censorship was severe.

“My dear lady,” he replied, “go and write your letter,—­write anything you like,—­and when I come down I will take charge of it and guarantee that it shall go through, uncensored, no matter what it contains.”

So I wrote to tell Captain Simpson that all was well at Huiry,—­that we had escaped, and were still grateful for all the trouble he had taken.  When the officer came down I gave it to him, unsealed.

“Seal it, seal it,” he said, and when I had done so, he wrote, “Read and approved” on the envelope, and gave it to his orderly, and was ready to say “Good-bye.”

“Don’t look so serious about it,” he laughed, as we shook hands.  “Some of us will get killed, but what of that?  I wanted this war.  I prayed for it.  I should have been sad enough if I had died before it came.  I have left a wife and children whom I adore, but I am ready to lay down my life cheerfully for the victory of which I am so sure.  Cheer up.  I think my hour has not yet come.  I had three horses killed under me in Belgium.  At Charleroi a bomb exploded in a staircase as I was coming down.  I jumped—­not a scratch to show.  Things like that make a man feel immune—­but Who knows?”

I did my best to smile, as I said, “I don’t wish you courage—­you have that, but—­good luck.”

“Thank you,” he replied, “you’ve had that”; and away he marched, and that was the last I saw of him.

I had a strange sensation about these men who had in so few days passed so rapidly in and out of my life, and in a moment seemed like old friends.