“A nurse,” he said.  “Why, you are too young for such work!”

“But I am strong, and the wounded are so many, hundreds of thousands, they say.  Is it not a time for the women of France to help as much as they can?”

“I suppose so.  I’ve heard that in our civil war the women passed over the battle fields, seeking the wounded and nursed them afterward.  But you didn’t come here alone, did you, Mademoiselle Julie?”

“Antoine Picard—­you remember him—­and his daughter Suzanne, are with me.  My mother would have come too, but she is ill.  She will come later.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Four days.”

John thought a little.  Many and mighty events had happened in four days before he was wounded and many and mighty events may have occurred since.

“Would you mind telling me where we are, Mademoiselle Julie?” he asked.

“I do not know exactly myself, but we are somewhere near the river, Aisne.  The German army has turned and is fortifying against us.  When the wind blows this way you can hear the rumble of the guns.  Ah, there it is now, Mr. Scott!”

John distinctly heard that low, sinister menace, coming from the east, and he knew what it was.  Why should he not?  He had listened to it for days and days.  It was easy enough now to tell the thunder of the artillery from real thunder.  He was quite sure that it had never ceased while he was unconscious.  It had been going on so long now, as steady as the flowing of a river.

“I’ve been asking you a lot of questions, Mademoiselle Julie, but I want to ask you one more.”

“What is it, Mr. Scott?”

“What happened to me?”

“They say that you were knocked down by a horse, and that when you were falling his knee struck your head.  There was a concussion but the surgeon says that when you come out of it you will recover very fast.”

“Is the man who says it a good surgeon, one upon whom a fellow can rely, one of the very best surgeons that ever worked on a hurt head?”

“Yes, Mr. Scott.  But why do you ask such a question?  Is it your odd American way?”

“Not at all.  Mademoiselle Julie.  I merely wanted to satisfy myself.  He knows that I’m not likely to be insane or weak-minded or anything of the kind, because I got in the way of that horse’s knee?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, there is not the least danger in the world.  Your mind will be as sound as your body.  Don’t trouble yourself.”

She laughed and now John knew that it was she whom he had heard singing the chansonette in that low murmuring tone.  What was that little song?  Well, it did not matter about the words.  The music was that of a soft breeze from the south blowing among roses.  John’s imaginings were growing poetical.  Perhaps there were yet some lingering effects from the concussion.

“Here is the surgeon now,” said Mademoiselle Julie.  “He will take a look at you and he will be glad to find that what he has predicted has come true.”