r
and for a time forgot their anxieties under the influence of lights, food
and warmth, and red and white wine mixed with water.

When he chose, Jean could be a delightful companion; not with Henri's
lift of spirits, but quietly interesting. And that evening he was a new
Jean to Sara Lee, a man of the world, talking of world affairs. He
found her apt and intelligent, and for Sara Lee much that had been
clouded cleared up forever that night. Until then she had known only
the humanities of the war, or its inhumanities. There, over that little
table, she learned something of its politics and its inevitability. She
had been working in the dark, with her heart only. Now she began to
grasp the real significance of it all, of Belgium's anxiety for many
years, of Germany's cold and cruel preparation, and empty protests of
friendship. She learned of the flight of the government from Brussels,
the most important state papers being taken away in a hand cart, on top
of which, at the last moment, some flustered official had placed a tall
silk hat! She learned of the failure of great fortifications before the
invaders' heavy guns. And he had drawn for her such a picture of
Albert of Belgium as she was never to forget.

Perhaps Sara Lee's real growth began that night, over that simple dinner
at the Hotel des Arcades.

"I wish," she said at last, "that Uncle James could have heard all this.
He was always so puzzled about it all. And--you make it so clear."

When dinner was over a bit of tension had relaxed in her somewhat. She
had been too close, for too long. And when a group of Belgian officers,
learning who she was, asked to be presented and gravely thanked her, she
flushed with happiness.

"We must see if mademoiselle shall not have a medal," said the only one
who spoke English.

"A medal? For what?"

"For courage," he said, bowing. "Belgium has little to give, but it can
at least do honor to a brave lady."

Jean was smiling when they passed on. What a story would this slip of a
girl take home with her!

But: "I don't think I want a medal, Jean," she said. "I didn't come for
that. And after all it is you and Henri who have done the thing--not I."

Accustomed to women of a more sophisticated class, Jean had at first
taken her naivete for the height of subtlety. He was always expecting
her to betray herself. But after that evening with her he changed. Just
such simplicity had been his wife's. Sometimes Sara Lee reminded h