the
forest across the little stream out of which the Duke of Mayenne's
infantry had debouched that day of battle from which the village took
its name.

"They had some of the first guns in the castle, which was held for Henry
of Navarre," explained Peter, "and they did great execution. I suppose
they fired one stone shot in about every five minutes, and killed a man
about every half-hour. The enemy were more frightened than hurt, I should
think. Anyway, Henry won."

"Wasn't he the King who thought Paris worth more than a Mass?" she
demanded.

"Yes," said Peter, watching her brown eyes as she stared out over the
plain.

"I wonder what he thinks now," she said.

He laughed. "You're likely to wonder," he said.

"Funny old days," said Julie. "I suppose there were girls in this castle
watching the fight. I expect they cared more for the one man each
half-hour the cannon hit than for either Paris or the Mass. That's the
way of women, Peter, and a damned silly way it is! Come on, let's go.
I'll get down first, if you please."

On the short road remaining Peter asked his chauffeur if he knew the
Trois Poissons, and, finding that he did, had the direction pointed out.
They ran through the town to the hospital, and Peter handed his cars
over. "I'll sleep in town," he said. "What time ought we to start in the
morning?" He was told, and walked away. Julie had disappeared.

He found the Trois Poissons without difficulty, and made his way to the
sitting-room, a queer room opening from the pavement direct on the one
side, and from the hall of the hotel on the other. It had a table down
the middle, a weird selection of chairs, and a piano. A small woman was
sitting in a chair reading the _Tatler_ and smoking. An empty glass
stood beside her.

She looked up as he came in, and he noticed R.A.M.C. badges.
"Good-evening," he said cheerily.

"Good-evening, padre," she replied, plainly willing to talk. "Where have
you sprung from?"

"Abbeville via Eu in a convoy of Red Cross cars," he said, "and I feel
like a sun-downer. Won't you have another with me?"

"Sure thing," she said, and he ordered a couple from the French maid who
came in answer to his ring. "Do you live here?" he asked.

"For my sins I do," she said. "I doctor Waac's, and I don't think much of
it. A finer, heartier lot of women I never saw. Epsom salts is all they
want. A child could do it."

Peter laughed. "Well, I don't see why you should grumble," he said.