front of her when
they encountered two drunken men. She chatted about nothing in
particular, and Peter thought to himself that he might almost have been
escorting Hilda home. But if Hilda had seen him!

She ushered him into her flat. It was cosy and nicely furnished, very
different from that of the afternoon. A photograph or two stood about in
silver frames, a few easy-chairs, a little table, a bookshelf, and a
cupboard. A fire was alight in the grate; Louise knelt down and poked it
into a flame.

"You shall have French coffee," she said. "And I have even lait for you."
She put a copper kettle on the fire, and busied herself with cups and
saucers. These she arranged on the little table, and drew it near the
fire. Then she offered him a cigarette from a gold case, and took one
herself. "Ah!" she said, sinking back into a chair. "Now we are, as you
say, comfy, is it not so? We can talk. Tell me how you like la France,
and what you do."

Peter tried, but failed rather miserably, and the shrewd French girl
noticed it easily enough. She all but interrupted him as he talked of
Abbeville and the raid. "Mon ami," she said, "you have something on your
mind. You do not want to talk of these things. Tell me."

Peter looked into the kindly keen eyes. "You are right, Louise," he said.
"This is a day of trouble for me."

She nodded. "Tell me," she said again. "But first, what is your name, mon
ami? It is hard to talk if one does not know even the name."

He hardly hesitated. It seemed natural to say it. "Peter," he said.

She smiled, rolling the "r." "Peterr. Well, Peterr, go on."

"I'll tell you about to-day first," he said, and, once launched, did so
easily. He told the little story well, and presently forgot the strange
surroundings. It was all but a confession, and surely one was never more
strangely made. And from the story he spoke of Julie, but concealed her
identity, and then he spoke of God. Louise hardly said a word. She poured
out coffee in the middle, but that was all. At last he finished.

"Louise," he said, "it comes to this: I've nothing left but Julie. It was
she restrained me this afternoon, I think. I'm mad for her; I want her
and nothing else. But with her, somehow, I lose everything else I possess
or ever thought I possessed." And he stopped abruptly, for she did not
know his business in life, and he had almost given it away.

When he had finished she slipped a hand into his, and said no word.
Suddenly