e rain fell in torrents; long, yellow streams of
water gushed from pipe and culvert, turning the roads to lakes of
amber and the trodden lawns to sargasso seas.

Not a shot had been fired since twilight of the day before,
although on the distant hills Uhlans were seen racing about,
gathering in groups, or sitting on their horses in solitary
observation of the Chateau.

Out on the meadows, between the park wall and the fringe of
nearer forest, the Bavarian dead lay, dotting the green pelouse
with blots of pale blue; the wounded had been removed to the
cover of the woods.

Around the Chateau the sallow-faced fantassins slopped through
the mire, the artillery trains lay glistening under their
waterproof coverings, the long, slim cannon in the breeches
dripped with rain. Bright blotches of rust, like brilliant fungi,
grew and spread from muzzle to vent. These were rubbed away at
times by stiff-limbed soldiers, swathed to the eyes in blue
overcoats.

The line of battle stretched from the Chateau Morteyn, parallel
with the river and the park wall, to the Chateau de Nesville; and
along this line the officers were riding all day, muffled to the
chin in their great-coats, crimson caps soaked, rain-drops
gathering in brilliant beads under the polished visors. That they
expected a shelling was evident, for the engineers were at work
excavating pits and burrows, and the infantry were filling sacks
with earth, while in the Chateau itself preparations were in
progress for the fighting of fire.

The white flag with the red-cross centre hung limp and drenched
over the stables and barns. In the corn-field beyond, long
trenches were being dug for the dead. Already two such trenches
had been filled and covered over with dirt; and at the head of
each soldier's grave a bayonet or sabre was driven into the
ground for a head-stone.

Early that morning, while the rain drove into the ground in one
sheeted downpour, they buried Sir Thorald and little Alixe, side
by side, on the summit of a mound overlooking the river Lisse.
Jack drove the tumbril; four soldiers of the line followed. It
was soon over; the mellow bugle sounded a brief "lights out," the
linesmen presented arms. Then Jack mounted the cart and drove
back, his head on his breast, the rain driving coldly in his
face. Some officers came later with a rough wooden cross and a
few field flowers. They hammered the cross deep into the mud
between Sir Thorald and little Alixe. Late