the correspondents slept there and some got
billets outside. Shops began to open. The _Daily Mail_ came once more,
and gradually the streets filled with people, these streets, the
pavements of which were now more hostile than ever. Even a few of the
girls came and settled there--"early birds."

That sweet, natural woman, Sister Rose, had remained in Amiens all
through the bombardment, and when the people began returning, she was
asked one day: "Are not you pleased, Sister Rose, to have the people
round you again?" To which she replied: "Yes, of course I am in some
ways, but I loved the bombardment. I felt the whole city was mine, (p. 083)
each street became very intimate, and I could walk through them and
pray out loud to my God in peace. But now! why, if I prayed to my God
in the streets of Amiens they would think me a damned lunatic!" I can
understand her very human feeling at that time--people who had run
away from the city in its agony returned when its tribulation was
over, and claimed it as their own again when the calm of evening had
come; while she, Sister Rose, had borne the burden and heat of the
day. But this feeling soon left her, and she worked whole-heartedly
once more to succour the poor in distress in the city she loved so
well.

[Illustration: XXXVI. _General Lord Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B., etc._]

CHAPTER XII (p. 084)

AMIENS (OCTOBER 1918)

The nights were very black, there being no lights in the streets at
all.

A little later Maude left his billet on the Abbeville Road, and came
to live with me in the "Hotel de la Paix." One night we were dining
there, and at about 8.45 p.m. a young Flying Officer left a friend and
came and asked Maude if we would come to their table and have a drink
with them. Maude said Yes, and the lad went back to his table. "Who is
your friend?" said I. "I don't know," Maude replied. "They asked me
for ten minutes' extension of time last night, and I gave it to them."
Presently we went over to their table and they ordered a round of the
deadly brandy of the hotel. Maude introduced me as Major Sir William
Orpen, and I learnt that their names were Tom and Fred. After a couple
of minutes Tom wanted to ask me something, and he started off this
way: "By the way, Sir William----" "A little less of your damned Sir
William!" said I. "All right," said he, "don't get huffy about it,
bloody old Bill." So naturally