d
too long in some of these places. If we were a party of men, I should
say nothing, but with three ladies----"

"I can answer for all three, Monsieur," said Mother Beckett, with a
pathetically defiant tilt of her small chin.

"My son, you know, was a soldier. We have come to this part of the world
to see what we can do for the people in honour of his memory. So we
mustn't leave Chauny out."

"Madame, there are no people there, for there are no houses. There are
but a few soldiers with an anti-aircraft gun."

"We must see what can be done about building up some of the houses so
the people can come back," persisted the old lady, with that gentle
obstinacy of hers.

The French officer made no more objections; and knowing his wife, I
suppose Father Beckett felt it useless to offer any. We started at once
for Chauny: in fact, we flew along the road almost as fast--it
seemed--as enemy aeroplanes could fly along the sky if they pursued. But
we had a long respite still before twilight.

CHAPTER XXIV

Our guide was right. Chauny was sadder than the rest, because there had
been more of beauty to ruin. And it was ruined cruelly, completely! Even
Gerbeviller, in Lorraine, had been less sad than this--less sad because
of Soeur Julie, and the quarter on the hill which her devotion saved;
less sad, because of the American Red Cross reconstruction centre, for
the fruit trees. Here there had been no Soeur Julie, no reconstruction
centre yet. The Germans, when they knew they had to go, gave three weeks
to their wrecking work. They sent off, neatly packed, all that was worth
sending to Germany. They measured the cellars to see what quantity of
explosives would be needed to blow up the houses. Then they blew them
up, making their quarters meanwhile at a safe distance, in the convent.
As for that convent--you will see what happened there when the Boches
had no further use for it!

In happy days before the war, whose joys we took comfortably for
granted, Chauny had several chateaux of beauty and charm. It had pretty
houses and lots of fine shops and a park. It was proud of its _mairie_
and church and great _usine_ (now a sight of horror), and the newer
parts of the town did honour to their architects. But--Chauny was on the
direct road between Cologne and Paris. Nobody thought much about this
fact then, except that it helped travel and so was good for the
country. It is only now that one knows what a price Chauny paid for