t. They were frightfully
disappointed when I said "No, I had not."

I went to their little chapel afterwards, and later on, the Reverend
Mother, who was so old she had to be supported on each side by two nuns,
came to a window and gave me her blessing. My Scotch friend before I
left pressed a little oxidized silver medal of the Virgin into my hand,
which she assured me would keep me in safety. I treasured it after that
as a sort of charm and always had it with me.

A few days later I was introduced to Warneford, V.C., the man who had
brought down the first Zeppelin. He had just come to Paris to receive
the _Legion d'Honneur_ and the _Croix de Guerre_, and was being feted
and spoilt by everybody. He promised towards the end of the week, when
he had worked off some of his engagements, to take me up--strictly
against all rules of course--for a short flight. I met him on the
Monday, I think, and on the Wednesday he crashed while making a trial
flight, and died after from his injuries, in hospital. It seemed
impossible to believe when first I heard of it--he was so full of life
and high spirits.

We went to Versailles one day. The loneliness and general air of
desertion that overhang the place seemed more intensified by the war
than ever. The grass had grown very long, the air was sultry, and not a
ripple stirred the calm surface of the lake. It seemed somehow very like
the Palace of a Sleeping Beauty. I wondered if the ghost of Marie
Antoinette ever revisited the Trianon or flitted up and down the wooden
steps of the miniature farm where she had played at being a dairymaid?

As we wended our way back in the evening, the incessant croaking of the
frogs in the big lake was the only sound that broke the stillness. There
was something sinister about it as if they were croaking "We are the
only creatures who now live in this beautiful place, and it is we, with
our ugly voices and bodies, who have triumphed over the beautiful vain
ladies who threw pebbles at us long ago from the terraces."--We turned
away, and the croaking seemed to become more triumphant and echoed in
our ears long after we had left the vicinity.

At night, in Paris, aeroplanes flew round and round the city on scout
duty switching on lights at intervals that made them look like
travelling stars. They often woke one up, and the noise of the engines
was so loud it seemed sometimes as if they must fly straight through
one's window. I used to love to get up ear