instinctively flames more brightly
toward things of the spirit than of the flesh.... I think it is true,
Mr. Estridge, that, unless taught otherwise by men, women's
inclination is toward the spiritual, and the ardour of her passion
aspires instinctively to a greater love until the lesser confuses and
perplexes her with its clamorous importunity."

"Woman's love for man you call the lesser love?" he asked.

"Yes, it is, compared to love for God," she said dreamily.

Some of the girl-soldiers in the Battalion of Death turned their heads
to look at this young girl in furs, who had come among them on the arm
of a Red Cross driver.

Estridge was aware of many bib brown eyes, many grey eyes, some blue
ones fixed on him and on his companion in friendly or curious inquiry.
They made him think of the large, innocent eyes of deer or channel
cattle, for there was something both sweet and wild as well as honest
in the gaze of these girl-soldiers.

One, a magnificent blond six-foot creature with the peaches-and-cream
skin of Scandinavia and the clipped gold hair of the northland,
smiled at Miss Dumont, displaying a set of superb teeth.

"You have come to see us make our first charge?" she asked in Russian,
her sea-blue eyes all a-sparkle.

Miss Dumont said "Yes," very seriously, looking at the girl's
equipment, her blanket roll, gas-mask, boots and overcoat.

Estridge turned to another girl-soldier:

"And if you are made a prisoner?" he enquired in a low voice. "Have
you women considered that?"

"Nechevo," smiled the girl, who had been a Red Cross nurse, and who
wore two decorations. She touched the red and black dashes of colour
on her sleeve significantly, then loosened her tunic and drew out a
tiny bag of chamois. "We all carry poison," she said smilingly. "We
know the boche well enough to take that precaution."

Another girl nodded confirmation. They were perfectly cheerful about
it. Several others drew near and showed their little bags of poison
slung around their necks inside their blouses. Many of them wore holy
relics and medals also.

Miss Dumont took Estridge's arm again and looked over at the big blond
girl-soldier, who also had been smilingly regarding her, and who now
stepped forward to meet them halfway.

"When do you march to the first trenches?" asked Miss Dumont gravely.

"Oh," said the blond goddess, "so you are English?" And she added in
English: "I am Swedish. You have arrived just in time. I t'i