e?"

"Rather."

The little Belgian by her side muttered, protesting.

"We're not really in any danger. It's all going on over our heads."

"Do you suppose," she said, "they'll get our range?"

"Rather not. Why should they? They've got their range and they'll
stick to it."

The firing on their right ceased.

"They're quiet enough now," she said.

The little Belgian informed her that if they were quiet so much the
worse. They were finding their range.

She thought: We were safe enough before, but--

"Supposing," she said, "they alter their range?"

"They won't alter it just for the fun of killing us. They haven't
spotted the batteries yet. It's the batteries they're trying for, not
the street."

But the little Belgian went on protesting.

"What's the matter with him?"

"He's getting a bit jumpy," she said, "that's all."

"Tell him to buck up. Tell him it's all right."

She translated. The little Belgian shook his head, mournfully persistent.
"Monsieur," he said, "didn't know."

"Oh yes, he does know."

It was absurd of the little man to suppose you didn't know, when
the noise of the French guns told them how near they were to the
enemy's target.

She tried not to listen to him. His mutterings broke up the queer
stillness that held her after she had heard the guns. It was only by
keeping still that you felt, wave by wave, the rising thrill of the
adventure. Only by keeping still she was aware of what was passing in
John's mind. He knew. He knew. They were one in the almost palpable
excitement that they shared; locked close, closer than their bodies could
have joined them, in the strange and poignant ecstasy of danger.

There was the sound of an explosion somewhere in front of them beyond
the houses.

"Did you hear that, Mademoiselle?"

"I did."

"Miles away," said John.

She knew it wasn't. She thought: He doesn't want me to know. He thinks
I'll be frightened. I mustn't tell him.

But the Belgian had none of John's scruples. The shell was near, he said;
very near. It had fallen in the place they were going to.

"But that's the place where the wounded men are."

He admitted that it was the place where the wounded men were.

They were out of the village now. Their road ran through flat open
country, a causeway raised a little above the level of the fields. No
cover anywhere from the fire if it came. The Belgian had begun again.

"What's that he's saying now?"

"He says we shall give a