They chatted and ate, and ate and chatted, and made tea at intervals, and now and again dozed with their heads on one another’s shoulders quite irrespective of persons. The ladies were accorded the corner seats and the men acted as pillows and buffers between. And so they jogged slowly along through the night, drawing up now and again with a succession of clangorous bumps that ran from end to end of the train and died with lugubrious creakings into startling silence, then starting again with a jerk that shook them all wide awake. It was as though they were cautiously feeling their way through the darkness and unknown dangers ahead. Of official stops there were almost none. When one did come, and the guard announced ‘dix minutes d’arrêt,’ everybody poured out of the carriages, to fill their water-bottles at the station pump and stretch their cramped legs gratefully. In the very early morning they had a stop of nearly an hour and heard that it was because a lady had been taken ill. They blessed her fervently, washed their hands and faces at the pump, and many boldly produced toothbrushes and did their teeth. And all the time afterwards, their American boys kept suggesting that Lois, or one of the little ladies, or the young bride, should go sick and procure them another such happy release from their cages. Everywhere, as they waited in sidings, there were heavy train-loads of soldiers speeding to the front. They were all obviously in the best of spirits, eager to get to the long-expected red work and to make an end of it for good and all. They leaned out of the windows and cheered the waiting trains, which gave them back cheer for cheer and hearty God-speeds. Their young Englishman, with more zeal than aptitude for foreign tongues, roused great enthusiasm by leaning as far out as he could get and shouting at the top of his voice, “Vive la Président!”--which was invariably greeted with laughter and heartier cheers than ever. And so, by slow degrees and haltingly, they crept up towards Paris, where one of Cook’s people met them, and took them round by the Ceinture railway, and saw them safely off for Dieppe. XX Mrs Dare was sitting by the fire in the parlour at Oakdene, knitting long deep thoughts into a Balaclava helmet. On the other side of the hearth sat Auntie Mitt, similarly occupied on a body-belt, which, being more straightforward work, suited her better. Both their faces were very grave, and they had not spoken a word for close on half an hour. There was so little to speak about and so much to think about.