“One does not want to talk when one is away from the trenches. One likes to forget, although--” He paused and a far-off look came into his eyes, making him look older, and giving Lucie a feeling that he was distant in thought. “Shall you be glad to get back?” she asked. “I think so,” he answered slowly. “Yes, yes, of course. One is glad. The others are there and one must get back to them.” That was all the talk for the moment but it left Lucie with an understanding of the other side of Victor’s character. Later she was to appreciate even more clearly that he was made of finer stuff than she imagined. Miss Lowndes came in the afternoon, bringing little parting gifts to all. “I am sorry to lose you three dears,” she said, “but I do not despair of meeting you all again. You will write to me, Lucie, and tell me all about everything. I am so interested. Really I shall miss you very, very much. Perhaps I may have a chance to go your way one of these days. We all like to get away to nice, quiet, safe places for a rest when we are utterly worn out. I am coming to see you off to-morrow, and I am glad you have such a reliable escort as that nice Victor Guerin. I hope he will always look me up when he comes to town on leave, and I hope he may be spared,” she added gravely. That Victor might not be spared the fate of so many, many of the brave _poilus_ had not occurred to Lucie. He was such a live person, that it was impossible to connect him with anything tragic. She gave Miss Lowndes a startled look, and when Victor came that evening all the chill of her attitude of the morning had passed away. This might be the last time. It was a dreadful thought, and she kept near him, hanging on every word, fancying that the memory of them might some day be all that she had left of this friendship. For the last time she stood at the little window which looked down upon the deserted garden. For the last time she saw the sunset gilding the roofs and steeples of the city. The pigeons would still be strutting down on the pavement below when she was far away. The street noises would be as distinct to-morrow though she would not be hearing them. The thoughts made her pensive yet not sad. Odette came and joined her. Lucie put her arm around the slim waist of this little friend. “Are you sorry that this is the last evening, Odette?” she asked. “No, no, no,” replied Odette vehemently, “I am glad, thankful. I should not be if I were not going with you and good Paulette. This place is full of horrors, but it has given me you and Paulette so I do not hate it; otherwise I should. My only happy memories of Paris will be those in which you are.” “Aren’t you glad that Victor is going with us?”