If it was the engine that collapsed, the passengers, with a resigned expression, returned to their seats, saying placidly: "_C'est la guerre, que voulez-vous_," and no one grumbled or made any other comment. With a grunt and a snort we moved on again, only to stop a little further up the line. I came to the conclusion that that rotten engine must be tied together with string. No one seemed to mind or worry. "He will arrive" they said optimistically, and talked of other things. At every station fascinating-looking _infirmieres_ from the French Red Cross, clad in white from top to toe, stepped into the carriage jingling little white tin boxes. "_Messieurs, Mesdames, pour les blesses, s'il vous plait_,"[8] they begged, and everyone fumbled without a murmur in their pockets. I began with 5 francs, but by the time I'd reached Paris I was giving ha' pennies. At Amiens a dainty Parisienne stepped into the compartment. She was clad in a navy blue _tailleur_ with a very smart pair of high navy blue kid boots and small navy blue silk hat. The other occupants of the carriage consisted of a well-to-do old gentleman in mufti, who, I decided, was a _commercant de vin_, and two French officers, very spick and span, obviously going on leave. _La petite dame bien mise_, as I christened her, sat in the opposite corner to me, and the following conversation took place. I give it in English to save translation: After a little general conversation between the officers and the old _commercant_ the latter suddenly burst out with:--"Ha, what I would like well to know is, do the Scotch soldiers wear the _pantalons_ or do they not?" Everyone became instantly alert. I could see _la petite dame bien mise_ was dying to say something. The two French officers addressed shrugged their shoulders expressive of ignorance in the matter. After further discussion, unable to contain herself any longer, _la petite dame_ leant forward and addressing herself to the _commercant_, said, "Monsieur, I assure you that they do _not_!" The whole carriage "sat up and took notice," and the old _commercant_, shaking his finger at her said: "Madame, if you will permit me to ask, that is, if it is not indiscreet, how is it that you are in a position to know?" The officers were enjoying themselves immensely. _La petite dame_ hastened to explain. "Monsieur, it is that my window at Amiens she overlooks the ground where these Scotch ones play the football, and then a good little puff of wind and one sees, but of course," she concluded virtuously, "I have not regarded, Monsieur." They all roared delightedly, and the old _commercant_ said something to the effect of not believing a word. "Be quiet, Monsieur, I pray of you," she entreated, "there is an English young girl in the corner and she will of a certainty be shocked." "_Bah, non_," replied the old _commercant_, "the English never understand much of any language but their own" (I hid discreetly behind my paper).