All the landmarks are shifted. Begins anew the scuffle for the usual permissions to move or exist. As a pleasant contrast to the general flight and upheaval, the United States Embassy and Consulate are looking after the individual anxieties of half the nationalities of Europe with a courtesy and efficiency beyond all praise. Paris is empty, but sunny and still itself. Through the empty street the columns of red and blue soldiers pass, with dusty boots, making bright streaks of colour. Like a mother of pearl shell left on the beach, the colours of Paris remain vivid, though the life in her Government is gone south. Friday night. Another interlude--Shakespearean if you like. The talk of the first and second Watchmen and the second Citizen outside the walls. A drop-scene before Paris, in the second act of the great war tragedy. The gates had closed before I could get in. A corporal, who considered himself under an obligation, suggested taking refuge in a shelter with five non-commissioned officers, who were superintending the defence works. He knew one of them. The rest were not of his regiment, and suspicious, as men are behind the lines. But two or three gathered round to smoke; and, Parisian-like, thawed with their own talk. The rest rolled up on the straw, and moved restlessly in tired sleep, outside the range of the single light. Naturally the talk turned first on the stranger: "What a risky job. Now, a soldier goes safely where he's told, and can fight there, with friends round. But you may be shot by anyone, as the easiest thing to do! No inquiries as in peace time. Anyone may do it; and it's only an unlucky incident. No mention in the papers even! Why, even generals and officers have been shot in this war by mistake." The risk set my corporal talking of a younger brother of his, whom he had brought up and seen married; their two wives are together at home with the babies. "He is of the--1st line, the little brother--only so high. I do not know where he is. Only one postcard with no date or address, saying 'Still living.' That is all, two weeks ago; and the war may be over, and we shall never know. Perhaps we shall have his regimental number returned, and never know. The little one whom I brought up--only so high." There was only one opinion about the English troops. "What fellows they are--_charmants garcons!_--big and cool-looking in their 'green'; and impassive! And then, so gay, always so gay--except their songs!" "I cannot understand them, but they laugh all the time, even when they are too tired to walk;"--it was a cuirassier speaking--"I helped to carry one in the other day; four of us. It was near Amiens. He was dying; his legs--so. He kept on saying something which we could not understand; perhaps it was a message to his mother or sweetheart. But he smiled always, and shook hands. And he said: 'Good friends. Good old England.' I understood that. He died before we found the ambulance."