"I expected you to say that, you are always so practical and kind, then we will choose a research subject to keep me busy." "Why not the history of Blankshire, your old county where the Thormondes have sat since the conquest--_hein_?" This delighted me, but I saw the impossibility. "I cannot get at the necessary reference books, and it is impossible to receive anything from England." She realized this before I spoke. "No--philosophy it must be--or your pet hobby, the furniture of your William and Mary!" This seemed the best of all, and I decided in a moment. This shall be my subject. I really know something of William and Mary furniture! So we settled it. Then she became reflective. "The news is _très grave_ to-day, my son," she whispered softly, "the fearful ones predict that the Boche will be within range in a few days.--Why not leave Paris?" "Are you going, Duchesse?" "I,--_Mon Dieu!_--Of course not!--I must stay to get my _Blessés_ out--if the worst should come--but I never believe it.--Let the cowards flee--. Some of my relatives have gone again. Those I speak to will have become a minority when peace arrives, it would seem!"--then she frowned angrily. "Many are so splendid--devoted, untiring, but there are some--!--_Mon Dieu!_ the girls play tennis at the _tix aux pigeons_!--and the Germans are sixty-five kilometers from Paris!" I did not speak, and then, as though I had said something disparaging and she must defend them--"But you must not judge them hardly--No!--it is not possible with our National temperament that young girls of the world can nurse men--No--No--and our ministry of War won't employ women--what can they do--ask yourself, what can they do?--but wait and pray! Other nations must not judge us--our men know what they want of us--yes, yes--" "Of course they do." "My niece Madelaine--a lighthead--dragged me to the Ritz to lunch last week, before the wild rush cleared them off again--_Mon Dieu!_ what a sight there in that restaurant!--Olivier and the waiters are the only things of dignity left! The women dressed to the eyes as Red Cross nurses. Some Americans, and, yes, French--nursing the well English officers I must believe--no nearer wounded than that!--floating veils, painted lips--high heels--Heavens! it filled me with rage--I who know the devoted and good of both nations who are not seen, and you English--. But there it is easy for you with your temperament to be good and really work--France is full of sensible kind Americans and English--but those in Paris--they make me sick! Quarter of an hour twice a day--to have the right to a passport to come--and to wear a uniform--Pah! Sick, sick!--" I thought of the fluffies!--they too played at something the first year of the war, but now have given up even the pretence of that. The Duchesse was still angry.