On a snowy white table cloth three covers were laid and a tempting supper composed of bread and butter, cheese, a bottle of white wine, and a huge basket of most luscious hothouse grapes and pears--gladdened our hungry gaze. We did not need a second invitation! We fell to with a vengeance and at the end of a quarter-hour hardly a crumb remained. "When you've finished, come upstairs; Madame will take the first door to the right. You boys come up a flight higher," called a voice from above. We obeyed, and before retiring I waited a good half-hour hoping our friend would reappear. But no one came--so bolting my door, I offered up a prayer of thanks and was soon fast asleep. Sunday morning, September sixth, the sun was high in the heavens when I peeped from beneath my lace-bordered sheets and cocked my ear at the familiar sound of the cannon. It was a long continuous roar, and now that I had become accustomed to distancing I estimated that the battle was on at Mormont. And I was not mistaken. A little later official news confirmed my guess. Finding no bell in my room, I opened the door to see a pitcher of hot water sitting before it, and on a chair beside it, a new comb, a clean linen duster, and a pocket handkerchief. A brief note told me that I would find breakfast in the dining-room, and requested that I leave word on the table saying at what time I would be in for luncheon. Decidedly the mystery deepened--for not a sound could be heard save in the garden where I spied George and Leon, who informed me that the house was empty, and "a gorgeous house, Madame!" they ejaculated in admiration. Though partially abandoned, Melun was full of life, thanks to the presence of numerous British troops and that same long line of A. S. C.'s now quadrupled on the highroad--two lines going, two lines coming. As I picked my way between them, and crossed the street, my attention was arrested by a French peasant who was conversing by means of the sign language with the handsome driver of one of those vans, while several children were clamoring to be allowed to sit on the seat a moment, "just to see how it seemed." "Can I be of any assistance?" "Rather! Seems good to hear English, thank you." "Really?" "Yes. Might I ask where you come from?" "The States." "Do you know Cleveland?" "Yes." "Well, I've got a mother and three brothers buried in that cemetery. Colonials, you know. I'm English--from Bath--oldest son. Couldn't see things their way. Done better perhaps if I'd joined the others out there." I smiled at this unexpected and impromptu confession. The boy saw it and reddened. "Is there anything particular you want me to say to this man for you?" said I quickly, to cover his embarrassment. "No, thank you. But there's one thing you might be able to tell me." "What?" "Do you think we'll be 'home' in time to eat Christmas dinner?" "Rather!" "Thank you so much! Good-bye." "Good-bye and good luck to you."