De G.—“What does it matter if we do go? There are the little ones coming on. It will be like something out of which a whole piece has been cut and the ends must be sewed together. The very old, and the very young, the children, are these ends. We shall have done what we were born to do. This is the immortal history of France that we have made, her _chant du cygne_, too, the most beautiful of her epics and it is enough to have lived for that. To others the carrying on of the generations....” A pale rose light begins to come in at the window, but sleep cometh not. Fortunately, if need be, I can do without it, but I must close my eyes now. He, too, watching over Israel, slumbers not nor sleeps.... CHAPTER IX CHÂLONS.—CHÂTEAU DE JEAN D’HEURS.—REVIGNY, THE “LINING” OF THE FRONT Each, on comparing notes, was found to have spent the night on the outside of the bed. One of the party, who naturally wishes to remain anonymous, found a _cafard_, the classic cockroach, in her ear toward dawn, and Aurora was welcomed by no hymn of praise from her. Now we are sitting drinking lemonade on the pavement in front of the abode of iniquity. We have been twice through the hot town, which consists of a modern town around the station, and a picturesque old one on a hill at the back, to find the proper authorities for the stamping of our papers with the military _permis_ to go to the château of Jean d’Heurs, belonging to Madame Achille Fould, for luncheon. We caught the major by a hair’s breadth; he was disappearing around the corner by the military _commandature_ on his bicycle. Then to the _préfecture_ for permission to telephone to Châlons for rooms that night; on returning, found Miss M. and Miss N. awaiting us. They have been working at the “Foyer des Alliés” near the station. They want now to get a much-needed canteen in shape at Châlons, and are asking us to help. The word from the colonel of Verdun is an “open sesame,” and we will investigate _en route_ to Paris. CHÂLONS-SUR-MARNE, _10 o’clock p.m._ It’s been as long as to Tipperary since the scrawl at Bar-le-Duc.