We turned our backs on the _sage-femme_, doubtless naturally good, but soured by the constant witnessing of the arrival on the scene of apparently superfluous human beings (I say “apparently,” for who shall decide which souls are precious?), and followed those neatly clad, small feet and slim ankles up a winding stairway that might have been of any epoch—except the nineteenth or twentieth century, and found ourselves in a charming little interior, spotlessly clean. “_C’est à votre disposition_,” she said, and then a servant appeared, a refugee from Tahure, as we afterward learned, a garrulous refugee. I beat my breast later on when I heard the loud bassoon, telling Mrs. C. P. that I even hated refugees and that that one would have, if possible, to contain her tale till I had had a night’s sleep. At the moment I hated her with all the unreasoning hatred of the beneficiary for the benefactor. Well, to make a long story short, closets were opened, the freshest of embroidered linen sheets, the largest of towels, were got out, and were left to us in the handsomest of ways _with_ the refugee, the owner departing to her country house. The refugee managed to get in part of the story of her life and she brought hot water; she was from Tahure and left on the run with an aged husband, just before the entry of the enemy. Then we looked about the pleasant room. The first object I espied was a pair of manly brown kid gloves, the next a blue gas-mask bag, and a cigarette-case, with a crest, lying near a volume of Alfred de Vigny. (Can’t you see them reading it together?) And there was such a comfortable _chaise-longue_ for him to rest on, and an expensive, very “comfy” rug and many cushions. As the refugee from Tahure proceeded to make up the bed and sofa she interspersed the story of _her_ life with remarks concerning her mistress, like: “_Allez, elles ne sont pas toutes comme cela, elle a un cœur d’or_”; “_Moi, qui vous le dis, elle n’a pas une mauvaise pensée_.” At this juncture we delicately asked, But where does she _live_? “Oh, he has given her a little château in the environs.” This was a convenient town apartment with the one big room giving on the Place de la République; at the back a dining-room and little kitchen. Having removed the dust of travel, hot water being produced in a jiffy from the gas-stove on the kitchen range, we descended to take dinner at one of the restaurants near by. We were so tired about this time that the decalogue wasn’t much to us, neither the Law nor the Prophets, but be it remembered of us, we _did_ love our neighbor as ourselves.