Madame, of the cash-desk, sat in the dining-room, for company's sake, fixing up accounts as though the last day of reckoning had come...as it had. Her hair, with its little curls, was still in perfect order. She had two dabs of color on her cheeks, as usual, but underneath a waxen pallor. She was working out accounts with a young officer, who smoked innumerable cigarettes to steady his nerves. “Von Tirpitz” was going round in an absent-minded way, pulling at his long whiskers. The war correspondents talked together. We spoke gloomily, in low voices, so that the waiters should not hear. “If they break through to Abbeville we shall lose the coast.” “Will that be a win for the Germans, even then?” “It will make it hell in the Channel.” “We shall transfer our base to St.-Nazaire.” “France won't give in now, whatever happens. And England never gives in.” “We're exhausted, all the same. It's a question of man-power.” “They're bound to take Albert to-night or to-morrow.” “I don't see that at all. There's still a line...” “A line! A handful of tired men.” “It will be the devil if they get into Villers-Bretonneux to-night. It commands Amiens. They could blow the place off the map.” “They won't.” “We keep on saying, 'They won't.' We said, 'They won't get the Somme crossings!' but they did. Let's face it squarely, without any damned false optimism. That has been our curse all through.” “Better than your damned pessimism.” “It's quite possible that they will be in this city tonight. What is to keep them back? There's nothing up the road.” “It would look silly if we were all captured to-night. How they would laugh!” “We shouldn't laugh, though. I think we ought to keep an eye on things.” “How are we to know? We are utterly without means of communication. Anything may happen in the night.” Something happened then. It was half past seven in the evening. There were two enormous crashes outside the windows of the Hotel du Rhin. All the windows shook and the whole house seemed to rock. There was a noise of rending wood, many falls of bricks, and a cascade of falling glass. Instinctively and instantly a number of officers threw themselves on the floor to escape flying bits of steel and glass splinters blown sideways. Then some one laughed. “Not this time!” The officers rose from the floor and took their places at the table, and lit cigarettes again. But they were listening. We listened to the loud hum of airplanes, the well known “zooz-zooz” of the Gothas' double fuselage. More bombs were dropped farther into the town, with the same sound of explosives and falling masonry. The anti--aircraft guns got to work and there was the shrill chorus of shrapnel shells winging over the roofs. “Bang!... Crash!” That was nearer again. Some of the officers strolled out of the dining room. “They're making a mess outside. Perhaps we'd better get away before it gets too hot.”