At noon the next day the Colonel told us that arrangements had been made for us to return to Paris at three o'clock and in our own automobile; inasmuch as his soldiers did not like it, it was to be turned over to the authorities in Paris. He asked us what had become of our French chauffeur. We insisted that no one could know less about this than we; and a detail of soldiers was sent out to rake the town for him. After the midday meal we noticed that the guard at the gate had been withdrawn, so we suggested that perhaps we could pass our "dead line" and look out at the world. As we reached the gate four men in civilian dress accompanied by a soldier entered. The soldiers in the cow yard and ourselves burst into a mighty laugh. "More American correspondents," was the shout that greeted the newcomers. Two of them were special correspondents for American and English papers, one was a "famous war correspondent," the fourth was an amateur journalist whose claim to war corresponding lay in his former experience as an officer in the New York militia. Also he was the relative of a wealthy politician. No credentials were found on the person of any one of the quartet; but they were making a great fuss about the "injustice" that was being done them. Our Colonel, to whom they addressed their remarks, became bored. He left them still talking and came over to us. "They go to Paris at the same time as you," he announced. "They are fortunate. I should have liked to entertain them for a few days." He shrugged his shoulders and grinned sardonically. He then asked us for our cards. He shook our hands. The monocle dropped from his eye and he let it dangle on the silken cord. "I shall call on you in Paris when the war is over," he said, "er-er, that is--if I am still here." He hastily jammed the monocle back into its proper position. The automobiles for the party were now in the yard, and a captain who was to conduct them told us to take our places. As we drove out our Colonel was standing beside the gate. He was twirling his mustache. As we passed, his free hand came to a friendly salute. CHAPTER X THE CHERCHE MIDI In the automobile which brought us back to Paris, we were guarded by a phenomenon of nature--a taciturn French soldier. His rifle dangled handily across his knee; he gazed at the passing scenery and was dumb to all questions. He was even downright mean; for when a tire blew up, causing half an hour's delay, he would not allow us to stretch our cramped legs in the road. He would not even let us talk English among ourselves. Once when some one was relating a tale of German atrocity he had heard, our guard scowled blackly at us, lifting his rifle from his knee; and I whispered hastily: "Quiet, or we may become atrocities ourselves!"