Sylvia asked how old she was now, and when she heard that she was only twenty-four she decided that illness must be the cause of that shriveled rosy skin that made her look like an old maid of fifty. They talked for a while of their illness and compared notes, but it seemed that Miss Savage must have had a mild attack, for she had been brought into the hospital some time after Sylvia and had already been up a week. "I'm going to ask the Sister in charge to let me sleep in the bed next to yours," said Miss Savage. "After all, we're the only two English girls here." Sylvia did not feel at all sure that she liked this plan, but she did not want to hurt her companion's feelings and agreed without enthusiasm. Presently she asked if the other two women spoke English, and Miss Savage told her that one was a German-Swiss, the wife of a pastry-cook called Benzer, and that the other was a Swedish masseuse; she did not think that either of them spoke English, but added in a low voice that they were both very common. "Interesting?" "No, common, awfully common," Miss Savage insisted. Sylvia made a gesture of impatience: her countrywomen always summed up humanity with such complacent facility. At this moment a little girl of about thirteen, habited like the rest in a gray shawl, came tripping down the ward, clapping her hands with glee. "How lovely war is!" she cried in French. "I am longing to be out of hospital. I've been in the other ward, and through the window I saw thousands and thousands of soldiers marching past. _Maman_ cried yesterday when I asked her why _papa_ hated soldiers. He hates them. Whenever he sees them marching past he shakes his fist and spits. But I love them." This child had endeared herself to the invalids of the hospital; she was a token of returning health, the boon of which she seemed to pledge to every one in the company. Even the grim Swedish masseuse smiled and spoke gently to her in barbaric French. Moreover, here in this quiet hospital the war had not yet penetrated; it was like a far-distant thunder-storm which had driven a number of people who were out of doors to take shelter at home; as Miss Savage said to Sylvia: "I expect everybody got excited and afraid; yet it all seems very quiet, really, and I shall stay here with my family. There's no point in _making_ oneself uncomfortable."