Fitzgerald fumbled in his pocket, brought out a newspaper and looked at it. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, for his eye, scanning the printed columns of an advertisement page, turned from time to time and rested on the face of Sergeant Snogger. "I think it's safe now," said Fitzgerald, when five minutes had passed. "Old Snogger is snoring." The sergeant was indeed asleep, but had not lost his military pose. He might have been frozen stiff while standing to attention on the parade ground and carried from there into the barn and placed down just as he had been standing. Bowdy was fighting Germans in his dreams. Bubb's cigarette had fallen on his clothes and the smell of burning pervaded the barn. Fitzgerald got to his feet, dropped the newspaper, lifted the fag-end from Bubb's overcoat and turned out the lamp. Then, stepping across the sleepers, he made his way cautiously to the door and descended the steps leading to the farmyard. The night was very quiet; and very dark. The lights were out in the farmhouse; no doubt the occupants were all in bed. "What am I doing out here?" Fitz asked himself. "I'm drunk, that's why." He stood still and he could feel his heart beating. Something was moving in the midden and grunting. "It's a pig, I suppose," said the Irishman. "They're all over the place." Then he thought of the dog that had bit Bubb. "Will it bite me?" he questioned and moved hurriedly across the farmyard towards the gable end of the building. He stood there for a second to draw breath, then he went round to the back of the house. All were not yet in bed, a light burned behind a small four-paned window and the shadow of a girl showed on the blind. Standing a little distance from the window, Fitzgerald stared at the shadow, watching its movements. For a moment he had a view of a face in profile, then of a head bent down and an arm stretching out as if pulling a needle from a piece of cloth. The girl no doubt was mending some clothes. "That's Fifi," said Fitzgerald in a whisper. His voice was husky and a lump rose in his throat. "She's very graceful bending over her work.... Damn it! I'm in love with her.... If not that, I have a great respect for her ever since I saw her for the first time.... I suppose I have been a gay Don Juan, but Fifi.... Well, I've never felt like this before.... Probably I'm drunk and to-morrow.... But all to-day and yesterday I felt the same.... I don't think I am drunk for I put the bandage on with a firm hand.... If she would open the window and look out only for a moment.... I want to see her; I must see her.... Suppose she spoke to me and then told Snogger in the morning, told him that I was hanging about her bedroom window all night, what would he say?... Oh! damn Snogger, he's a fool.... I'll tap on the pane, anyway." Fitzgerald went up to the window, pressed his hand softly against the pane, but drew it quickly away.