Would Polly indeed be willing to wait? Did she care enough? She was very young; hardly more than a child in age. If he were to be years away from her, the two never meeting, letters seldom passing between them, could he expect--would it even be fair and reasonable to expect--that he should remain enshrined in her heart, as surely as she would remain enshrined in his? Polly had known him intimately but a few weeks, though their acquaintance extended farther back; and impressions made upon the mind and imagination at seventeen are not always deep or lasting. Moreover, Polly was exceedingly pretty, quite unusually charming. Other men would wish to marry her. Could he expect such constancy on her part, as to wait through long years for her absent lover, refusing every other chance that might present itself? What would her grandmother think and say? Polly, with all her charms, was a portionless maiden. The whole question rolled itself out before Denham's mental gaze, as they drove along the chief street of the place, exciting less attention than commonly on such occasions. With his bodily eyes he saw little, yet in a manner he was aware that a considerable stir prevailed, and he heard, almost without hearing, Roy's rapid questions. "I don't in the least know," he replied mechanically, as they came to a halt before the inn. "Den, look! What a lot of people outside the _maison de ville_! What's it all about? And don't some of them look miserable? What are they after?" "I have not the slightest idea. Something seems to be wrong. Easy to find out." The mystery was soon explained. This happened to be a day appointed for drawing for the conscription; and around the door of the little town hall opposite were gathered the near relatives of the young fellows who were eligible. There was no mistaking the dread written upon their faces. One woman in particular drew notice. She was bent and old in appearance, with grey hair, though very likely not beyond middle age; and she wore a short, very full skirt, with a long-waisted bodice, and big brass buckles on her shoes. From under the wide-brimmed hat her face waited with a consuming eagerness for news, the lips working, the eyes staring. "I wonder if she's got a son. I hope, if she has, he won't be taken," exclaimed Roy. "What are they doing inside?" "Drawing lots, to see who must go to the wars. All the young men in the neighbourhood, of a certain age, have been called together, probably; and then those who are passed by surgeons as whole and healthy are made to draw lots. Some will escape, and some will have to go." "O look--they are coming out. And something is being said--what is it?" "Hush--the names of those who are drawn." All listened intently; and the elderly woman, clasping her worn hands, leant forward, with a face of concentrated suspense. "Jean Paulet----" sounded clearly. A bitter wailing cry burst from her, drowning what followed.