"No. What kind of a sister did you think I was, you brave, foolish Helen? Did you think I would go to Paris and leave you here?" She had slipped her arm around Helen's waist with a rallying burst of affection, which concluded with a kiss and a nestling of her cheek against Helen's as she looked at Phil. The two faces were close together, Henriette smiling devotedly and Helen quite still in contrast; the one at her best and the other at her worst. Then Helen looked around at her sister studiously and back at Phil. "I'm glad you both came," she said. "I--is there another train to Paris?" she asked abruptly. "No, that was the last," Phil answered. "So we are here together, come what will," she said slowly, with an odd emphasis. "I just came back for my drawing things. The French are retreating along the road and the German shells are coming nearer. I can't afford to waste a minute." She took up her drawing materials from the table. As she turned to leave the room, something in her attitude made Phil arrest her. "You are not going into danger?" "No, not in the least; to sketch is all," she replied. "I think that my part is to keep watch of you," he said. "May I go with you?" "And I want to see, too!" Henriette put in. "Come on, then. If you are going to look after us both we must not be separated," said Helen. She walked ahead, however, leaving them to follow. From the terrace they cut across the fields behind the battery. Its commander was too busy to pay any attention to them and the rider with the caissons galloping over the field with more shells, careening and slewing as the knowing hands guided the horses, did not give even passing notice to the young man and two young women. Helen dropped on the ground with her back to a shock of wheat and began to sketch the battery. She was in action no less than the gunners of the _soixante-quinze_, whom she made live in lines drawn by her swift fingers on white paper. Phil, unable to tell what was the gunners' target or which if any of the white balls of smoke in the distance were made by the screaming messengers they sent, looked around at her and it seemed quite in keeping that she should be present, her shoulders drawn in, her lips moving, as she sketched, with Phil and Henriette in the role of spectators. "Now for the road!" she said, rising. There, mistily through the dust, blue coats and red trousers showed in a moving stream to the rear between intervals of transport. The guns had had something of the splendour of war, but not these weary men leaving the soil of France behind to the enemy, beards from four weeks' campaigning white and brown with dust, eyes sunken, feet hobbling and sore, plodding on to the rear.