"I told you women were the very devil under fire," murmured the General. "No sense of fear like men." "And why not I?" Henriette, too, was going. But the General stopped the way. "No, young woman," he said. "I'm looking after you and if I had been your mother----" "You'd have spanked me!" put in Henriette, making a charming grimace and dropping back into her seat against the wine bin. "Helen will be the death of Cousin Phil yet," she added. "She's in an awful state of nerves." "Seems perfectly normal," remarked the General. "I've always liked Helen," he added tartly. When Helen and Phil came out into the village street not a soul was in sight. The little community of peasants' houses with its old church was as dead as Pompeii. They went into Mère Perigord's living-room and looked into the bedroom without finding her. When Helen called down into the cellar a quavering voice answered: "Of course, you goose, and do you go right back to your own cellar or come down here. What do you think we are--fools? Why, one goes to a cellar as naturally as one puts up an umbrella in a rain!" The shelling had stopped when Helen and Phil reached the street again. Soon faces began to appear in the doorways and the village came to life. "It reminds me of prairie dogs ducking for their burrows," said Phil. "I ought to explain that----" "Oh, I know what prairie dogs are," replied Helen. "But, seriously, there is a question I want to ask." She was smiling faintly, but her eyes had a defiant spark. "Are you going to follow me wherever I go?" "Yes, if you are in danger." "Is that fair?" she demanded. "It's cousinly," he replied. "But what if Henriette and I go in different directions?" she continued methodically. "In that case, I see that you prefer that I go with Henriette. I--I think you know better how to take care of yourself." She flushed and looked down. It had not occurred to her whither the questions were leading. "Yes, of course," she said. "Then I shall follow her, unless she remains in the cellar. In that case I'll follow you." "Very well," she assented, with a shrug; and looking up again: "I'm ashamed of myself for fainting this afternoon. It was the sight of blood. I haven't thought of that. It makes me afraid, and war means that, and I had wanted to see war."