Yes, she was making it hard. But she must make it still harder. He had come back to her because she was alone, moved temporarily by a feeling of sentimental responsibility. That was all. He was sincere enough for the moment, but she must not confuse this with any deeper passion. He had made a mistake in returning to the Normandie. Doubtless he had felt lonesome there. It was only natural that he should exaggerate that, for the time being, into something more. Then Peter's two letters had come. If Peter had not told him anything that he should n't, he had probably told him a great deal more than he should. Monte, big-hearted and good, had, as a consequence of all these things, imagined himself in love. This delusion might last a week or two; and then, when he came to himself again, the rude awakening would follow. He would see her then merely as a trifler. Worse than that, he might see himself as merely a trifler. That would be deadly. "It's you who are making it hard now," he repeated. She had succeeded in freeing herself, leaving him before her as amazed and hurt as a spurned child. "You're forcing me to run away from you--to run away as I did from the others," she said. He staggered before the blow. "Not that!" he cried hoarsely. "I'm going home," she ran on. "I'm going back to my little farm, where I started." "You're running away--from me?" "I must go right off." She looked around as if for Marie. It was as if she were about to start that second. "Where is Marie?" she asked dully. She made for the door. "Marjory," he called after her. "Don't do that!" "I must go--right off," she said again. "Wife o' mine," he cried, "there is no need of that." "Marie!" she called as she reached the door. "Marie!" Frantically she ran up the stairs. CHAPTER XXVII WAR War! A summer sky, warm and fragrant, suddenly became dour and overcast. Within a day thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Men glanced up in startled surprise, then clenched their jaws. Women who were laughing gayly turned suddenly white. Orders were speeded over the wires and through the clouds to the remotest hamlets of France. In a few hours men began to gather in uniform, bearing rifles. They posted themselves about the gates of stations. They increased in numbers until they were everywhere. Trumpets sounded, drums rolled. Excited groups gathered in the hotels and rushed off to the consulates. The very air was tense and vibrant. War! People massed in groups. The individual no longer counted. Storekeepers, bankers, dandies, chauffeurs, postmen, gardeners, hotel proprietors became merely Frenchmen. They dropped the clothes that distinguished their caste, and became merely men in uniform.