Sacha's eyes dropped. "In my country," he suggested gently, "when we see a woman which we need, we take her." The other smiled. The two had been through much together. "And if she chances to belong to some one else?" "Then"--with an eloquent thrust of the hand--"we kill!" But seeing that the hint was unlikely to bear fruit, he added dispiritedly, "Excellency is not, however, a peasant. Sometimes to be a peasant is good." CHAPTER LI The storm which burst in August, 1914, had the effect of blotting out smaller storms into nothingness. It brought in its wake different things to different natures: to some apprehension, sheer personal terror, to others the quickening sense of high adventure, to others yet sick disillusionment with a world that was still capable of such gigantic folly. To Joan, in the dead blankness that followed the departure of her friend, the great war seemed strangely like a godsend. It was as if she had cried in desperation to Providence. "What next?" and Providence had answered, "This!" Perhaps she was not the only woman to whom the sudden extraneous demand for all that was in her came as a godsend. She flung herself head, hand, and heart, into the organization of relief work. As the Germans pursued their incredible way through Belgium, it seemed to her that every frantic mother, every maimed child, every desperate father, the very roofless houses and ruined orchards, cried aloud upon her, Joan Blair, for help. She could not understand why others did not seem to hear the cry, how those about her could pursue the usual course of life unheeding--Joan was one of the first Americans to declare war upon Germany. But those about her heard better than she realized. Gradually as the change came, it came. Hers was not the only blood in the old border State to thrill to the call of drums. And as in the earlier days, while the men got down their firearms to clean them, the women rolled up their sleeves and settled down to work. Under the impetus of Joan and others like her, Bridge quickly gave way to bandage-making, the click of unaccustomed needles drowned the chatter of clubrooms and tea-table, and the Jabberwocks in a body abandoned the pursuit of culture for a course in hospital assistance. "So that we shall be ready by the time our own boys need us," explained Joan. "But, Mrs. Blair, you ought to curb those firebrand sentiments of yours!" protested Judge Carmichael to her after one of her public utterances. "It is enjoined upon us Americans to be strictly neutral." "Neutral?" cried the daughter of Richard Darcy. "Neutral? Have you ever seen a pit-terrier jump on a respectable little poodle-dog out in the front yard protecting his household--and were you able to remain _neutral_? I know my country better than that!" In keeping up with Joan's new activities, the town quite forgot to look at her askance.