The woman continued to smile sadly. "More than likely you've got somebody in it too," persisted the stout Auvergnate, whose voice suddenly became very gentle and trembled a trifle. "I _had_ three sons. We have just buried the last one this morning." All the faces dropped and a ghastly silence fell upon the group. Each one looked straight into the distance ahead of him, but the bond of sympathy was drawn still tighter, and in the moment of stillness that ensued I felt that all of us were communing with Sorrow. Between Folligny and Lamballe, we were quite as closely huddled between three soldiers on furlough, a stout old priest, a travelling salesman, and a short gentleman with a pointed beard, a pair of eyeglasses and an upturned nose. At one moment our train halted and waited an incredible length of time vainly whistling for the tower-man to lift the signal which impeded our progress. The travelling salesman who was cross and weary finally left his seat, grumbling audibly. "We'll never in the world get there on time. It's certain I shall miss my connection! What a rotten road! What management!" "It's the war," murmered the priest pulling out a red checked handkerchief in which he buried his nose. "You don't have to look far to see that," responded the other, still grumbling. "Oh, it's plain enough for us all right. Those who are handling government jobs are the only fellows who don't know it, I should say." "Bah! each of us has his troubles--each of us has his Cross to bear," murmured the Father by way of conciliation, casting his eyes around the compartment, much as he would have done upon the faithful assembled to hear him hold forth. "Pooh! it's you priests who are the cause of all the trouble. It was you who preached and got the three year service law voted." The poor Curate was fairly suffocated with surprise and indignation. He was so ruffled he could hardly find a word. In the meantime the travelling salesman taking advantage of his silence, continued: "Yes, it was you and the financiers, and it's nothing to brag about either!" The man with the upturned nose now wheeled about sharply. His blood was up and he strangely resembled a little bantam cockerel. "Monsieur," he snapped, and his voice was clear and cutting, "if any one had a right to express a complaint on any subject whatsoever, it would certainly be the soldiers who are seated in this compartment. Now as they have said nothing, I cannot admit that you, a civilian, should take such liberties." "But, Monsieur----" "Yes, Monsieur, that's exactly what I mean, and as to the sentiments to which you have given voice they are as stupid as they are odious. We all know now that war was inevitable. The Germans have been preparing it for forty years." "Monsieur!" "Monsieur!"