To-day the beach was abandoned, and seemed to stretch away, gray and monotonous, to the end of the world. Odette seated herself under the shelter of the dune and uttered the beloved name of Jean. The raging wind carried it, like a flake of foam, toward that distant Havre where a number of transports were lying in the roadstead. The coachman who brought her from the train had pointed them out to her: they had brought over British troops; an average of fifty to fifty-five vessels was arriving every day. The war! Here, too, here again, when she had hardly left the train, she had been reminded of it. Nevertheless, the hours passed and no one spoke of it, to her at least. The monotonous sound of the sea soothed her, and the sea, notwithstanding the troop-ships over there, seemed like something grand, entirely foreign to all the human butchery. Odette rested her eyes on the limitless plain, ever restless and sad. But this sadness was allied to her own, and at the same time something immense, majestic, and superhuman seemed to enter the depths of her still rudimentary consciousness of the dawn of a new time. She would have remained there for hours if the approach of evening had not rendered intolerable the sense of despair suggested by the scene, and if the rain had not begun to fall in torrents. Odette took one of the paths leading back to the town. Hardly had she reached it when she was surprised to see through the driving wind and rain that buffeted her, many illuminated buildings where she had expected only the shadows of a sleeping city. That was the Casino, which she had lately seen shut up by boards! And that was the Grand Hotel, all twinkling with light! She had to round the corner of the latter to reach her cottage, and by degrees as she approached it she saw a swarm of human beings, became aware of a commotion in the vast building which had seemed so funereal. Men with bandaged heads, with arms in slings, men walking on crutches; and the white head-dresses and red crosses of nurses; it was a hospital. The wind brought its odors to her--the smell of tincture of iodine, of cooking and an indescribable unsavoriness.