"Ah, the Commandant is back," said Hilda. The women brightened up. The door opened and their good friend, Commandant Jost, entered. He was a man tall and slender and closely-knit, with a rich vein of sentiment, like all good soldiers. He was perhaps fifty-two or three years of age. His eyebrows slanted down and his moustache slanted up. His eyes were level and keen in their beam of light, and they puckered into genial lines when he smiled. His nose was bent in just at the bridge, where a bullet once ploughed past. This mishap had turned up the end of a large and formerly straight feature. It was good to have him back again after his fortnight away. The evening broke pleasantly with talk of common friends in the trenches. There came a ring at the door. A knob at the outer door pulled a string that ran to their room and released a tiny tinkle. Victor, the orderly, answered the ring. He had a message for the Commandant. Jost held it high up to read it by the lamp. Hilda brought a lighted candle, and placed it on the table. He sat down, wrote his answer, and gave it to the waiting soldier. He returned, closed the door, and looked straight into the face of each of his friends. "You have to go?" asked Hilda. "We expect an attack," he answered. It was then 9:30. "What time?" asked Hilda. "The Dixmude and Ramskappele attacks were just before dawn. When the mists begin to rise, and the enemy can see even dimly, then they attack. I think they will attack to-night, just so." "How does that concern you?" asked Hilda. "What do you have to do?" "I have just asked my Colonel that I take thirty of my men and guard the section in front of the railroad tracks. That is where they will come through." "What is the situation in the trenches, to-night?" asked Hilda. "We have only a handful. Not more than fifty men." "Not more than fifty!" cried Mrs. Bracher. "How many mitrailleuse have you at the railroad?" "Six, two in the second story of the house, and four in the station opposite." "Six ought to be enough to rake the road." "Yes, but they won't come down the road," explained Jost; "they will come across the flooded field on rafts, with machine guns on the rafts. They can come down on both sides of the trench, and rake the trench. What can fifty men do against four or five machine guns? They will have to run like hares, or else be shot down to a man. They can rake the trenches for two miles on each side." "What will happen if the Germans get on top of the trenches?" asked Mrs. Bracher. "The very first thing they will do--they will place a gun on top of the trench, and rake this whole town. They can rake the road that leads to Furnes. It would cut off your retreat to Furnes." That meant the only escape for the women would be through the back-yard, and over fields knee-deep in mud, where dead horses lie loosely buried in hummock graves. "What do you think we had better do?" asked Hilda. "To leave now seems like shirking our job."