The ammunition train was in the village now.It kept the center of the road, lest it should slide into the mud on either side and be mired.The men moved out of its way into the ditch, grumbling.
Henri went whistling softly down the road.
The first shell fell in the neglected square.The second struck the rear wagons of the ammunition train Henri heard the terrific explosion that followed, and turning ran madly back into the village.More shells fell into the road.The men scattered like partridges, running for the fields, but the drivers of the ammunition wagons beat their horses and came lurching and shouting down the road.
There was cold terror in Henri's heart.He ran madly, throwing aside his cape as he went.More shells fell ahead in the street.Once in the darkness he fell flat over the body of a horse.There was a steady groaning from the ditch near by.But he got up and ran on, a strange figure with his flying hair and his German uniform.
He was all but stabbed by Rene when he entered the little house."Mademoiselle?" Henri gasped, holding Rene's bayonet away from his heaving chest.
"I am here," said Sara Lee's voice from the little salle a manger."Let them carry in the wounded.I am getting ready hot water and bandages.There is not much space, for the corner of room has been shot away,"She was as dead white in the candlelight, but very calm.Yon cannot stay here," Henri panted."At any time -" Another shell fell, followed by the rumble of falling walls.
Some one must stay," said Sara Lee."There must be wounded in the streets.Marie is in the cellar."Henri pleaded passionately with her to go to the cellar,but she refused.He would have gathered her up in his arms and carried her rhere, but Jean came in, leading a wounded man, and Henri gave up in despair.
All that night they worked, a ghastly business.More than one man died that night in the little house, while a blond young man in a German uniform gave him last mouthful of water or took down those pittifully vague addresses which were all the dying Belgians had to give.
I have not heard - last at Aersehot, hut now - God knows where."No more shells fell, At dawn, with all done that could be done.Sara Lee fainted quietly in the hallway.Henri carrried her in and placed her on her bed.A corner of theroom was indeed gone.The mantel was shattered and the little stove.But on the floor lay Harvey's photograph uninjured.Henri lifted it and looked at it.Then he placed it on the table, and very reverentiv he kissed the palm of Sara Lee's quiet hand.
Daylight found the street pitiful indeed, Henri, whose costume Rene had been casting wondering glances all night, sent a request for men from the trenches to clear away the bodies of the horses and bury them, andsomewhat later over a single grave in the fields there was a simple ceremony of burial for the men who had fallen.Henri had changed again by that time, but he sternly forbade Sara Lee to attend.
"On pain," he said, "of no more supplies, mademoiselle.These things must be.They are war.But you can do nothing to help, and it will be very sad."Ambulances took away the wounded at dawn, and the little house became quiet once more.With planks Rene repaired the damage to the corner, and triumphantly produced and set up another stove.He even put up a mantelshelf, and on it, smiling somewhat, he placed Harvey's picture.
Sara Lee saw it there, and a tiny seed of resentment took root and grew.
"If there had been no one here last night," she said to the photograph, "many more would have died.How can you say I am cruel to you? Isn't this worth the doing?"But Harvey remained impassive, detached, his eyes on the photographer's white muslin screen.And the angle of his jaw was set and dogged.
