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her； if we didn't want to？ Not all the king's horses and all the King's men。 No； my dears； it's we make the wars。 You and me； my dears。〃
There came a day in early spring。 All night long the guns had never ceased。 It sounded like the tireless barking of ten thousand giant dogs。 Behind the hills； the whole horizon； like a fiery circle； was ringed with flashing light。 Shapeless forms； bent beneath burdens； passed in endless procession through the village。 Masses of rushing men swept like shadowy phantoms through the fitfully…illumined darkness。 Beneath that everlasting barking； Joan would hear； now the piercing wail of a child； now a clap of thunder that for the moment would drown all other sounds； followed by a faint； low； rumbling crash； like the shooting of coals into a cellar。 The wounded on their beds lay with wide…open； terrified eyes； moving feverishly from side to side。
At dawn the order came that the hospital was to be evacuated。 The ambulances were already waiting in the street。 Joan flew up the ladder to her loft； the other side of the yard。 Madame Lelanne was already there。 She had thrown a few things into a bundle； and her foot was again upon the ladder； when it seemed to her that someone struck her； hurling her back upon the floor； and the house the other side of the yard rose up into the air； and then fell quite slowly； and a cloud of dust hid it from her sight。
Madame Lelanne must have carried her down the ladder。 She was standing in the yard； and the dust was choking her。 Across the street； beyond the ruins of the hospital； swarms of men were running about like ants when their nest has been disturbed。 Some were running this way； and some that。 And then they would turn and run back again； making dancing movements round one another and jostling one another。 The guns had ceased； and instead； it sounded as if all the babies in the world were playing with their rattles。 Suddenly Madame Lelanne reappeared out of the dust； and seizing Joan； dragged her through a dark opening and down a flight of steps； and then left her。 She was in a great vaulted cellar。 A faint light crept in through a grated window at the other end。 There was a long table against the wall； and in front of it a bench。 She staggered to it and sat down； leaning against the damp wall。 The place was very silent。 Suddenly she began to laugh。 She tried to stop herself； but couldn't。 And then she heard footsteps descending； and her memory came back to her with a rush。 They were German footsteps； she felt sure by the sound： they were so slow and heavy。 They should not find her in hysterics； anyhow。 She fixed her teeth into the wooden table in front of her and held on to it with clenched hands。 She had recovered herself before the footsteps had finished their descent。 With a relief that made it difficult for her not to begin laughing again； she found it was Madame Lelanne and Monsieur Dubos。 They were carrying something between them。 She hardly recognized Dubos at first。 His beard was gone； and a line of flaming scars had taken its place。 They laid their burden on the table。 It was one of the wounded men from the hut。 They told her they were bringing down two more。 The hut itself had not been hit； but the roof had been torn off by the force of the explosion； and the others had been killed by the falling beams。 Joan wanted to return with them； but Madame Lelanne had assumed an air of authority； and told her she would be more useful where she was。 From the top of the steps they threw down bundles of straw； on which they laid the wounded men； and Joan tended them； while Madame Lelanne and the little chemist went up and down continuously。 Before evening the place； considering all things； was fairly habitable。 Madame Lelanne brought down the great stove from the hut； and breaking a pane of glass in the barred window； they fixed it up with its chimney and lighted it。 From time to time the turmoil above them would break out again： the rattling； and sometimes a dull rumbling as of rushing water。 But only a faint murmur of it penetrated into the cellar。 Towards night it became quiet again。
How long Joan remained there she was never quite sure。 There was little difference between day and night。 After it had been quiet for an hour or so； Madame Lelanne would go out； to return a little later with a wounded man upon her back； and when one died； she would throw him across her shoulder and disappear again up the steps。 Sometimes it was a Frenchman and sometimes a German she brought in。 One gathered that the fight for the village still continued。 There was but little they could do for them beyond dressing their wounds and easing their pain。 Joan and the little chemist took it in turns to relieve one another。 If Madame Lelanne ever slept； it was when she would sit in the shadow behind the stove； her hands upon her knees。 Dubos had been in the house when it had fallen。 Madame Lelanne had discovered him pinned against a wall underneath a great oak beam that had withstood the falling debris。 His beard had been burnt off； but otherwise he had been unharmed。
She seemed to be living in a dream。 She could not shake from her the feeling that it was not bodies but souls that she was tending。 The men themselves gave colour to this fancy of hers。 Stripped of their poor； stained； tattered uniforms； they were neither French nor Germans。 Friend or foe！ it was already but a memory。 Often； awakening out of a sleep； they would look across at one another and smile as to a comrade。 A great peace seemed to have entered there。 Faint murmurs as from some distant troubled world would steal at times into the silence。 It brought a pang of pity； but it did not drive away the quiet that dwelt there。
Once； someone who must have known the place and had descended the steps softly； sat there among them and talked with them。 Joan could not remember seeing him enter。 Perhaps unknowing； she had fallen to sleep for a few minutes。 Madame Lelanne was seated by the stove； her great coarse hands upon her knees； her patient； dull； slow…moving eyes fixed upon the speaker's face。 Dubos was half standing； half resting against the table； his arms folded upon his breast。 The wounded men had raised themselves upon the straw and were listening。 Some leant upon their elbows； some sat with their hands clasped round their knees； and one； with head bent down； remained with his face hidden in his hands。
The speaker sat a little way apart。 The light from the oil lamp； suspended from the ceiling； fell upon his face。 He wore a peasant's blouse。 It seemed to her a face she knew。 Possibly she had passed him in the village street and had looked at him without remembering。 It was his eyes that for long years afterwards still haunted her。 She did not notice at the time what language he was speaking。 But there were none who did not understand him。
〃You think of God as of a great King；〃 he said； 〃a Ruler who orders all things： who could change all things in the twinkling of an eye。 You see the cruelty and the wrong around you。 And you say to yourselves： 'He has ordered it。 If He would； He could have willed it differently。' So that in your hearts you are angry with Him。 How could it be otherwise？ What father； loving his children； would see them suffer wrong； when by stretching out a hand he could protect them： turn their tears to gladness？ What father would see his children doing evil to one another and not check them： would see them following ways leading to their destruction； and not pluck them back？ If God has ordered all things； why has He created evil； making His creatures weak and sinful？ Does a father lay snares for his children： leading them into temptation： delivering them unto evil？〃
〃There is no God； apart from Man。〃
〃God is a spirit。 His dwelling…place is in man's heart。 We are His fellow…labourers。 It is through man that He shall one day rule the world。〃
〃God is knocking at your heart； but you will not open to Him。 You have filled your hearts with love of self。 There is no room for Him to enter in。〃
〃God whispers to you： 'Be pitiful。 Be merciful。 Be just。' But you answer Him： 'If I am pitiful； I lose my time and money。 If I am merciful； I forego advantage to myself。 If I am just； I lessen my own profit； and another passes me in the race。'〃
〃And yet in your inmost thoughts you know that you are wrong： that love of self brings you no peace。 Who is happier than the lover； thinking only how to serve？ Who is the more joyous： he who sits alone at the table； or he who shares his meal with a friend？ It is more blessed to give than to receive。 How can you doubt it？ For what do you toil and strive but that you may give to your children； to your loved ones； reaping the harvest of their good？〃
〃Who among you is the more honoured？ The miser or the giver： he who heaps up riches for himself or he who labours for others？〃
〃Who is the true soldier？ He who has put away self。 His own ease and comfort； even his own needs； his own safety： they are but as a feather in the balance when weighed against his love for his comrades； for his country。 The true soldier is not afraid to love。 He gives his life for his