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was preached as a religion。 They called it patriotism。 Sooner or later the spark fell。
A wizened little man had been listening to it all one day。 He had a curiously rat…like face； with round； red； twinkling eyes； and a long； pointed nose that twitched as he talked。
〃I'll tell you who makes all the wars；〃 he said。 〃It's you and me； my dears： we make the wars。 We love them。 That's why we open our mouths and swallow all the twaddle that the papers give us； and cheer the fine； black…coated gentlemen when they tell us it's our sacred duty to kill Germans； or Italians； or Russians； or anybody else。 We are just crazy to kill something： it doesn't matter what。 If it's to be Germans； we shout 'A Berlin！'； and if it's to be Russians we cheer for Liberty。 I was in Paris at the time of the Fashoda trouble。 How we hissed the English in the cafes！ And how they glared back at us！ They were just as eager to kill us。 Who makes a dog fight？ Why； the dog。 Anybody can do it。 Who could make us fight each other； 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 a