IT appeared that the discovery made no impression upon Lily, for she continued on her way along the deserted river path without stopping, without even checking the mad speed at which she walked. Her manner was that of one fleeing before a terror from which there is no escape. When she had reached a spot opposite the little island that divided the waters of the river, she halted suddenly by a clump of hazel bushes and flung herself down upon the thick grass in the shadow of the plane trees. She began to weep, soundlessly with long, racking, silent sobs which shook her whole body as if she had been stricken by some frightful pain.
Far off a train whistled distantly. The bright red kepis of the soldiers showed in rows like poppies at the windows of the coaches. On the white solid bridge at Trilport there appeared a double procession; one column hot, dusty, bedraggled, full of crying, exhausted, women and children, moved toward Paris. The other was gay and bright. The men wore bright red trousers and bright red caps. It moved briskly forward. The guns were like a field of wheat come suddenly to life, moving gallantly to throw itself upon the reaper.
After a time, Lily sat up, her hair all blown and disheveled, her dark eyes bright from weeping. She read the letters over and over absorbing the same phrases . . . May God be with us all! . . . It is all more grave than any of us suspect . . . A thousand kisses from thy Césaire . . . It is war, Madame, and no one can say what will happen . . . A battle is no place for a beautiful woman . . . Perhaps I shall return . . . Perhaps I shall return a captain . . . Think of it! Thy Jean a captain! . . . Thy Jean! . . . Thy Jean . . . Thy Césaire! . . . Thy Jean! Thy precious Jean!
Slowly she refolded the letters and thrust them into the bosom of her dress and then, as if her emotion were too strong
