sister and our strange meeting with her the night before.
"I'm precious glad," said Brand, "that no sister of mine was behind German lines. God knows how much they had to endure. Imagine their risks! It was a lucky escape for that girl Hélène. Supposing she had failed to barricade her door?"
When we came into the Grande Place we saw that something was happening. It was almost dark after a shadowy twilight, but we could see a crowd of people surging round some central point of interest. Many of them were laughing, loudly. There was some joke in progress. The women's tongues sounded most loud, and shrill.
"They're getting back to gaiety," said Brand. "What's the jest, I wonder?"
A gust of laughter came across the square. Above it was another sound, not so pleasant. It was a woman's shrieks—shriek after shriek, most blood-curdling, and then becoming faint.
"What the devil!" said Brand.
We were on the edge of the crowd, and I spoke to a man there.
"What's happening?"
He laughed, in a grim way.
"It's the coiffure of a lady. They are cutting her hair."
I was mystified.
"Cutting her hair?"
A woman spoke to me, by way of explanation, laughing like the man.
"Shaving her head, monsieur. She was one of those who were too complaisant with German officers. You understand? There were many of them. They ought to have their heads cut off, as well as their hair."
Another man spoke, gruffly.
