“In any case,” said Christine, “they always give warning in Paris.”

He thought: 

“I’d better get this woman home,” and said aloud:  “Come along.”

“But is it safe?” she asked anxiously.

He saw that she was the primeval woman, exactly like Concepcion and Queen.  First she wanted to run, and then when he was ready to run she asked:  “Is it safe?” And he felt very indulgent and comfortably masculine.  He admitted that it would be absurd to expect the conduct of a frightened Christine to be governed by the operations of reason.  He was not annoyed, because personally he simply did not care a whit whether they moved or not.  While they were hesitating a group of people came round the corner.  These people were talking loudly, and as they approached G.J. discerned that one of them was pointing to the sky.

“There she is!  There she is!” shouted an eager voice.  Seeing more human society in G.J. and Christine, the group stopped near them.

G.J. gazed in the indicated direction, and lo! there was a point of light in the sky.

And then guns suddenly began to sound much nearer.

“What did I tell you?” said another voice.  “I told you they’d cleared the corner at the bottom of St. James’s Street for a gun.  Now they’ve got her going.  Good for us they’re shooting southwards.”

Christine was shaking on G.J.’s arm.

“It’s all right!  It’s all right!” he murmured compassionately, and she tightened her clutch on him in thanks.

He looked hard at the point of light, which might have been anything.  The changing forms of thin clouds continually baffled the vision.

“By god!” shouted the first voice.  “She’s hit.  See her stagger?  She’s hit.  She’ll blaze up in a moment.  One down last week.  Another this.  Look at her now.  She’s afire.”

The group gave a weak cheer.

Then the clouds cleared for an instant and revealed a crescent.  G.J. said: 

“That’s the moon, you idiots.  It’s not a Zeppelin.”

Even as he spoke he wondered, and regretted, that he should be calling them idiots.  They were complete strangers to him.  The group vanished, crestfallen, round another corner.  G.J. laughed to Christine.  Then the noise of guns was multiplied.  That he was with Christine in the midst of an authentic air-raid could no longer be doubted.  He was conscious of the wine he had drunk at the club.  He had the sensation of human beings, men like himself, who ate and drank and laced their boots, being actually at that moment up there in the sky with intent to kill him and Christine.  It was a marvellous sensation, terrible but exquisite.  And he had the sensation of other human beings beyond the sea, giving deliberate orders in German for murder, murdering for their lives; and they, too, were like himself, and ate and drank and either laced their boots or had them laced daily.  And the staggering apprehension of the miraculous lunacy of war swept through his soul.