“How far away are the trenches?”

“A quarter of a mile beyond those poplar trees.”  He indicated on a slight rise a row of great trees broken somewhat but not yet reduced to the twisted skeletons they were to become later on.  In a long line they faced the enemy like sentinels, winter-quiet but dauntless, and behind them lay the wreck of the little village, quiet and empty.

“Will the men know I am here?” Sara Lee asked anxiously.

“But, yes, mademoiselle.  At night they come up from the trenches, and fresh troops take their places.  They come up this street and go on to wherever they are to rest.  And when they find that a house of—­mercy is here—­and soup, they will come.  More than you wish.”

“Belgian soldiers?”

“Only Belgian soldiers.  That is as you want it to be, I think.”

“If only I spoke French!”

“You will learn.  And in the meantime, mademoiselle, I have taken the liberty of finding you a servant—­a young peasant woman.  And you will also have a soldier always on guard.”

Something that had been in the back of Sara Lee’s mind for some time suddenly went away.  She had been thinking of Aunt Harriet and the Ladies’ Aid Society of the Methodist Church.  She had, in fact, been wondering how they would feel when they learned that she was living alone, the only woman among thousands of men.  It had, oddly enough, never occurred to her before.

“You have thought of everything,” she said gratefully.

But Henri said nothing.  He had indeed thought of everything with a vengeance, with the net result that he was not looking at Sara Lee more than he could help.

These Americans were strange.  An American girl would cross the seas, and come here alone with him—­a man and human.  And she would take for granted that he would do what he was doing for love of his kind—­which was partly true; and she would be beautiful and sweet and amiable and quite unself-conscious.  And then she would go back home, warm of heart with gratitude, and marry the man of the picture.

The village had but one street, and that deserted and in ruins.  Behind its double row of houses, away from the enemy, lay the fields, a muddy canal and more poplar trees.  And from far away, toward Ypres, there came constantly that somewhat casual booming of artillery which marked the first winter of the war.

The sound of the guns had first alarmed, then interested Sara Lee.  It was detached then, far away.  It meant little to her.  It was only later, when she saw some of the results of the sounds she heard, that they became significant.  But this is not a tale of the wounding of men.  There are many such.  This is the story of a little house of mercy, and of a girl with a dauntless spirit, and of two men who loved her.  Only that.

The maid Henri had found was already in the house, sweeping.  Henri presented her to Sara Lee, and he also brought a smiling little Belgian boy, in uniform and with a rifle.