She was very businesslike.  She sent home to the Ladies’ Aid Society a weekly record of what had been done:  So many bowls of soup; so many cups of chocolate; so many minor injuries dressed.  Because, very soon, she found first aid added to her activities.  She sickened somewhat at first.  Later she allowed to Marie much of the serving of food, and in the little salle a manger she had ready on the table basins, water, cotton, iodine and bandages.

Henri explained the method to her.

“It is a matter of cleanliness,” he said.  “First one washes the wound and then there is the iodine.  Then cotton, a bandage, and—­a surgeon could do little more.”

Henri and Jean came often.  And more than once during the first ten days Jean spent the night rolled in a blanket by the kitchen fire, and Henri disappeared.  He was always back in the morning, however, looking dirty and very tired.  Sara Lee sewed more than one rent for him, those days, but she was strangely incurious.  It was as though, where everything was strange, Henri’s erratic comings and goings were but a part with the rest.

Then one night the unexpected happened.  The village was shelled.

Sara Lee had received her first letter from Harvey that day.  The maid at Morley’s had forwarded it to her, and Henri had brought it up.

“I think I have brought you something you wish for very much,” he said, looking down at her.

“Mutton?” she inquired anxiously.

“Better than that.”

“Sugar?”

“A letter, mademoiselle.”

Afterward he could not quite understand the way she had suddenly drawn in her breath.  He had no memory, as she had, of Harvey’s obstinate anger at her going, his conviction that she was doing a thing criminally wrong and cruel.

“Give it to me, please.”

She took it into her room and closed the door.  When she came out again she was composed and quiet, but rather white.  Poor Henri!  He was half mad that day with jealousy.  Her whiteness he construed as longing.

This is a part of Harvey’s letter: 

You may think that I have become reconciled, but I have not.  If I could see any reason for it I might.  But what reason is there?  So many others, older and more experienced, could do what you are doing, and more safely.

In your letter from the steamer you tell me not to worry.  Good God, Sara Lee, how can I help worrying?  I do not even know where you are!  If you are in England, well and good.  If you are abroad I do not want to know it.  I know these foreigners.  I run into them every day.  And they do not understand American women.  I get crazy when I think about it.  I have had to let the Leete house go.  There is not likely to be such a chance soon again.  Business is good, but I don’t seem to care much about it any more.  Honestly, dear, I think you have treated me very badly.  I always feel as though the people I meet are wondering if we have quarreled or what on earth took you away on this wild-goose chase.  I don’t know myself, so how can I tell them?