Across the river the enemy was moving. She could see them plainly through her glasses and it gave her a queer feeling. Here within pistol range were the hosts of the enemy that had laid France in ruins, that had killed and wounded hundreds of thousands of her own countrymen, moving out into their own land, a land on which hardly a shell had fallen in the four years of desperate warfare. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, as Grace reasoned it out with some bitterness. Could the enemy have been driven back by force of arms and hammered until his hosts poured into the Rhine in a perfect cataract, she confessed to herself that she would have felt better over the situation. But there they were, taking their time to retire and without a shot being fired at them. The Overton girl actually shuddered to think what a different situation would exist at that moment had victory crowned the arms of the enemy.
Grace shrugged her shoulders and went back to awaken Elfreda and start the fire for breakfast.
“If the captain has not gone out, please give him some breakfast. I must hurry with mine, for I am going over to report to our superior that we are off duty to-day; that is, I am. You will be on call.”
“Are you going to report to her?” demanded Miss Briggs disapprovingly.
“Yes. I have no way of getting word to her, and by the time we drive back to the balloon base she may be on her way. The army is to make an early start to-day, I understand. It will take a long time to cross the bridges. What an opportunity for the enemy; but he knows better. He knows that the American artillery is trained on him and that machine guns are ready to sweep his ranks from this side of the river. Our people are taking no chances.”
“They are familiar with the breed,” nodded Miss Briggs.
Grace ate a hurried breakfast, and leaving her equipment with Elfreda started out at a brisk pace for the headquarters of Mrs. Chadsey Smythe. As she drew near the cottage she saw some one emerge from it. This some one proved to be the maid, Marie Debussy.
“Good morning, Marie. Where are you going?”
The girl answered dully that she was going to fetch Madame’s mess.
“You have been crying, what is the trouble?”