Dont on suit des yeux la fumée,
Le cœur réjoui, l'âme apaisée!
Combien de temps, combien de temps,
O ma Patrie,
Tendras-tu patiemment
Dans la nuit
Tes mains meurtries?
Emile Cammaerts.
Lettice and Dorothea arrived at the Bellevue in May. By the end of July their guests were scattering like autumn leaves, and on the day of the ultimatum Lettice took matters into her own hands, sent off the servants and shut the hotel. She did not in the least want to follow them—Lettice was not fond of running away; but for Dorothea's sake she was making up her mind to that sacrifice, when she discovered that Dorothea herself had other views. She go and hide? Rather not! She was going to stay and see the fun. (At that time it was still possible for the Dorotheas of this world to talk of seeing the fun.)
"I can nurse, you know," she said, sitting on the dresser in the big deserted kitchen, her hands in her tweed pockets, her brown legs swinging, her eyes sparkling with agreeable excitement. "I've got every old certificate and medal the Red Cross people give. It was the one thing I was let do as a kid—go to nursing lectures; uncle was always fancying himself ill, you see, and I had to look after him. Oh yes, I can nurse like billy-o! Go back to England and knit socks? Not for this child!"