"Me? Oh, I'm pushing on to Divisional Headquarters—twenty-five miles from this place and five miles north of the Belgian frontier. You'll be sent on to Pophereele in the morning, first thing. The French Chaplain of the Red Cross Hospital there is staying for the night with the Bishop at the Palace here. A tremendously agreeable old bird the Chaplain—and a Monsignore of the Vatican. I've met him—and he said he'd be delighted to look after you. Don't get down—it's frightfully slippery!"
But the tall, womanly figure was already standing beside him on the snowy cobblestones, tilting a round white chin towards the sky, and narrowing long eyes—"queer eyes" he mentally termed them—to see the better through her veil.
"What glorious stars!"
He liked the soft warmth of her voice, as he answered:
"Magnificent, aren't they? Look at Draco blazing away, high over the north transept of the Cathedral. And that would be Aquila—I rather fancy—lowish on the horizon, over that ruined tower. That's a bit of their famous Abbey——"
"Great Scott!"
"Did anything startle you?" he asked. "You said——"
"I know I said it, but I didn't mean to. There, again—" She pointed as forked tongues of pale rainbow-tinted fire leaped up from the northern horizon, throwing into momentary relief the Cathedral's stately bulk and the huddled housetops.
"Those are Boche fireworks!"
"Fireworks?"