broken like this. Claudinette having been deprived of her bugle, went and drummed out her martial soul upon a window-pane; the doctor, who felt a little guilty, stroked his beard and passed on.

The governess carried out her intention of having her bed moved next to Sylvia; on the first night of the change she whispered across to her in the darkness, which seemed the more intense round their beds because at the far end of the ward a lamp burned before an image of the Virgin, and, inclosed by two screens, the nun on night-duty sat in a dim, golden mist.

"Are you awake?"

Sylvia answered her in a low voice in order not to disturb the other patients; she could not bring herself to answer in a whisper, because it would have made this conversation seem surreptitious.

"Hush! Don't talk so loud. Are you a Catholic?"

"I'm nothing," said Sylvia.

"Do tell me about your life."

"We can talk about that in the morning."

"Oh no, one can't talk secrets in the morning. I want to ask you something. Do you think that everybody in Russia will go and fight? You see, Prince Paul isn't a soldier. You remember I told you that Prince George and Prince Paul, the two elder sons of the family, were both very handsome? Well, Prince George is in the army, but Prince Paul isn't. They both made love to me," she added, with a stifled giggle.

Sylvia lay silent.

"Are you shocked?"

"Neither shocked nor surprised," said Sylvia, coldly. "The nobility of Russia seem to think of nothing else but making love."

"Paul gave me a book once. I've got it here with me in my box. It's called The Memories of a German Singer. Would you like to read it?"

"That book!" Sylvia exclaimed, scornfully. "Why, it's the filthiest book I ever read."

"You are shocked, then," the governess whispered. "I thought you'd be more broad-minded. I sha'n't tell you now about Prince Paul. He makes love divinely. He said it was so thrilling to make love to somebody like me who looked so proper. I'm dreadfully afraid that when I get back I shall find he's gone to fight. It's awful to think how dull it will be without George or Paul. Haven't you had any interesting love-affairs?"

"Good God!" exclaimed Sylvia, angrily. "Do you think there's anything to be proud of in having love-affairs like yours? Do you think there's anything fine in letting yourself be treated like a servant by a lascivious boy? You make me feel sick. How dare you assume that I should be interested in your—oh, I have no word to call it that can be even spoken in a whisper."

"You are proper," the governess murmured, resentfully. "I thought girls on the stage were more broad-minded."

"Is this muttering going to continue all night?" an angry voice demanded. Farther along the ward could be heard the sound of a bed rattling with indignation.

The nun pushed back her screen, and the candle-light illumined Madame Benzer sitting up on her ample haunches.

"One must not talk," said the nun, reproachfully. "One disturbs the patients. Besides, it is against the rules to talk after the lights are put out."

"Well, please move me away from here," Sylvia asked, "because if mademoiselle stays here I shall have to talk."

"I'm sure I'd much rather not stay in this bed," declared Miss Savage in an injured voice. "And I was only whispering. There was no noise until mademoiselle began to talk quite loudly."

"Is this discussion worth while?" Sylvia asked, wearily.