host apparently didn't expect an answer. He had already gone to get a shiny new pair of galoches, obviously too big for me, but at least something to keep me off the hard-packed earth floor. Then, kneeling down in front of Yvon, he took his feet in both hands.

"Wait! I'll warm 'em up for you!"

He was lifting them toward his mouth as though to breathe upon them when he saw that I was watching.

"Get warm at the fire," he said at once. bring you both some coffee with a nip in it.

"Then put the galoches on. I'll The missus has got it out for us." I took advantage of the moment of silence to look around the room. It was very large and dimly lighted in fact, lighted more by the wood fire on the hearth than by the kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling.

Evidently the main living and sleeping room of the farm, it was as long as the house was wide (more than thirty feet) and half as deep. On the left of the door by which we had come in was a supply of firewood, thick logs evenly stacked; on the right, a combination sink and washtub with a copper faucet. (At any rate, there was running water in the room if not electricity.) Then, on the left wall, a long, heavy sort of cabinet surmounted by rows of shelves; on the right, a small door opening into the rest of the farm building, and a castiron cooking range, apparently cold. Again on the left, in the middle of the wall, was the window that had guided us in the dark. Opposite it, on the right, was the wide, deep fireplace, its hood prolonged upward by the chimney. Between the window and the fireplace stood a long, heavy, solid-wood table, bare and very clean. I was sitting at one end of it, my back to the front door. Finally, on the left, just beyond the window, was the beginning of a pine staircase that led to the upper floor. One could see only the first three steps, the others being enclosed in varnished wood with a door at the bottom. There was a bed under the staircase and another one opposite between the fireplace and the end of the room. In the half-darkness there I was able to make out on one side of the window, which was symmetrical with the front door, a large wardrobe and on the other side a kind of closet for hanging clothes. Between this closet and the right-hand bed was the door through which Issarles had gone to see his wife.

"Where's my stuff," I asked Yvon.

"In the room upstairs."

"Go up and get my toilet things. I see there's running water in the sink. We might as well wash up while we can. Wait!" I said, as I handed him my torch, and I quickly took off my blouse and put it around him. "It can't be any too warm up there. Bring down my pajama top. It's flannel. You can put it on while you're waiting."

He gave me a grateful look, then slipped the galoches off, opened the staircase door, and I heard his bare feet going up. Immediately, a blanket of cold air from the stairs enveloped my shoulders; I felt thankful I'd given him some covering.

When Yvon returned, I told him to take his turn before me at the washtub, then to come back to the fire and get warm, M. Issarles was busy bringing in logs for the fireplace. I explained to him that the boy was using the water at my suggestion. He only nodded his assent, but I saw that he kept his eyes on us, as though watching our every movement.

While Yvon was washing his face, neck, and hands, and even his feet, as I noticed when I happened to turn my head, the farmer brought in three cups, a pale-green glass sugar bowl, and a bottle of brandy. He poured the coffee as soon as the soldier had finished at the sink.

"Drink it hot, boy, it'll do you good!"

Then he looked at me and half lifted his cup as though to drink my health. But the gesture was barely indicated and I was the one who actually said, mechanically, "Here's to you." Thus, once again, this big man with the inscrutable face had turned first toward Yvon, then, as an afterthought, with a kind of forced politeness, had included me.

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