The women were accepted.
The day had vanished. Cars, yard and garage sank out of sight. Out in
the streets the lamps woke one by one, and from the town came shouts and
the stamp of feet marching. It was Saturday night and a torchlight
procession of soldier and civilians wound down the street. The band
passed first, and after it men carried fire-glares fastened upon sticks.
The garage gates turned to rods and bars of gold till the light left
them, and the glare upon the house-fronts opposite travelled slowly down
the street.
Fanny slipped out of the yard and crept along behind the flares like a
shadow on the pavement. At the street corner she passed out on to the
bridge over the Moselle, and leant against the stonework to watch the
plumes of fire as they glittered up the riverside upon the tow-path. The
lights vanished, leaving the darkness so intense that she could only
feel her way over the bridge by holding to the stonework with her hand.
A sentry challenged her and when she had passed him she had arrived at
the door of her German lodging.
Climbing the stairs a slow breeze of excitement filled out the sails of
her spirit. "My silk stockings ... my gold links, and my benzene
bottle!" she murmured happily. Now that of all her life she had the
slenderest toilet to make--three hours was the time she had set
aside for it!
CHAPTER III
JULIEN
Earth has her usual delights--which can be met with six days out of the
seven.
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