“That is the nearest yet,” she murmured.

“Oh, no,” he answered cheerfully, “it probably fell way over by Montmartre,” and as she did not answer, he said again with exaggerated unconcern, “They wouldn’t take the trouble to fire at the Latin Quarter; anyway they haven’t a battery that can hurt it.”

After a while she spoke up brightly: “Jack, dear, when are you going to take me to see Monsieur West’s statues?”

“I will bet,” he said, throwing down his palette and walking over to the window beside her, “that Colette has been here today.”

“Why?” she asked, opening her eyes very wide. Then, “Oh, it’s too bad!⁠—really, men are tiresome when they think they know everything! And I warn you that if Monsieur West is vain enough to imagine that Colette⁠—”

From the north another shell came whistling and quavering through the sky, passing above them with long-drawn screech which left the windows singing.