"Hospital ship," said Jenks.

Up a narrow street could be seen the buttresses of the cathedral; and if Peter craned his head to glance up, his companion was more occupied in the great cafe at the corner a little farther on.

But it was, of course, deserted at that early hour.

A flower-stall at the corner was gay with flowers, and two French peasant women were arranging the blooms.

And then the fiacre swung into the Rue Joanne d'Arc, and opposite a gloomy-looking entrance pulled up with a jerk.