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80 stopped by a traffic officer, a man well acquainted with the Unit. He wanted to know if Constance, or her companion, one of them, would stand at the cross-roads, and direct the traffic, allowing the other one to proceed with the car. It was vital. If any of the troops or refugees took the wrong road it would lead them over a hill, now being shelled by German guns. The officer himself must return to a similar post of duty.

"I'll do it," said Constance promptly. "You'll be more needed at the other end, Ellen." Ellen was a full-fledged trained nurse. "Pass the baby to somebody else, and you take the wheel. I'll stay here. You can come back for me in the morning."

She jumped out of the automobile, gave her word to the officer that she could carry out his orders, called out a cheerful good-by to him, another cheerful good-by to Ellen and her passengers, and, a moment later, found herself standing alone at the cross-roads, beneath the humming planes, whistling shells (she had never heard a whistling shell till yesterday) surrounded on all sides by the boom of cannon.

The force of the retreating wave had passed this particular spot. Constance imagined there would be long periods of watching between the stragglers, whom she was placed there to direct.