E. L. White

“ How furiously her needles flew! In just such manner must her forbears have sat, knitting and counting in the blood-sodden days of the Revolution.
“But, madame”—Quality’s voice was vibrant with horror—“how can you call it equal? It is inconceivable that a woman, with a woman’s heart beating within her breast, should sell a life merely for money!” ”

“ At last Quality had heard the thrill of emotion in her voice. Looking up, he detected a bead of moisture in her eyes. The sight of her sorrow only added to the horror. On top of her calm recital of the crime, such sympathy for the juvenile monster was nauseating.
“Your young brother must be a unique specimen,” he said stiffly, speaking with an effort.
“Not at all. Like all the rest of us. Like you, perhaps. Certainly, like me!”
A pleasant family history. To steady his nerves. Quality fingered his papers feverishly, repeating the while his magic formula: “Tomorrow, I go home.” ”

“ Her words, vibrant with cheerful sympathy, awoke in Quality a response that was almost electric. Suspicion and fear melted at the warm touch of humanity. The devils that had possessed and tormented him went out of him, leaving him wrapped in a foretaste of that peace that passeth understanding. ”

“ Again the fountain moved, to give sign that it had heard.
In a last desperate effort to preserve his sanity, Quality slammed down the window, forcing a laugh the while.
“Come, madame! That’s not a very friendly sentiment. You cannot mean what you say. You are overstrung—got nerves.”
“Nerves? Bien! Tonight, I see always M. Lemoine.”
She sank down heavily, her fingers groping for her knitting. The steel needles began to click with mechanical precision. ”

“ Somewhere, far away from this place of thunder, bloodshed and cold fears—geographical facts non-existent was an isle that rocked gently like an ark of safety, on the gray-green seas. And tucked away, within its very heart, approached only by grass-grown ruts, was a long, gray house. ”

“ Following the direction of her gaze, Quality also looked at the fountain darkly carven against the luminous sky.
Obedient to the dictate of his mountebank nerves, it slightly altered its position. Or was it a shape that slipped farther into the depths of its shadow?
“The enemy!” Madame raised her voice shrilly, with startling lack of caution. “Who is the enemy? Have you ever given thought to the lot of us who live in a province that today is French and tomorrow German? Can one say with certainty: ‘This one is French ”