careful; choose only those things that can't hurt the
people who are up there, still in 'their' power."

"Why not publish what you say?" I asked her, rather
challengingly. "I don't think people in general under-
stand half enough what the life of the invaded provinces
is. One never sees any really detailed descriptions of it."

She answered bitterly, "Doesn't the reason for that
silence occur to you?"

"No, it doesn't. I never have understood why so little
is given to the public about the sufferings of the invaded
populations."

She looked at me strangely, the half-exasperated, half-
patient look one gives to a child who asks a foolish,
ignorant question, and explained wearily: "If those who
escape tell what they have seen up there, those who are
left suffer even worse torments. 'They' have spies
everywhere, you know; no, that's not melodramatic non-
sense, as I would have thought it three years ago, it's a
literal fact. Very probably that little messenger-boy who
brought the letter in here a moment ago is one. Very
probably your baker is one. Anywhere in the world
whatever is printed about what 'they' do to our people
in their power is instantly read by some German eyes,
and is instantly sent to German headquarters in the in-
vaded regions. And it's the same with our poor, little,
persistent attempts to express a little bit of what we feel
for France. For instance, one of my friends who
escaped at the risk of her life told about how we tried
in our orphan asylum to keep the children mindful of

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