"Well, at any rate, there's no more danger from that one."
At first in the rush of panic she had not observed any particular incident; but now, as shell after shell exploded without any visible sign of damage, she began to look with interest at non-combatant humanity in the presence of danger. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry that, on the whole, the men behaved worse than the women; she put this observation on one side to be argued out later with Armand, who had certainly run faster than any one else in the _pension_. The number of the shells was already getting less, yet there were no signs of the populace's recovery. Fear was begetting fear with such rapidity that to stand still and listen to the moans and groans of the uninjured was awe-inspiring. In one doorway a distraught man with nothing on but a shirt and slippers was dancing about with a lighted candle, evidently in a quandary of terror whether to join the onflowing mob or to stay where he was. An explosion quite close made up his mind, and he dived down the steps into the street, where the candle was immediately extinguished; nevertheless, he continued to hold it as if it were still alight while he ran with the crowd. In another doorway stood a woman confronted with a triple problem. Wearing nothing but a wrapper and carrying in her arms a pet dog, she was trying at the same time to keep her wrapper fastened, to avoid letting the dog drop, and to shut the door behind her. The problem was a nice one: she could either keep her wrapper fastened, maintain the dog, and leave the door open, in which case she would lose her silver; or she could keep her wrapper close, shut the door, and drop the dog, in which case she would lose the dog; or she could keep the dog, shut the door, and let go of her wrapper, in which case she would lose her modesty. Sylvia's anxiety to see how she would solve the problem made her forget all about the shells; and it was only when the perplexed lady in a last desperate attempt slammed the door, so that her wrapper came flying open and the dog went bolting down the street, that Sylvia realized the bombardment was over. She turned back toward the _pension_ with a last look over her shoulder at the lady, who was vanishing into the darkness, gathering the wrapper round her nakedness as she ran, and calling wildly to her pet.