The Red Cross Barge by Marie Belloc Lowndes

When they had reached the middle of the square, the Herr Doktor slackened his pace and looked about him in some perplexity. He suspected the two shells which had fallen so wide to be French shells, and if that were so, there might soon be sharp fighting in the very streets of Valoise. Anxiously he began asking himself which would be the safest shelter for the girl who now stood, silent and rigid, by his side? Should he take her home to the house in the Haute-Ville or down to the Red Cross barge?

Four streets led out of the square. It was clear that the widest must lead more or less straight down to the river. It was along that wider way that Monsieur le Cure, his sable-and-silver vestments flapping in the wind, was now hurrying. Staring after the strange, solitary figure, the Herr Doktor bethought himself uneasily of the old man's words of warning. It might well be true that Jeanne Rouannes would be safer in her Red Cross uniform -- safer, that is, from the discourtesy of rough, stern words. Not for a moment did Max Keller fear or admit, even in his innermost heart, that his fellow-countrymen could behave ill to the women of conquered France. To his mind such an accusation was as base as it was baseless. But he knew that many apparently harsh rules and regulations had had to be drawn up concerning the conduct of the civilian population. Most fortunately Jeanne Rouannes, in her Red Cross dress, formed part of an International Society, and thus was assured of exceptional respect and courtesy.