rance was doomed.

But Foch was handicapped. He had an army bled white by four years of
dreadful warfare. The French soldiers, no less valiant than when the war
began, found themselves too weak in numbers to stem the tide of an
advance conducted by an ambition crazed Crown Prince determined to reach
Paris regardless of the cost to him in human sacrifice.

Sullenly the French fell back, fighting like demons, contesting every
inch of the way, but none the less retreating. In this hour of peril
France turned her eyes upon the newly arrived and partially trained
Americans, and in those eyes, now almost hopeless, was a look of mute,
desperate appeal. It must be now or never!

All the roads leading back from the front were choked with refugees too
weary, too heartbroken, too barren of hope to do anything but hurry
their children before them and strain at their hand drawn, heavy carts
piled high with the household belongings which they hoped to save. Old
men, old women, the lame, the halt, the blind; dogs, cats, goats, with
here and there a dogcart, all struggling to the rear. Many came
empty-handed, facing they knew not what, and looking with pity upon the
French troops who were moving forward to battle the enemy unto death.

"Ah," said the refugees, shrugging their shoulders, "_finis la
guerre!_ These poor Poilus of ours, they cannot stop the Boche. They
are too tired, too worn with war. If only we had new blood. If only the
Americans would come now. But no, perhaps it is now too late."

Behind them, all too close, rumbled and roared the angry guns--guns of
the enemy furrowing fields and leveling houses and villages; guns of the
French in savage defiance protesting every inch of advance and holding
on with a rapidly failing strength. Help must come now, quickly.

And help came. Two American divisions, ready for action, were summoned
by Foch to move forward with all possible speed. The 2nd Division came
hurrying from their rest billets near Chaumont-en-Vexin, northwest of
Paris; the 3rd Division came thundering by train and camion from
Chateau-Villain, southeast of Paris. Two converging lines of fresh,
eager warriors came marching, marching, the light of battle in their
eyes and with rollicking, boisterous songs on their lips. At quick rout
step they came. This was no parade; this was a new giant coming up to
test its strength. And all up and down the brown columns the giant was
singing as it came....

"Mademoisell