ult was something awful. The chorister, a very old man,
a hundred I should think, played the harmonium, which was as old as he
was. It groaned and wheezed and at times stopped altogether. He started
the cantique with a thin quavering voice which was then taken up by the
school-children, particularly the boys who roared with juvenile
patriotism and energy each time they repeated the last line, "pour notre
drapeau, pour notre patrie."

The sermon was very good--short and simple. It was preached by the Doyen
of Neuilly--a tall, strong, broad-shouldered man who would have seemed
more at home in a dragoon's uniform than in the soutane. But he knew his
business well, had a fine voice and very good delivery; his peroration
and appeal to the men to "remember always that the flag was the symbol
of obedience, of loyalty, of devotion, to their country and their God,"
was really very fine. I almost expected to hear cheers. The French are
very emotional, and respond instantly to any allusion to country or
flag. The uniform (even the Pompier's) has an enormous prestige. Then
came the benediction, the flag held high over the kneeling congregation,
and the ceremony was ended.

We stopped a few moments after the service to let the procession pass
out and also to thank the preacher and one or two cures who had assisted
on the occasion; they did not come to the "vin d'honneur."

We walked down to the Mairie, where the Mayor and his Adjoint were
waiting for us; they conducted us to a large room upstairs where there
was a table with champagne bottles, glasses and a big brioche. As soon
as we had taken our places at the top of the room, the Pompiers and
Municipal Council trouped in and Francis made quite a pretty little
speech. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak in public; he
did it very well, was not at all shy. Then there was a pause--the Mayor
filled a glass of champagne, handed it to me, took one himself and we
"trinque'd" solemnly. Still there seemed a little hitch, no one else
took any and there was an air of expectancy. I made a sign to the
school-master, who was also the Adjoint, and he explained to me in a low
voice that he thought it would give great pleasure if I would shake
hands and trinquer with all the Pompiers. So I asked to have all the
glasses filled and made the round, shaking hands with every one.

Some of them were very shy, could hardly make up their minds to put out
their big, rough hands; some of the