never was there truer tribute to the
spirit of High Romance than when down this same road, athrone
upon a war-gray car, came this little Pennsylvania music-teacher.

All the way we rode exalted, with hearts too full for speech. And
our benefactor gave us no occasion for it. His eyes were fixed
straight ahead upon the speeding road, alert for obstacles or rapt
in visions of his own dear ones; or, more probable still, deep in
reconsideration of his rashness in harboring two strangers who
might turn out to be traitors.

"Ten spies were shot here in the last two days," was his one
laconic communication. As the Romanesque towers of Melun's
Notre Dame came into view, he drew up by a post which marked a
mile from the city, saying,

"The rest of the way I believe you had better go on foot." With a
polite bow and a smile he bade us adieu and was off, leaving us
quite non-plussed. But the swift ride had driven refreshment and
resolution into us. After some spirited passages with a few
astounded sentries, we found ourselves in the city of our quest.

It was a small garrison center. Into it now from every side had
poured rivulets of soldiers until the street shimmered with its red
and blue. Melun had changed roles with Paris. A desert quiet
brooded over the gay capital, while this drab provincial place was
now athrum with activity--not the activity of parade but of the
workshop. The air was vibrant with the clangor of industry.
Everywhere soldiers were cleaning guns, grooming horses, piling
sacks. The only touch to lighten this depressing dead-in-
earnestness came from a group of soldiers engaged in filling a
huge bolster. They playfully tried to push one of their number in
with the straw. In one doorway two men were seeking to render
their uniforms less of a target by inking their brass-buttons black,
while two rollicking fellows perched high upon a bread-wagon were
making the welkin ring with vociferous demands for passage way.
That was what everybody wanted. We, too, pressed forward into
the throng.

Enough other civilians were scattered amidst the masses of
soldiery to render us not too conspicuous. And such a weltering
anarchy it was: men, horses, and guns jammed together in one
grand promiscuous jumble. Who was to organize discipline and
victory out of such a turmoil? But that there was a directing mind
moving through this democratic chaos, the Germans later learned
to know full well. Likewise, the two strangers cong