the first king who fancied it, and
settled there. But not a king who followed, till after the day of Henri
Quatre, failed to live in the castle which Clovis began. Henry V of
England married Bonny Kate in the chateau; Charles VIII of France and
Maximilian of Austria signed a treaty within its walls; Francis I
finished Notre-Dame of Senlis. The Duke of Bedford fought Joan of Arc
there, and she was helped by the Marechal Rais, no other than Bluebeard;
so "Sister Anne" must have gazed out from some neighbouring tower for
the "cloud of dust in the distance." Somewhere in the vast encircling
forests the Babes in the Wood were buried by the birds, while the wicked
uncle reigned in their father's place at Senlis. In 1814 Prussian,
Russian, and British soldiers marched through the town on their tramp to
Paris. Cossacks and Highlanders were the "strangest sight" Senlis had
ever seen, though it had seen many; but a hundred years later it was to
see a stranger one yet.

If ever a place looked made for peace, that place is Senlis, on its
bright little river Nonette--child of the Oise--and in its lovely
valley. That was what I said as we slowed down on the outskirts: but ah,
how the thought of peace broke as we drove along the "kings'
highway"--the broad Rue de la Republique! In an instant the drama of
September 2nd--eve of the Marne battle--sprang to our eyes and knocked
at our hearts. We could smell the smoke, and see the flames, and hear
the shots, the cries of grief and rage, the far-off thunder of bridges
blown up by the retreating French army. Suddenly we knew how the people
of Senlis had suffered that day, and--strangely, horribly--how the
Germans had felt.

Senlis hadn't realized--wouldn't let itself realize--even during
bombardment, what its fate might be. It had been spared, as an open
town, in 1870; and since then, through long, prosperous years of peace a
comfortable conviction had grown that only pleasant things could
happen. Why, it was the place of pleasure, reaping a harvest of fame and
money from its adventurous past! Tourists came from all the world over
to put up at the Hotel du Grand Cerf, once the hunting lodge of kings.
They came to loiter in narrow old streets whose very names were echoes
of history; to study the ruins of the Roman arena and the ancient walls;
to hunt in the forest, as royal men and ladies had hunted when stags and
wild boar had been plentiful as foxes and rabbits; or to motor from one
neigh