the boy in her own arms and leading the French girl to
that cot, that she might know that henceforth she must look with altered
eyes upon an altered world. A few minutes passed by and then a miracle
of hope had happened.

"I saw her," said the nurse, "with one hand upon his hair and the other
stretched upward as she exclaimed: 'I am only his wife, France is his
mother! I am only his wife, France is his mother! I give him to France,
the mother that reared him!'"

4. A Soldier's Funeral in Paris

The two boys were incredibly happy. Two mornings before they had landed
in Paris. What a reception they had had in the soldiers' club from the
splendid French women! How good the hot bath had seemed! Clean linen, a
fresh shave, a good breakfast, a soft cot, plenty of blankets,
twenty-four hours' sleep, and they had wakened up new men. The first
morning they walked along the streets, looking into the shop windows; in
the afternoon one of the ladies took them to a moving picture show, and
now on the second day here they were, at a little table before the cafe
in one of the best restaurants in the Latin Quarter, with good red wine
and black coffee, and plenty of cigarettes, and not even the boom of
cannon to disturb their conversation. Strange that in three days they
could have passed from the uttermost of hell to the uttermost of safety
and peace. "These are good times," said one of the boys, "and we are in
them."

Then they heard a policeman shouting. Looking up, they saw a singular
spectacle. Just in front of them was a poor old hearse drawn by two
horses, whose black trappings touched the ground. Shabbier hearse never
was seen. Strangest of all, there was only a little, thin, black-robed
girl walking behind the hearse. There were no hired mourners as usual.
There was no large group of friends walking with heads bared in token of
reverence; there was no priest; no carriages followed after. Saddest of
all, there was not even a flower. What could these things mean? How
strange that when they were so happy this little woman could be so sad.

Suddenly one of the soldier boys arose. He stepped into the street and
looked into the hearse. There he saw these words: "A soldier of France."
He began to question the woman. Lifting her veil, he saw a frail girl,
and while the traffic jam increased she told her story. The soldier had
been wounded at the Battle of the Marne. He was one of the first to be
brought to Paris. He never walked