their hearts on the wounded children who are
suffering far from their mothers.

The sacred sense of union that reigns among the men is no less firm.
It is only necessary to read the letters written on the eve of their
deaths--in that hour when a man, alone, face to face with himself,
lets his soul speak--by the fighters who gave their heart's blood for
the sacred cause.

They all say the same things.

Here is a letter a Jew wrote, named Robert Hertz, a second lieutenant
of the 330th infantry regiment, who fell on the 13th of April, 1915,
at Marcheville:

MY DEAR: I remember the dreams I had when I was a little
child. With all my soul I wished to be a Frenchman, to be
worthy to be one, and to prove that I was one.... Now the
old, childish dream comes back to me, stronger than it ever
was. I am grateful to the officers who have accepted me for
their subordinate, to the men I have been proud to lead.
They are the children of a chosen people. I am full of
gratitude towards our country which has received me and
heaped favors upon me. Nothing would be too much to give in
payment for that, and for the fact that my little son may
always hold his head high and never know, in the reborn
France, that torment which has poisoned many hours of our
childhood and of our youth. "Am I a Frenchman?" "Would I
deserve to be one?" No, little boy, you shall not say that.
You shall have a native land and your step may sound on the
earth, nourishing you with the assurance, "My father was
there and he gave all he had for France." If recompense is
necessary, this is the sweetest one there is for me.

This is the letter of a Protestant, second lieutenant Maurice
Dieterlin, who was killed on the sixth of October, 1915, and who, on
the eve of the Champagne offensive, wrote these last words they were
to read from him, to his family:

I saw the most beautiful day of all my life. I regret
nothing and I am as happy as a king. I am glad to pay my
debt that my country may be free. Tell my friends that I go
on to victory with a smile on my lips, happier than the
stoics and the martyrs of all time. For a moment we are
beyond the France that is eternal. France ought to live.
France will live. Get ready your loveliest gowns, keep your
best smiles to welcome the conquerors in the great war.
Perhaps we shall not b