eir own home on the other side of the frontier?" Chichi would
protest. "Why do they come into their neighbor's country to ridicule
his troubles? . . . Possibly they consider it a sign of their wonderful
good-breeding!"

But Julio had not gone to Biarritz to live with his family. . . . The
very day of his arrival, he saw Marguerite's mother in the distance. She
was alone. His inquiries developed the information that her daughter was
living in Pau. She was a trained nurse taking care of a wounded member
of the family. "Her brother . . . undoubtedly it is her brother,"
thought Julio. And he again continued his trip, this time going to Pau.

His visits to the hospitals there were also unavailing. Nobody seemed
to know Marguerite. Every day a train was arriving with a new load of
bleeding flesh, but her brother was not among the wounded. A Sister of
Charity, believing that he was in search of someone of his family, took
pity on him and gave him some helpful directions. He ought to go to
Lourdes; there were many of the wounded there and many of the military
nurses. So Desnoyers immediately took the short cut between Pau and
Lourdes.

He had never visited the sacred city whose name was so frequently on
his mother's lips. For Dona Luisa, the French nation was Lourdes. In her
discussions with her sister and other foreign ladies who were praying
that France might be exterminated for its impiety, the good senora
always summed up her opinions in the same words:--"When the Virgin
wished to make her appearance in our day, she chose France. This
country, therefore, cannot be as bad as you say. . . . When I see that
she appears in Berlin, we will then re-discuss the matter."

But Desnoyers was not there to confirm his mother's artless opinions.
Just as soon as he had found a room in a hotel near the river, he had
hastened to the big hostelry, now converted into a hospital. The guard
told him that he could not speak to the Director until the afternoon. In
order to curb his impatience he walked through the street leading to
the basilica, past all the booths and shops with pictures and pious
souvenirs which have converted the place into a big bazaar. Here and
in the gardens adjoining the church, he saw wounded convalescents with
uniforms stained with traces of the combat. Their cloaks were greatly
soiled in spite of repeated brushings. The mud, the blood and the rain
had left indelible spots and made them as stiff as cardboard. Some of