lence about his sojourn at Villeblanche. He had no desire to recount
his adventures at the battle of the Marne. What was the use of saddening
his loved ones with such miseries? . . . He simply told Dona Luisa, who
was alarmed about the possible fate of the castle, that they would not
be able to go there for many years to come, because the hostilities had
rendered it uninhabitable. A covering of zinc sheeting had been
substituted for the ancient roof in order to prevent further injury from
wind and rain to the wrecked interior. Later on, after peace had been
declared, they would think about its renovation. Just now it had too
many inhabitants. And all the ladies, including Dona Elena, shuddered in
imagining the thousands of buried bodies forming their ghastly circle
around the building. This vision made Frau von Hartrott again groan,
"Ay, my sons!"

Finally, for humanity's sake, her brother-in-law set her mind at rest
regarding the fate of one of them, the Captain von Hartrott. He was in
perfect health at the beginning of the battle. He knew that this was so
from a friend who had conversed with him . . . and he did not wish to
talk further about him.

Dona Luisa was spending a part of each day in the churches, trying to
quiet her uneasiness with prayer. These petitions were no longer vague
and generous for the fate of millions of unknown men, for the victory of
an entire people. With maternal self-centredness they were focussed
on one single person--her son, who was a soldier like the others, and
perhaps at this very moment was exposed to the greatest danger. The
tears that he had cost her! . . . She had implored that he and his
father might come to understand each other, and finally just as God was
miraculously granting her supplication, Julio had taken himself off to
the field of death.

Her entreaties never went alone to the throne of grace. Someone was
praying near her, formulating identical requests. The tearful eyes of
her sister were raised at the same time as hers to the figure of the
crucified Savior. "Lord, save my son!" . . . When uttering these words,
Dona Luisa always saw Julio as he looked in a pale photograph which he
had sent his father from the trenches--with kepis and military cloak, a
gun in his right hand, and his face shadowed by a growing beard. "O
Lord have mercy upon us!" . . . and Dona Elena was at the same time
contemplating a group of officers with helmets and reseda uniforms
reinforced with