nt and the civil
police, all had marched to give that final push, forming a mass of
heterogenous colors.

And one Sunday afternoon when, with his three companions of the "siege"
he was strolling with thousands of other Parisians through the Bois
de Boulogne, he had learned from the extras that the combat which
had developed so near to the city was turning into a great battle, a
victory.

"I have seen much, Madame Desnoyers. . . . I can relate great events."

And she agreed with him. Of course Argensola had seen much! . . . And on
taking her departure, she offered him all the assistance in her power.
He was the friend of her son, and she was used to his petitions. Times
had changed; Don Marcelo's generosity now knew no bounds . . . but the
Bohemian interrupted her with a lordly gesture; he was living in luxury.
Julio had made him his trustee. The draft from America had been
honored by the bank as a deposit, and he had the use of the interest
in accordance with the regulations of the moratorium. His friend was
sending him regularly whatever money was needed for household expenses.
Never had he been in such prosperous condition. War had its good side,
too . . . but not wishing to break away from old customs, he announced
that once more he would mount the service stairs in order to bear away a
basket of bottles.

After her sister's departure, Dona Luisa went alone to the churches
until Chichi in an outburst of devotional ardor, suddenly surprised her
with the announcement:

"Mama, I am going with you!"

The new devotee was no longer agitating the household by her rollicking,
boyish joy; she was no longer threatening the enemy with imaginary
dagger thrusts. She was pale, and with dark circles under her eyes. Her
head was drooping as though weighed down with a set of serious, entirely
new thoughts on the other side of her forehead.

Dona Luisa observed her in the church with an almost indignant jealousy.
Her headstrong child's eyes were moist, and she was praying as fervently
as the mother . . . but it was surely not for her brother. Julio
had passed to second place in her remembrance. Another man was now
completely filling her thoughts.

The last of the Lacours was no longer a simple soldier, nor was he now
in Paris. Upon her return from Biarritz, Chichi had listened anxiously
to the reports from her little sugar soldier. Throbbing with eagerness,
she wanted to know all about the dangers which he had been experienc