loved to have taken him with me and
shown his War Cross to some of my old friends. But he wouldn't hear of
it.

"'Pooh!' he would laugh when I would suggest such a thing. 'If ever
they come near me I'll tell them I've got "trench pest"--and then
you'll see them clear out.'

"He went down in the kitchen and I'd hear him pottering around. I
never knew him so gay and happy.

"'Tante Rose, I'm going to sing you "La Madelon" and the "Refrain de la
Mitraille." It was Planchet, the tinsmith, who composed it!'

"He'd sit for hours in that big blue armchair, blinking at the fire,
and then suddenly he'd come to earth and explain:

"'Aunt Rose, what a pleasure to be here.'

"When finally he had to go back, he caught me and whispered in my ear,
as I kissed him:

"'Next time, Tante, you promise me not to invite any one, won't you?'

"Poor child, he will never come back, and his friend Planchet, the
tinsmith, saw him fall with a bullet through his heart. It was he who
wrote me the sad news.

"Well, my dear, what mystery the soul hides within itself! In one of
the cupboards of the room he occupied I found two note books and a
diary filled with verses he had never shown to any one, never admitted
having written. How little we guessed what he was about when we
scolded him for his indolence and inattention. If you only knew what
accents, what harmonious phrases he found to depict the shades of our
trees, the rippling of the river, the perfume of the flowers and his
love for us all.

"There is a whole chapter devoted to the old homestead. He seemed to
feel everything, divine everything, explain everything. None of us
understood him. There is no use pretending we did. Not one among us
would ever have guessed that so splendid and delicate a master of the
pen lived and moved amongst us."

Aunt Rose looked straight out onto the sun-lit court, the great tears
trickling down her cheeks.

For a long time neither of us spoke.

Like its mistress, Aunt Rose's home lives to serve the war. The
culinary realm is always busily engaged preparing _pates_ and
_galantines_, _rillettes_ and sausages. "For our boys," is the answer
almost before the question is put. "They're so glad to get home-made
dainties, and are always clamouring for more--no matter how much you
send!

"Since they must eat preserved food, we might as well send them
something we make ourselves, then we're sure it's the best. Why, I'd
be ashamed to go