* * * * *

I HAVE been thinking of Algiers, she murmured. We planned to have
sunshine--and roses--even among the snows of our country. But we faced
blood--blood on the snows of our forests--

* * * * *

IVAN, it is bitter cold. Do not go out--into the night--

TO Africa. The moon will be making golden streaks upon the water. A rose
will be blooming in our garden--his eyes were vacant.

THEN it was not his arm he had given for Russia--it was--

A CRY pierced the cold air.

THE weight of a dead body resounded.

I WONDER what that was, Ivan mused--

WHICH is the shortest way to the Cathedral----

THESE Arab streets are so steep--

CANDLES

BEFORE a statue of Joan of Arc, in a little country church, a child
knelt in prayer.

OH protect my papa--the little one prayed.

SHE lighted a candle--offered it to the Maid of France.

* * * * *

A YOUNG girl prayed at the feet of the Saint. She burned a candle.

FOR ANDRE--for his safety.

THE invaders entered the village,--heeding neither church nor ground of
the dead.

THEY ripped open shallow graves to show the living they had power--even
over those who had gone. They killed the priest. And the nuns, even,
from the school.

THEY damaged.

DESTROYED--

THE church caught fire. The candles, burning before the Saint of
Domremy, blazed into one huge flame. It shot up to the roof. And seemed
to cry--

O JOAN OF ARC--come back--France needs you.

* * * * *

THE child--

AN Angel of Heaven

THE young girl who had prayed for Andre--two officers had taken her.

SHE struggled--

A SWORD--

THE flames of the burning village had revealed it.

MONSIEUR L'ABBE had said suicide was sin--but surely God would forgive--

SHE pierced the sword into her white flesh--blood flowed to the ground.

LITTLE FOOL muttered the maddened officer.

HE went back to the village--for more destroying.

A STONE from a burning house--

HE died with an oath.

BUT Andre, weeks before, had died with prayer upon his lips--a thought
for his sweet betrothed.

IGOR

ONWARD

TO kill

PILLAGE

ONLY a few days before the lighted candles of a chapel. A young monk in
prayer. Quietude in his soul. The brown habit--the crucifix lay
forgotten.

THE maddening din of battle. Its fury burned his soul.

HE had been left an orphaned child. At th