“I called at your diggings,” he said. “I had to go through London. They told me you had started. It is good of you.” And the big German, again embracing the little Frenchman, had promised, and had sent his compliments to Madame.!

“Talk it over with him,” he said. “And bear this in mind for your own guidance.” He took a step forward, which brought his face quite close to hers: “If he fails, and all his life’s work goes for nothing, I shall be sorry; but I shan’t break my heart. He will.” “It would not do to tell the truth, or we should have our children growing up to hate war,” she concluded.

She must write to him. The sooner it was done, the better. Half a dozen contradictory moods passed over her during the composing of that letter; but to her they seemed but the unfolding of a single thought. On one page it might have been his mother writing to him; an experienced, sagacious lady; quite aware, in spite of her affection for him, of his faults and weaknesses; solicitous that he should avoid the dangers of an embarrassing entanglement; his happiness being the only consideration of importance. On others it might have been a queen laying her immutable commands upon some loyal subject, sworn to her service. Part of it might have been written by a laughing philosopher who had learnt the folly of taking life too seriously, knowing that all things pass: that the tears of to-day will be remembered with a smile. And a part of it was the unconsidered language of a loving woman. And those were the pages that he kissed. “It would help, undoubtedly,” the girl answered. “I don’t see any other way of getting hold of them.” Flossie caught sight of the clock and jumped up. “Who was it said that woman would be the last thing man would civilize?” she asked.