The Red Cross Barge

e Marne, and, as so often happens in France, it is on the highest gr

r Doktor was betaking himself there to attend the fun

n this German surgeon to the dying Frenchman; but while to her whose vigils he shared time had seemed to drag with leaden feet, to him the hours had gone a

e house, hidden in its fragrant garden behind high walls. Even outside those walls, along the quiet, rudely paved streets and stony, steep byways of the town, there came no surge of the fierce, devastating tide of war now sweeping ever nearer and nearer to doomed Paris. Max Keller, one side of his nature absorbed in what had become an all-encompassing vision of coming joy, of heart-hunger satisfied, another side concerned with alleviating the las

sh and injunction-that they two should proceed to Paris without delay. As to what should follow their arrival in Paris he, Max Keller, must wait upon events. In any case,

Thérèse that his further presence in that house of bitter mourning was superfluous. Reluctantly he had gone off to the Tournebride to find there, as is always the case with an empty inn, an unnatural sense of peace and v

e remaining population of Valoise, or at any rate all the old women and all the children too, intended to be present at the funeral of Dr. Rouannès. He noted, with a certain indulgent amusement, that there was

tony thoroughfare which led to the cemetery, the practical side of his German mind asked itself, with a k

ad, and the Herr Doktor, when he at last walked through the gates, and found himself in the strangely

d closely together struck him as exquisitely symbolic of the highest type of human love; he was touched by the quaint conceit of a black tablet bedewed with a widower's white tears, and he

arrested by an English inscription. Though cut deep into a now very weather-beaten st

men, nameless German officers. An Englishwoman, a lover of German

stone cross, wondering bitterly whether the Englishwoman who had done this kindly act was s

ked on, till he found the deep, roughly made grave

e chapel, and below the lintel of the roof ran

ood before the gates, between which rose the

ed a member of the Rouannès family. Jeanne's grandfather, dead forty-five years ago; her grandmother; an uncle

moiselle Jeanne de Blignièr

oise, but of the spreading plains below. He went there, and leaning over the low parapet, gazed down at the place where, some hundred fee

is short-sighted eyes tried to pierce the masses of shifting mist which moved over the wide, flat expanse of land below, there suddenly broke on the still air the soun