The Weber Literary Journal Our route back from the front led us again through the now familiar Amiens. I sought an early leisure to visit with my friend, M. La Mont. At once I noticed that his house did not appear from without to have its former air of cheer; the shades were drawn, and no cheerful lights could be seen as before. When I was admitted by the servant the air of sadness was confirmed. My host received me with a wan smile, took my hand in both of his, and said softly, "Ah, Mademoiselle, I am happy to see you again." But why did he look so grey and aged? Why was he not half-crazy with joy as other Frenchmen were? I half guessed the reason as he led me again into the big library which recalled the beginning of our friendship. When we were seated, I began, with an attempt at sounding joyful, "I congratulate you, Monsieur, on the splendid things that the French boys have done. They are the finest soldiers in the world, that is, next to our Sammies." At that he brightened a little and corrected, "Not next to your Sammies, but along with your Sammies, oui Mademoiselle?" After that we both sat silent for a time, I desiring to say the right thing, and he, too, apparently searching for words. At length he broke out, "I know you wish to have news of my boy." He seemed to choke over the last word, and I knew that my fears were substantiated. "He is gone," the man continued; "I will tell you how it happened. The War Council seemed to ignore my last request for a pass, so I decided several days after you had gone, to go to Paris and personally put my case before the committee. I told the story simply of how I had lost my three sons, and begged that leniency be shown to me and the oldest boy. My own pleading might have availed nothing, had not my family name and ancestry been strongly urged. After several weeks of waiting, I at last received the pass and started northward to my son." He looked at me out of dimmed eyes, and perceiving that I was truly sympathetic, he went on. "My pass afforded me safe conduct through the lines, until I arrived at a stronghold ten miles behind the front line trenches. Then I was forbidden to go farther. I was told that my son would be called back on the next day, if the battle then being fought was over. At first I was satisfied with this as my informant assured me that our troops were certain of winning the battle. 12 The Weber Literary Journal But that night as I lay in my tent, trying not to think, a terrible fear clutched at my heart. What if he were killed tonight after all! This thought grew and grew until it amounted to physical pain, and as I could no longer lie down, I arose, dressed, and went out into the night. The occasional boom of a cannon could be heard far away. With each passing moment my terror increased, until, half-crazed, I decided to go to my son that very night. "Somehow I managed to get past the guards, and then I ran ran until I dropped exhausted on the damp, hard earth. It must have been about twelve o'clock when I started, for after half-running, half-stumbling along for what seemed to me an eternity, I at last reached the rear of the battleground. I remember the exact time, it was half past one, for I now recall having looked frequently at my watch. "I groped along into one trench, out of it and into another, until some one growled, 'Halt!' and grabbed my arm. I was just strong enough to gasp,'My boy, Gaspard La Mont, is he here?' when a shell burst almost under us and I became unconscious." M. La Mont had been talking rapidly, glancing at me now and then for encouragement, and now he stopped to recover his composure. Soon he proceeded, "When I regained consciousness, the first thing that met my eyes was the dead body of my boy. His face was distorted with a determined grin, and I knew without asking that my son had died gladly for the cause, by my very side." The man's head had sunk lower and lower, until at the end of his story it was held tightly supported in his hands. I was really stirred. I wanted to help him bear his sorrow, but I hardly knew what to say. So I simply arose, held out my hand, and said, "Thank you for telling me your story, Monsieur. I love France now more than ever. Goodbye, and may God help you in your loss." I have never seen M. La Mont since that day, but when I recall that last hand-clasp, the thought comes again and again that it is not only on the field of battle where woman may render urgent service and I'm not so sure I'm sorry, after all, that I am a woman. 13