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down that young Boche instead of . . .”
The Mayor stopped him short with an
uneasy glance at the door.
“I told you to be quiet, and if you go on
like that I shall get downright angry with
you. You know I am very sorry for you;
but Josephine is even worse off than you—try
not to forget it. Her husband was killed at
Charleroi,” said the Mayor to the Doctor;
“her only son passed with his battalion
through our village last Sunday, and she had
just time to say ‘God bless you’ to him as
he marched past her in the street. His
battalion held the ridge up there for the whole
day under a terrible shell-fire. In the night
the Germans charged with the bayonet.
Nearly the whole battalion was annihilated;
but she does not know it. She stood the
whole day and night in the porch of the
church, anxiously looking in the faces of the
wounded as they were brought in. She has
now made up her mind that her boy was
amongst those few who got away. Since
then she has never left the church, and I do
not know what we would have done without
her. It is besides the best thing for her to
keep working. Neither the Curé nor I have
had the heart to tell her yet——”
“Won’t you come and look at him,
Monsieur le Maire,” pleaded Josephine at the
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