British
airs,--each brought forth a different series of gestures. "Monsieur, I
have not heard such fine music since I heard the Republican Guards'
band at Paris; in fact, monsieur, this is finer--the tone is richer,
rounder and more mellow. It is marvellous, Monsieur le Colonel,
marvellous; it is entrancing; a-ha! heavenly!"

M---- Hotel in the evening was an interesting sight. Little tables
were spread about upon the sawdust sprinkled floor, each table with
two or four guests discussing the official communiques of the day, the
flow of talk assisted by a bottle of red or white wine. M.X., the
miller, at heart more or less of a pessimist invariably got into an
argument with that fierce optimist, M.Y., the lumberman. Night after
night they would argue as to the progress of the war; whether Germany
was really short of food; whether there were really three million men
in "Keetchenaire's" army; whether the country was infested with spies;
or why Von Kluck's army turned back from Paris.

_An Indian Concert._

Towards four o'clock, one afternoon, we noticed an unusual clearing up
of the village square. Military policemen were ordering away motor
cars, wagons, and lorries, while everything in the square was made
spick and span. About four-thirty, Sikhs, Beloochis, Pathans, and
Ghurkas began to stroll into the square and congregate in groups,
shaking hands with acquaintances they had not met for some time, just
like typical Frenchmen. Those who came later carried drums and
bagpipes of the regulation kind. At five minutes to five the
bandmaster made his appearance, and the band lined up while they tuned
their chanters.

Sharp at five o'clock, with a punctuality that was remarkable, the
band stepped out across the square to the tune of "The Cock of the
North," played in perfect time and tune. At the far side of the square
they wheeled about and back they came with ribbons flying and chests
inflated, looking like real natives of the Scottish hills. It was the
most perfect pipe playing I had ever heard. The French were delighted.
As the strains died away in the wail of the chanters, a hearty round
of applause brought smiles to the serious faces of the Indians, and
away they went again to "Highland Laddie," followed by "The Campbells
are Coming."

Then another band followed with performance on the Indian pipe which
is something like a chanter, without the bag or drones. The effect was
awful. To make a hit they attempted "La