y, as if
in sleep.

Oftentimes he did not need to feign his slumber. But sinking slowly
down into unconsciousness his native gentleness would return
and a smile would rest upon his lips; I doubt not that in his dreams
the Green-Gray troops of Despotism were ridden down by the Blue
and Red Republicans of France.

Once even he hummed a snatch of the Marseillaise. An extra loud
blast from the distant cannonading stirred him from his reverie. "Ah
ha!" he exclaimed, clasping my arm, the artillery--"it's getting nearer
all the time. They are driving back the Boches, eh? We'll be free
to-morrow, certain. Then we'll celebrate together in my country-
home."

Walking over to the door, he peered down the street as if he
already expected to catch a glint of the vanguard of the Blue and
Red. Twice he did this and returned with confidence unshaken.
"Mark my word," he reiterated; "three days at the outside and we
shall see the French!"

That was in September, 1914. Those three days passed away into
as many weeks, into as many months, and into almost as many
years. I cannot help wondering whether the same hopes stirred
within him at each fresh outburst of cannonading on the Somme.
And whether through those soul-sickening months that white-
haired man peered daily down those Brussels streets, yearning for
the advent of the Red and Blue Army of Deliverance. Red and
Blue it was ever in his mind. If once it had come in its new uniform
of somber hue, it would have been a disappointing shock I fear.
He was an old man then; he is now perhaps beyond all such
human hurts. His pain was as real as anything I saw in all the war.
I had little time to dwell upon it, however, for presently I was put
into a situation that called for all my wits. I was introduced to it by
the announcement of the porter:

"An American gentleman to see you, sir."

That was joyful news to one held within the confines of a captive
city, from which all exit was, for the time being, closely barred.

It was September 28th, my birthday, too. The necessity of
celebrating this in utter boredom was a dismal prospect. Now this
came upon me like a little surprise-party.

Picking up a bit of paper on which I had been scribbling down a
few memoranda that I feared might escape my mind, I hastened
into the hallway to meet a somewhat spare, tall, and extremely
erect-appearing man. He greeted me with a smile and a bow--a
rather dry smile and a rather stiff bow for an America