he road, and I heard him explaining to his companion "J'ai dit a
madame," etc.

I don't think any comment is necessary on what Broadway does to
the French lad of the people.

Last night I saw one of the most beautiful sights that I have ever
seen. For several evenings I have been hearing artillery practice of
some sort, but I paid no attention to it. We have no difficulty in
distinguishing the far-off guns at Soissons and Rheims, which
announce an attack, from the more audible, but quite different, sound
of the tir d'exercice. But last night they sounded so very near--almost
as if in the garden--that, at about nine, when I was closing up the
house, I stepped out on to the terrace to listen. It was a very dark
night, quite black. At first I thought they were in the direction of
Quincy, and then I discovered, once I was listening carefully, that they
were in the direction of the river. I went round to the north side of the
house, and I saw the most wonderful display--more beautiful than any
fireworks I had ever seen. The artillery was experimenting with signal
lights, and firing colored fusees volantes. I had read about them, but
never seen one. As near as I could make out, the artillery was on top
of the hill of Monthyon--where we saw the battle of the Marne begin,--
and the line they were observing was the Iles-les-Villenoy, in the river
right at the west of us. When I first saw the exercises, there were half
a dozen lovely red and green lights hanging motionless in the sky. I
could hear the heavy detonation of the cannon or gun, or whatever
they use to throw them, and then see the long arc of light like a chain
of gold, which marked the course of the fusee, until it burst into color
at the end. I wrapped myself up, took my field-glasses, and stayed
out an hour watching the scene, and trying to imagine what exactly
the same thing, so far as mere beauty went, meant to the men at the
front.

In the morning I found that everyone else had heard the guns, but no
one had seen anything, because, as it happens, it was from my lawn
only that both Monthyon and the Iles-les-Villenoy could be seen.

XXXVII

March 19, 1917

Such a week of excitement as we have had. But it has been uplifting
excitement. I feel as if I had never had an ache or a pain, and Time
and Age were not. What with the English advance, the Russian
Revolution, and Zeppelins tumbling out of the heavens, every day
has been just a little more thr