e silk parachute of a fusee volante, on which was
written: "A Miss Mildred Aldrich Ramasse sur le champ de bataille a
20 metres des lignes Boches. Souvenir de la patrouille de Fevrier 22,
1917," and the signature of the Aspirant, and that was the only way I
knew he had probably been on a dangerous mission.

It was the first time that I had ever seen one any nearer than in the
air, during the exercises by night of which I wrote you, and one of the
boys was explaining it, and its action, and use, and everyone but me
was laughing at the graphic demonstration. I don't know why I didn't
laugh. Usually I laugh more than anyone else.

Sometimes I think that I have laughed more in the last two years than
in all the rest of my life. The demonstrator looked at me, and asked
why I was so grave. I replied that I did not know--perhaps in surprise
that they were so gay.

He understood at once. Quite simply he said: "Well, my dear
madame, we must be gay. What would we do otherwise? If we
thought too often of the comrades who are gone, if we remembered
too often that we risked our skins every day, the army would be
demoralized. I rarely think of these things except just after an attack.
Then I draw a deep breath, look up at the sky, and I laugh, as I say to
my soul, 'Well, it was not to be this time, perhaps it never will be.' Life
is dear to each of us, in his own way, and for his own reasons. Luckily
it is not so dear to any of us as France or honor."

I turned away and looked out of the window a moment--I could not
trust myself,--and the next minute they were all shaking hands, and
were off down the road to get ready.

The loaded camions began to move just after dark. No one knows
the destination, but judging by the direction, they were heading for
Soissons. They were moving all night, and the first thing I heard this
morning was the bugle in the direction of Quincy, and the news came
at breakfast time that the 65th Regiment--the last of the big fighting
regiments to go into action at Verdun, and the last to leave, was
marching in. The girl from the butcher's brought the news, and "Oh,
madame," she added, "the Americans are with them."

"The what?" I exclaimed.

"A big American ambulance corps--any number of ambulance
automobiles, and they have put their tents up on the common at
Quincy."

You can imagine how excited I was. I sent someone over to Quincy at
once to see if it was true, and word came back that Captain Norton'