. But no hate between Montague and Capulet was ever more
bitter. The gentle flame of antipathy was constantly kept kindled by a
glance in passing, a half audible sneer, and if the Vidalenc chose the
day of the White Sale to hang out and beat their stock of coal sacks,
one might be certain that the Lemots would be seized with a fit of
cleanliness on the coldest of winter days, and would play the hose up
and down the street in the freezing air about an hour or so before the
Vidalencs would have to unload their coal wagons.

The younger generation, on leaving school every afternoon, would also
see to it that the family feud be properly recognised, and many and
bitter were the mutual pummelings.

Reconciliation seemed an impossibility, and yet both were hardworking,
honest families, economical and gracious, rejoicing in the friendship
of the entire quarter, who, of course, were much pained by the
situation.

Even the mobilisation failed to bring a truce and the unforgettable
words of "Sacred Unity" fell upon arid ground.

But how strange, mysterious and far reaching are the designs of
Providence. Young Vidalenc was put into a regiment that was brigaded
with the one to which belonged Monsieur Lemot.

The two men met "Out there," and literally fell into each other's arms.

A letter containing a description of this event arrived in the two
shops at almost the same moment. That is to say the postman first went
to Father Vidalenc's, but by the time the old man had found his
spectacles, Madame Lemot had received her missive, and both were
practically read at once. Then came the dash for the other's shop, the
paper waving wildly in the air.

Of course, they met in the street, stopped short, hesitated, collapsed,
wept and embraced, to the utter amazement of the entire quarter who
feared not only that something fatal had happened, but also for their
mental safety.

Later in the day the news got abroad, and by nightfall every one had
heard that Father Vidalenc had washed Madame Lemot's store windows, and
that Madame Lemot had promised to have an eye to Vidalenc's accounts,
which had been somewhat abandoned since the departure of his son.

When Lemot returned on furlough there was a grand dinner given in his
honour at Vidalenc's, and when Vidalenc dined at Lemot's, it was
assuredly amusing to see the latter's children all togged out in their
Sunday best, a tri-colour bouquet in hand, waiting on their doorstep to
greet