ot only of the elements, but of enemy
bombs and shells, expecting the end at any instant; or curled up, half
frozen in a humid, slimy dug-out, not long enough to permit stretching
out--scarcely deep enough to be called a shelter.

Would they not be disgusted? Ready to protest against this disfigured
travesty of their war?

I feel quite certain they never gave it a thought. Blissfully
installed in their comfortable orchestra seats they didn't intend to
miss a word of the entire performance. And when finally in an endless
chain of verses, a comedian, mimicking a _poilu_ with his kit on his
back, recited his vicissitudes with the army police, and got mixed up
in his interpretation of R.A.T., G.Q.G.--etc., they burst into round
after round of applause, calling and recalling their favourite, while
their sides shook with laughter, and the tears rolled down their cheeks.

These same faces took on a nobly serious aspect, while a tall, pale,
painted damsel draped in a peplum, evoked in ringing tones the glorious
history of the tri-colour. I looked about me--many a manly countenance
was wrinkled with emotion, and women on all sides sniffed audibly. It
was then that I understood, as never before, what a philosopher friend
calls "the force of symbols."

An exact scenic reproduction of the war would have shocked all those
good people; just as this impossible theatrical deformation, this
potpourri of songs, dances and orchestral tremolos charmed and
delighted their care-saturated souls.

Little girls in Alsatian costume, and the eternally sublime Red Cross
nurse played upon their sentimentality; the slacker inspired them with
disgust; they shrieked with delight at the _nouveau riche_; and their
enthusiasm knew no bounds when towards eleven-fifteen arrived the
"Stars and Stripes" accompanied by a double sextette of khaki-coloured
female ambulance drivers. Tradition has willed it thus.

If the war continue any length of time doubtless the United States will
also become infuriated with the slacker, and I tremble to think of the
special brand of justice that woman in particular will have in store
for the man who does not really go to the front, or who, thanks to
intrigue and a uniform, is spending his days in peace and safety.

Alas, there are _embusques_ in all countries, just as there are
_nouveaux-riches_. In Paris these latter are easily discernible. They
have not yet had time to become accustomed to their new luxuries