e proprietor before the war of a little business in the
North, prosperous and happy in his little family of a wife and two
children. His mother was dead but his father and sister lived close
by. War came and he left for the Front confident that his wife would
run the business. It was only a few months later that he heard his
wife had run away with another man, that the shop was abandoned, and
the children had taken refuge with his father.

Then came the next blow. His sister died of successive shocks and his
father was paralyzed. Then he lost his sight. His children were living
anyhow with neighbors in the half ruined village, and he was learning
to make brushes.

So much for the man's tragedy in war time. It is said that as time
goes on there are more of them. On the other hand, during the first
year, when the men were not allowed to go home, they formed abiding
connections with women in the rear of the army, and when the six days'
leave was granted preferred to take these ladies on a little jaunt
than return to the old drab existence at home.

These are what may be called the by-products of war, but they may
exercise a serious influence on a nation's future. When the hundreds
of children born in the North of France, who are half English, or half
Scotch, or half Irish, or half German, or half Indian, or half
Moroccan, grow up and begin to drift about and mingle with the general
life of the nation, the result may be that we shall have been the last
generation to see a race that however diversified was reasonably proud
of its purity.

VII

MADAME PIERRE GOUJON (Continued)

I

I had gone to Lyons to see the war relief work of that flourishing
city and Madame Goujon went South at the same time to visit her
husband's people. We agreed to meet in the little town of Bourg la
Bresse, known to the casual tourist for its church erected in the
sixteenth century by Margaret of Austria and famous for the carvings
on its tombs.

Otherwise it is a picturesque enlarged village with a meandering
stream that serves as an excuse for fine bridges; high-walled gardens,
ancient trees, and many quaint old buildings.

Not that I saw anything in detail. The Mayor, M. Loiseau, and Madame
Goujon met me at the station, and my ride to the various hospitals
must have resembled the triumphal progress of chariots in ancient
Rome. The population leaped right and left, the children even
scrambling up the walls as we flew through th