ll its vice, and that war had purged a people of
its carnal weakness, and that the young manhood of the nation had
been spiritualized and made austere. Yes, it was true. War had
captured the souls and bodies of men, and under her discipline of
blood and agony men's wayward fancies, the seductions of the flesh,
the truancies of the heart were tamed and leashed.

Yet a Christian soul may pity those poor butterflies of life who had
been broken on the wheels of war. I pitied them, unashamed of this
emotion, when I saw some of them flitting through the streets of Paris
on that September eve when the city was very quiet, expecting
capture, and afterwards through the long, weary weeks of war. They
had a scared look, like pretty beasts caught in a trap. They had
hungry eyes, filled with an enormous wistfulness. Their faces were
blanched, because rouge was dear when food had to be bought
without an income, and their lips had lost their carmine flush. Outside
the Taverne Royale one day two of them spoke to me--I sat scribbling
an article for the censor to cut out. They had no cajoleries, none of
the little tricks of their trade. They spoke quite quietly and gravely.

"Are you an Englishman?"

"Yes."

"But not a soldier?"

"No. You see my clothes!"

"Have you come to Paris for pleasure? That is strange, for now there
is nothing doing in that way."

"Non, c'est vrai. Il n'y a rien a faire dans ce genre."

I asked them how they lived in war time.

One of the girls--she had a pretty delicate face and a serious way of
speech--smiled, with a sigh that seemed to come from her little high-
heeled boots.

"It is difficult to live. I was a singing girl at Montmartre. My lover is
at the war. There is no one left. It is the same with all of us. In a
little while we shall starve to death. Mais, pourquoi pas? A singing
girl's death does not matter to France, and will not spoil the joy
of her victory!"

She lifted a glass of amer picon--for the privilege of hearing the truth
she could tell me I was pleased to pay for it--and said in a kind of
whisper, "Vive la France!" and then, touching her glass with her lips:
"Vive l'Angleterre!"

The other girl leaned forward and spoke with polite and earnest
inquiry.

"Monsieur would like a little love?"

I shook my head.

"Ca ne marche pas. Je suis un homme serieux." "It is very cheap to-
day," said the girl. "Ca ne coute pas cher, en temps de guerre."

7

After the battle of