SCENES IN THE GREAT WAR
thought to beg their bread, had been forced by the hunger of their children to stand in long queues at the doors of the bakers' shops; when the city was at length starved into submission, and the proud French people, with their immemorial heritage of fame, were compelled to permit the glittering Prussian helmets to go shining clown their streets.
A new generation had been born to France since even the last of these events, but was it with a light heart that she took up the gage which Germany so haughtily threw down? Indeed, no! Never had France, the bright, the brilliant, the cheerful-hearted, shown the world a graver face. A few students across the Seine might shout "À Berlin! À Berlin!" just as our boys in khaki chalked up the same address on their gun carriages. Idlers in blouses along the quays might scream the "Marseillaise." Gangs of ruffians in back streets might break the windows of the shops of German tradespeople. Some bitter old campaigners might talk about revenge. But when the drums beat for the French regiments to start away for Alsace and the Belgian frontier, the heart of France was calm and steadfast.
"This is a fight for the right, for France, and for the freedom of our souls!"
