At Zurich, at Olten and at Berne, they see the same things and more so as they approach France. Here, the manifestations are clamorous and very lively. Above all, the people speak French and shout: "_Bravo les braves!_" However, they are not yet completely happy: they are not home! But they stretch and become more attentive to the surrounding country. Through the window they admire the Bernoise Alps blanketed with snow. At Fribourg, a woman holds out a bouquet of flowers to Cochin, while her daughter presents him at the same time with a cup of steaming bouillon. They cannot understand why the crowd shouts so much. They cry also: "_Vive la France!_" "Take it," say both the mother and daughter. Patachon leans out the window. "He cannot take them," he says, "because his arms are gone----" The two step back as if to shrink away from this immense misfortune, but Patachon calls to them: "Pass me the flowers and the cup--it is I who am his mother at present. Thank you, madame; thank you, _ma petite_--_Allons_, drink that, old brother. Is it too hot?" The mother and child begin to cry, "Oh, the poor, the poor _blessé_." Cochin stiffens as if proud of his wound---- * * * * * They passed by Lausanne, and Geneva, and at the latter place said adieux to Switzerland. It was night when they crossed the border and a half hour later entered the station at Bellegrade--France! At last they were home. The people were different. Nurses went up and down the platform with a cheery word for everyone. In short, each one wanted to tell his story, but a smile from these women almost made them forget it. The following day they got out at the Lyon station where a beautiful ceremony had been planned to receive them. The mayor addressed them in front of the station and at his side were the general commanding the district and the city officials. Little girls, quaintly dressed in their first communicant costumes, distributed flowers, and Patachon fixed a pretty rosebud in his comrade's tunic. The mayor compared them to old flags riddled with bullets, at which one gazed with pride and emotion. Everyone was grave, because they were conscious it was true. The music kept on playing--the throng went wild--was this not a beautiful dream after that horrible nightmare? The blind themselves smiled, as if they saw--They breathed the air of France! * * * * * They went back into the train, this time to complete the last step of their journey: to-morrow they will be in Paris. They are tired and they find the time passes slowly, so great is their impatience. Cochin telegraphs his wife to be at the station with the little one---- They cannot sleep and they speak of their captivity. They are content within themselves as long as they do not give way to discouragement. They fully apprehend now the return--what will become of them?