This proved not a bad idea, for they were allowed the edge of a curbstone when Miss Lowndes betrayed her nationality by her speech. They stood patiently for a long time, but at last the cheers began away down the street, growing nearer and nearer. There was enthusiasm enough for their own brave fellows, but when the tall, gaunt, clear-eyed young Americans came marching by, the crowd went wild. They cheered, they wept, they babbled fond blessings. They strewed flowers, they thrust gifts of chocolate into the hands of the smiling lads. They danced to the tune of Dixie; they laughed and kept time with the catchy ragtime music of the bands. The city was taken by storm, for these boys represented not only young America, but the inspirers of a new courage which should lead the way to peace. Nora Lowndes forgot who she was, where she was, what she was. She was conscious only that these were her countrymen who had come for righteousness’ sake to give their best to France. “Bless every one of you,” she called out, and they, noting the familiar speech, cast smiling glances at her out of the corners of their eyes. “It was worth waiting for,” sighed Miss Lowndes when the last man had passed. “I am sure I must have known some of them, but I was too dazed to tell. It is a great thing to leave Paris with such a memory as that.” “I shall remember it forever,” Lucie answered. “I was never so proud of my mother’s country as I am to-day.” This was the first sight they had of the khaki-clad youths, but it was far from being the last, for in that region to which they were going they were soon to become a familiar sight. The next day they set out. An older lady joined them. Then two men, French, one American, took them in a motor car which had been designated for this service. More and more desolate the scene became as they advanced. Where had been smiling hamlets were only shattered walls, great shell holes, utter waste. As they went on toward abandoned districts, now evacuated by the enemy, there were more signs of life. The kindly green of grass covered silent places. Birds were singing, wild flowers blooming, but everywhere, everywhere were the rows of little crosses which marked the graves of those who no longer heard the birds or saw the flowers blooming above them. It was a wearisome journey, for the way was difficult over the roughest of roads. The car was loaded to its fullest capacity for there were many necessities which they must take with them. More would follow as their plans developed. Long before they reached their destination silence had fallen upon the whole group, the silence of fatigue. At last the car stopped. “This is the place, madam,” said the American driver to Mrs. Graves.