The trench deadlock in northern France and Belgium was broken by Ludendorff's fatuous drive in March, 1918. After the allies had stopped it and inaugurated their counter-offensive all Europe made a startling discovery. The Germans were tenacious enough in trench warfare; in open fighting, known as war of maneouvre, they could not stand before American and the allied troops. Incessant attacks, rapidly delivered at the same time at many points on the long line between the North Sea and the Swiss border, were more than they could withstand. The mechanically trained troops of the central empires were futile before armies of men who did their own thinking and delighted in fighting an enemy they could see from the feet up. German armies had twice been almost at the gates of Paris. The first time they were driven back they dug themselves in. That was in 1915. The second time, in the spring of 1918, they were allowed no time for digging in. From the July days of 1918, when American soldiers at Chateau Thierry beat the best troops that ever were trained in Prussia, they were kept going. How industriously may be inferred from the story of the young corporal who was sitting on the roadside trying to tie the soles of his shoes to the uppers, in a hurry. Somebody asked him what was the matter. "O, nothing much," said he. "Only I came over here to kill Germans, but they never told me I'd have to run 'em to death." A STRANGER TO HIS OWN CHILD There never was a war so prolific of personal incident in every shade of experience possible to human life. The devastated provinces of France offer perhaps more of these happenings than any other part of the steel-swept, shell-wrecked fronts of all Europe. An Associated Press correspondent tells one that is especially touching. He was motoring toward Denaen, one of the cities the Germans had occupied through four hard years, when a French officer going in the same direction asked him for a lift, explaining that he had lived there but had neither seen nor heard from his wife during all that time. Entering the city and turning into his street the officer saw the first house was in ruins. He gave a nervous start. A few doors farther on was his home. The officer climbed out with an effort, his eyes fixed on the place. There was no sign of life. The windows were shuttered and on the door was a sign showing German officers had been living there. The officer pulled the bell with shaking hand. No one answered. He backed away like a man in a trance and leaned against the car, trembling. Suddenly the door opened and an aged servant appeared, leading a beautiful baby girl with a wealth of golden curls. The officer took one step toward the child and halted. He was a stranger to his own flesh and blood. The child hid behind the nurse, peering out in fright.