She said: "How pure a place this is--it's nature, And I can worship here, this makes you hate The cafés and the pleasures of the town." What was this woman, dear, what was her soul? Or was she half and half? Oh, after all, I am a hostile mixture, so are you. And so I drifted out, and only stayed A day or two beyond that afternoon. I took a last walk on the Promenade; At last saw just ahead of me these two, His arm was fast in hers, they sauntered on As if in serious talk. As I came up, I greeted them and said good-bye again. Where is the major? Did the major steal The heart of Elenor Murray, speed her death? They could have married. Why did she return? Or did the major follow her? Well, dear, Here is the story, truthful to a fault. My soul is yours, I kept it true to you. Hear how the waters roar upon the sand! I close my eyes and almost can believe We are together on the Corniche Road. * * * * * Well, it may never be that Merival Heard from Bernard of Elenor at Nice, Although he knew it sometime, knew as well Her service in the war had nerved the men And by that much had put the Germans down. America at the fateful moment lent Her strength to bring the war's end. Elenor Was one of many to cross seas and bring Life strength against the emperor, once secure, And throned in power against such phagocytes As Elenor Murray, Bernard, even kings. And sawing wood at Amerongen all He thought of was of brains and monstrous hearts Which sent the phagocytes from America, England and France to eat him up at last. One day an American soldier, so 'tis said Someone told Merival, was walking near The house at Amerongen, saw a man With drooped mustache and whitened beard approach, Two mastiffs walked beside him. As he passed Unrecognized, the soldier to a mate Spoke up and said: "What hellish dogs are those?-- Like Bismarck used to have; I saw a picture Of Bismarck with his dogs." The drooped mustache Turned nervously and took the soldiers in, Then strode ahead. The emperor was stunned To hear an American soldier use a knife As sharp as that. But Elenor at Nice Walked with the major as Bernard has told. And this is wrinkled water, dark and far From Merival, unknown to him. He hears, And this alone, she went from Nice to Florence, Was ill there in a convent, we shall see. This is the tale that Irma Leese related To Coroner Merival in a leisure hour: THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE Elenor Murray and Petain, the major, The Promenade des Anglais walked at Nice. A cloud was over him, and in her heart A growing grief.