That conquest of the unsubstantial air seems the greatest of all man’s achievements. And as I walked along there was an almost perceptible flinging of my soul into the heavenly spaces and I thought not on battles and wrecks nor even of hungry children, but rather of the discoverers of nature’s secrets, the disciples of philosophers, the undiscourageable lovers of the arts, who everywhere are in the minority, and everywhere reach the heights, and everywhere in the end control the hosts, even of battle. And at the sudden dropping of the sun over the lovely Lorraine fields, become blue with scarcely a hint of the green and brown and amethyst of a moment ago, the band of yellow fringing the horizon—though with me walked the ghosts of men who at the word of command invaded or defended—I was not sad. A lean, brown, unexpectant urchin entered the town with me. I gave him a two-franc piece and a blessing, _Pax tibi_, which last, from the look in his eyes, some part of him understood. Then I turned into the beautiful old house of the mayor where _goûter_ and bridge had been arranged for us. I rapped with a large and very bright wrought-iron knocker bearing the date 1781, and, entering, found myself in a great hallway; to the left is the _escalier d’honneur_, with its beautiful wrought-iron balustrade. I mounted it, and passed through many rooms of noble yet thoroughly livable dimensions. They were filled with officers, some women came from their hospital service in nursing garb, groups of bright-eyed “_filles à marier_,” and a few young aviators. The large _salon_ has beautiful panelings, with heavy gilt _motifs_ of tambour, torch, helmet and shield in the corners. In it was signed the celebrated Traité de Lunéville, 1801, and it is all very seigneurial. I found myself seated at a table with the mayor, General —— and Mme. de C., in nursing garb. I investigated, during a couple of hours, the surprises of the erratic yet brilliant bridge of the _maire de Lunéville_, whose delight was to mystify his partner as well as the adversary, and who, without in the least deserving it, won every rubber. I had a few bad “distractions,” but who would not, under that roof so rich in memories? During the occupation in 1914 the German generals and high officers entering the town were lodged on the second floor of the old house. The same thing had happened in 1870. We came away in pitch darkness at 7.30, but I can now skip and bound about the dark streets, with the best of them, no more feeling around for curbs, which seem again to be placed where they are to be expected.