I tried to protest, to insist that I had no intention of thrusting my presence upon them for eleven days. But he took my refusal with the air of a hurt child and when Angele joined her pleas with his, I succumbed. I let du Frere hail a cab and we all piled in. I gathered up my few possessions at the hotel and climbed aboard again, and we rumbled through the streets of Paris toward St. Germain, Angele clinging to her brother's arm and listening with a wrapt look on her face to his gay comments on trench life. I thought I must be dreaming it all. It was so like the scene of a play--Paris slipping away from us, as we rattled across a long bridge, the open country becoming greener and leafier every instant--the gay voice of the young officer, the eager questions of our little old driver, and the poppy-like girl, with lips parted, drinking in breathlessly every word her brother uttered. We stopped before a tiny house, shaded by tall trees. I saw, gathered before it, a little knot of people, shading their eyes for a glimpse of the returning hero. They pounced upon him, men, women, and children--all his neighbors, who had awaited his home coming for heaven only knows how many hours. They shouted their welcome to him, each of them clasping him for a minute and claiming his full attention. Angele stood looking on, the tears rolling down her cheeks, even while her lips smiled. "They love him so," she said softly, as though to explain it, "he is so brave!" I think he was, to face that mob. They followed him in. The table was spread with every sort of delicacy. Each one of them had contributed something choice--some dish of which he was especially fond. He exclaimed over it all rapturously. He left nothing to be desired in his eager enthusiasm. They gave him no time to rest. They poured a torrent of questions upon him. Questions about their own brothers and husbands and lovers--questions concerning warfare--trench life--battles in which he had fought. And he told them all he knew until at length Angele scolded them tenderly and bore him off. Then it was that they turned upon me as the second best object of interest. Never in a lifetime could I answer all that they asked of me. What did our country hope to do? How many men could she send across at once? How long did she think the war would last? I tell you I was glad to see Angele and Louis reappear and to follow them to the feast. I was placed at Angele's right hand--the guest of honor--I sat down with a sigh of relief as I saw the tempting spread. Sat down! We were never down more than an instant before someone would leap up and propose a standing toast to Pershing and to Joffre, to President Wilson and to President Poincairé, to myself, to my navy, to my country! And the Marseillaise! How they did sing that! three and four times, shouting the chorus until the rafters shook! Then Louis pounded on the table for order. "The American officer will now sing his National Anthem," he announced.