When, at last, Jean Lemoidant was found, along with others he was taken to a German hospital and placed among the serious cases. Then the darkness came--that terrible darkness which put an end to his fondest hopes. At first he did not know what was the matter with him. Anxiously he asked the nurses: “Why does the night last so long? It seems as if the morning will never come.” When the news was told him that he was blind, he was staggered. “I had thought of death,” he said, “and even thought I might be maimed for life, but I never thought of having to live in the dark all my days.” Then he showed that supreme courage which caused even the brutal Germans to wonder and admire. He moved among his fellow prisoners and partly to while away the time and partly in order to help them, he began to give lectures on painting. Then a great hope came to him. His eyes were put back into their place and he began to see a little--not much more than a glimmer at first--but enough to make him radiant with hope. Each day he told himself that his eyesight was just a little better than the day before, then one day a terrible thing happened and his hopes were dashed to the ground. He was in the midst of a lecture when something seemed to snap, and instantly every ray of light vanished. Then he knew that he was blind. It was a terrible disappointment, but he did not stop speaking. He continued his lecture. Those who were listening were aware that something had happened although they did not know what it was. At the close of the lecture they rushed forward, only to make the discovery that Jean Lemoidant’s hopes were vain--he was totally blind. Blind, lame, and with all his hopes of ever being a great artist now completely gone, Jean Lemoidant faced the world again. When at the conclusion of the war he turned his face towards his beloved France he began to hope once more. He thought that the instant the train passed on to French soil there might be a miracle and his sight would be restored. He became greatly excited and asked the nurses not to forget to tell him the instant that the border was passed. In one sense there was no miracle when at last Jean Lemoidant entered France, but in another way there was a miracle, for the courage and cheerfulness of this brave man became almost more than human. No sooner did he get settled down in his beloved France than he began to lecture on the art he so much loved, that of painting. Soon he had large classes of appreciative students to whom he lectured daily on the subject, and the amazing knowledge and cheerfulness of this maimed and blinded soldier aroused his hearers to reverence and enthusiasm. As they gazed into his pale face with the sightless eyes, their hearts were strangely moved.