The man is better for having been a soldier. He is self-reliant, stronger in mind and body. Through discipline he has become punctual and dependable. All snobbishness, fads and isms are now out of him. He is more tolerant and charitable. He recognizes the value of women’s work in the home, in the hospital and in the munition factory. As a representative of her country, whose uniform he wears, he carries himself more proudly, more uprightly. What a soldier is to the army, a home is to the nation. The home is safe only so long as is the country. With foreign invasion, all values become nothing. The woman, the man, the home, the country are interwoven. Beyond lie the right to live their lives, personal liberty, representative government, the preservation, yes, even the propagation of the race. To check that on-coming German tide which threatened to wipe away everything he holds dear, the soldier has fitted himself into that surging, bending, human wall. Behind it, under the shadow of death, woman works and waits, in a quiet that knows not peace—often in vain—filled with care and dread, ever striving to be calm, she hides her heart’s pain. Ancestors died for the liberty his flag represents. Posterity must enjoy the same freedom. So, he bridges the gap, shoulders the load and becomes a better lover, husband, father. Having learned his obligation to the nation, he is a better citizen for all time. One man’s daughter loves and marries another’s son and they become one. War tears them apart. He goes to the trenches. She keeps the home fires burning. Love holds them together while he fights to protect and preserve, she works to support and maintain. That man is not yet whose pen can do justice to the incomparable woman of France. She is a wonderful combination of heart, head and health. The women of colder climes love with their minds. The French woman with her heart. She gives all, regardless of consequences. Cynical critics may have their cool sensibilities shocked at the sight of a well-turned ankle, crossing a muddy street. That is as near as they get to the sweet creature they outwardly condemn, but secretly approve. She plays square and wants to love as well as be loved. She gives love and is loved in return. While the woman who wants something, but gives nothing, instills her selfishness into others. The selfish person loves him or herself and gives no love to friend, family or country. The unselfish woman absorbs love, and, as a flower its perfume, scatters fragrance. She inspires the noblest sentiments of loyalty and patriotism. She places herself and her best beloved upon the altar of her country. It is always she who has given most, who is willing to give all.