"All that may be true; but you are going to have a greater victory over the Germans than ever the Germans won over you. The triumph which they had over France was a flea-bite in comparison." She got his ear, and talked to him of the highest things. The victory which Jesus won on Calvary over Pilate and the Priests and Judas, this must be François’ victory. "Go back to your trade unless you can win this victory. This makes an apostle of François, and nothing else. These boots are only a detail, but they have brought to light something in you that is hindering the great victory." And so they talked. She would not force him. Next morning she gave a lecture, at the end of which he came into her room and sat down. There was a moment’s silence, and then he collapsed, falling all of a heap and sobbing like a child. "Maréchale," he said, "I will clean the boots!" Such training inside the École made the cadets ready for any conflict outside, and the triumph of the spirit of love was in some instances a preparation for death. The first of the Maréchale’s cadets to win the martyr’s crown was Louis Jeanmonod. He was a Swiss youth, finely built, nearly six foot, and twenty-one years of age; a true soldier, devoted, courageous, tender-hearted. His months of training were almost over, and in the last three weeks he developed wonderfully. He visited the cafés with great success, singing and speaking, holding his auditors in breathless silence. He had great power in convicting people, and often his opponents would become his friends and ask him to continue to speak to them. On a January night in 1885 he was guarding the door of the Hall at the Quai de Valmey, when one of the roughs ran at him head foremost and butted him violently in the stomach. Louis managed to shut the door, and next day went on bravely with his work, even selling the _En Avant_ in the evening, till the pain became very severe. The doctor found that a quantity of blood had already settled in his lungs, and soon after pronounced his case beyond all human skill. Louis was for a time delirious, but he had never in his past life played the fool, and he uttered no word that his mother would not have wished to hear. He always seemed to be starting on a campaign. Were the caps, the bags, and everything else ready? Oh! what glorious times were coming! When the delirium passed, and his mind became calm, his pallid face shone with a strange light. As soon as the Maréchale came to his bedside, he saluted and said— "Amen, Maréchale, amen!" What were his thoughts of the ruffian who had dealt the deadly blow? He had only a single thought—"One day he will be saved." Detectives came to receive the dying man’s description of the assailant. A message from them to this effect was conveyed to Louis, who answered it in a single word: "_Jamais!_" (Never!) But he described the guilty man to the Maréchale, that she might know him and pray for him.