In his heart Monsieur Blanquart pested the sacred peasants. But something must be arranged. “Very well, I sell you 40,000 worth of securities, and you can pay me when you get your ‘Reparations’!” Madeleine left the doorway and came back to the table. Looking through his stocked portfolio she chose only bearer bonds (coupons appealed to her; the less tangible dividend warrant or inscribed or registered stock did not), some national, some industrial, some lottery. Thus armed, she returned to the farm. * * * * * Thus came what Politicians called “Peace,” but mostly French people, realists in a sense that the English public never is, spoke of it as the “era of La Galette”--the cake which one could eat and yet have again, the pie in which every one’s finger might be--the lucky-bag into which all might dip. Upon the mentality of France, with its dominant peasant outlook, only one deep impression was made. The Germans were beaten. Therefore their money could be got at. Anyone who did not get at it was a fool, simply. This was not piracy. The Germans had invited a contest, and lost. The loser pays--that is logic as well as human nature. When the first hints were dropped that there might be delays, even a dwindling of the golden stream that was to flow from Berlin--public feeling became so strong that Government had hastily to vote sums “on account of” the Reparations to be exacted. In every village, men, and more often women, asked each other: “What have you estimated your damages at?” “What have you received on account?” In place of the War-time watchwords “La Patrie est en danger” and “On les aura,” there might very reasonably have been displayed another: “La Galette”--The Cake that every one might take. “L’assiette au beurre”--The butter-dish to grease every itching palm. “Le pot au vin”--The loving-cup that was ever full. * * * * *