They had climbed the first slope, crossed the road and were well up the second hill when they were suddenly swept by German rifle fire. Petit glanced behind. All but two were lying bleeding and dead. He called to the other two to race back to their trenches, if possible, but he himself continued to creep through the straggling undergrowth up the crest. After some minutes, having discovered what he came to seek, the position and force of the enemy, he hastily retreated down the hill. Of the two survivors, one had already cleared the road and escaped. The other was lying, a moaning heap, on the white moonlit highway. The Germans were firing at his flying figure, but a few steps more and he would have crossed the road—when he fell. Presently he picked himself up. One eye was gone, the blood streaming down his cheeks. But he determined, as he said, to revenge his comrades and himself. Staggering to the road he, with great difficulty, dragged his wounded companion off the road and to the shelter of some bushes. Fortunately, at that moment, a cloud passed over the moon, and they were able to lie hidden for a while. Then, with many struggles, he succeeded in getting his one remaining companion on his shoulders, and dragged himself back to the French lines. His information was of importance, but he did not know of it, for he lost consciousness immediately on delivering it. The next day his company went into action and was annihilated. Of the 200 men, he and the man whose life he saved were the only survivors. Months afterward I was able to welcome this gallant son of France back to Dinard. He is my maid's only brother, and the night he arrived we had a fitting supper awaiting him. My brother and I, and my cheery little French maid drank his health and listened to this story from his own lips. I am happy to say he is strong and well and active, and makes light of the wound. "After all, Madame," he said, "a man can see all he wants with one eye, and if later I find some pretty girl to marry me, she may find that one eye will see only good in her, whereas, perhaps, as the years went by, I might have perceived, with two eyes, some faults." One fine day this autumn I was invited to a little ceremony. The general commanding this region, surrounded by the pickets, the soldiers able to hobble about, the Red Cross nurses, and some of Petit's personal friends. It was to decorate him for conspicuous bravery under fire. The bugle shrilled loudly, an adjutant read the official announcement, the general stepped up and pinned on Petit's breast the Médaillé Militaire and the Croix de Guerre. Thus France recognizes and rewards her valiant soldiers. October, 1915. HAIL TO THE DEAD! (Salut Aux Morts!)