In an instant they passed before my eyes, those "dear departed." Big, tall William, so gay and so childish, he who used to play the ogre or the horse, or anything one wished: a person so absolutely indispensable to their games that all the little folk used to gather beneath his window early in the morning, crying in chorus: "Uncle William! Uncle William! do wake up and come down and play!" [Illustration: FLOCKING TO READ THE COMING COMMUNIQUE IN A LITTLE FRENCH CITY] Jean-Francois, the engineer; Philippe, the architect; Honore, whom we dubbed "Deshonore," because he used always to return empty-handed when we went hunting together. Gone, gone forever! Aunt Rose picked up one of the smaller packages. "These were from little Jacques." And two bright tears trembled on her lashes. "You remember him, of course, my dear. He was an orphan, he never knew his mother. I always supposed that is what made him so distant and reserved. Jean, his guardian, who is very severe, used to treat him as he did his own children--scolding him often about his indolence, his lack of application to his studies. "I used to have him here with me during his vacations. He loved this old house--and I knew it. Sometimes when you would all start out for some excursion I'd see him coming back towards the gate: "'You're not going with them then, Jacques?' "'No, thank you, Aunt Rose, it's so nice in your drawing-room.' "When he was just a little baby I often wanted to take him onto my lap and laugh and play with him. But he was so cold and distant! A funny little mite, even with boys of his own age. Nobody seemed to understand him exactly; certain people even thought that his was a surly nature. "He spent his last furlough here, and I found quite a change in him. He was more robust and tanned. A splendid looking fellow, and I was so proud of him. "'Aunt Rose,' he asked even before we embraced, 'is there any one else stopping with you?' "'Why no, child, and I'm afraid you'll find the house very empty. If only I'd known you were coming I most certainly should have invited your cousins.' "'Oh, I'm so glad you didn't! I much prefer being alone with you.' "He came and went in the house, but never could be persuaded to go outside the yard. I should have loved to have taken him with me and shown his War Cross to some of my old friends. But he wouldn't hear of it. "'Pooh!' he would laugh when I would suggest such a thing. 'If ever they come near me I'll tell them I've got "trench pest"--and then you'll see them clear out.' "He went down in the kitchen and I'd hear him pottering around. I never knew him so gay and happy. "'Tante Rose, I'm going to sing you "La Madelon" and the "Refrain de la Mitraille." It was Planchet, the tinsmith, who composed it!' "He'd sit for hours in that big blue armchair, blinking at the fire, and then suddenly he'd come to earth and explain: "'Aunt Rose, what a pleasure to be here.'