"When finally he had to go back, he caught me and whispered in my ear, as I kissed him: "'Next time, Tante, you promise me not to invite any one, won't you?' "Poor child, he will never come back, and his friend Planchet, the tinsmith, saw him fall with a bullet through his heart. It was he who wrote me the sad news. "Well, my dear, what mystery the soul hides within itself! In one of the cupboards of the room he occupied I found two note books and a diary filled with verses he had never shown to any one, never admitted having written. How little we guessed what he was about when we scolded him for his indolence and inattention. If you only knew what accents, what harmonious phrases he found to depict the shades of our trees, the rippling of the river, the perfume of the flowers and his love for us all. "There is a whole chapter devoted to the old homestead. He seemed to feel everything, divine everything, explain everything. None of us understood him. There is no use pretending we did. Not one among us would ever have guessed that so splendid and delicate a master of the pen lived and moved amongst us." Aunt Rose looked straight out onto the sun-lit court, the great tears trickling down her cheeks. For a long time neither of us spoke. Like its mistress, Aunt Rose's home lives to serve the war. The culinary realm is always busily engaged preparing _pates_ and _galantines_, _rillettes_ and sausages. "For our boys," is the answer almost before the question is put. "They're so glad to get home-made dainties, and are always clamouring for more--no matter how much you send! "Since they must eat preserved food, we might as well send them something we make ourselves, then we're sure it's the best. Why, I'd be ashamed to go out and buy something and send it off without knowing who had handled it." This was the cook's idea of patriotism, which I shared most heartily, having at one time had nothing but "bully beef" and dried beans as constant diet for nearly a fortnight. The coachman and inside man sealed the crocks and tins, prepared and forwarded the packages. "Oh, there's one for everybody! Even the boys of the city who haven't got a family to look after them. They must be mighty glad Madame's alive. We put in one or two post cards, views of the town. That cheers them up and makes them feel they're not forgotten here in R----." One afternoon on descending into the kitchen we beheld two sturdy looking fellows seated at table and eating with ravenous appetite. One was an artilleryman who had but a single arm, the other a _chasseur_, whose much bandaged leg was reposing upon a stool. "They are wounded men on convalescent leave," explained Armandine. "The poor fellows need a little humouring so that they'll build up the quicker, and an extra meal surely can't hurt!" This was certainly the opinion of the two invalids who had just disposed of a most generous bacon omelet, and were about to dig into a jar of _pate_.