I laughed at the compliment and
told him to name the day and the boat.
Food? He had scratched a little garden by his door and had plenty, thank
you. Clothing? "Do I not look well dressed, Mademoiselle?" We admitted
that he looked ready for a fete. Company? "Ah, Mademoiselle, memories,
memories! I smoke my pipe and I repeople this village. It is alive for
me. Look, Mademoiselle, that is where the church was--it was a pretty
church. And there was the _mairie_. Only"--with a shrug of good humored
despair--"now I have no more tobacco. These _messieurs_"--indicating the
soldier and the Germans who were smiling good naturedly--"are kind
enough to share theirs with me, but they are not very rich themselves,
you see," at which they all laughed at their common plight. Here at last
was something that we could offer. I usually kept cigarettes with me for
such emergencies. And now I produced two boxes of them and several
packages of American matches.
"Mademoiselle, I accept them with my profound thanks," said the old
_gallant_ with a bow, removing his cap.
At length we had to leave. A prisoner stepped forward to crank my car,
and all of them, the dauntless Frenchman in the center, lined up and
gave us the military salute. Before reentering the woods I looked back
and saw the blue-coated figure offering a light to the green coat. From
cigarette tip to cigarette tip the fraternal spark was being
transmitted: the spark that crosses borders and nationalities, that
glows in the darkness, and puts mankind at peace.
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