Paris--with other Allies--as he did on Lille. I must own that history, with
its records of bitter enemies yesterday, bosom friends today, does not
inspire one with much hope of seeing the dreamer's vision of
universal peace realized.

Still, I must confess that the attitude of French and English to one
another today is almost thrilling. The English Tommy Atkins and the
French poilu are delightful together. For that matter, the French
peasants love the English. They never saw any before, and their
admiration and devotion to "Tommee," as they call him, is
unbounded. They think him so "chic," and he is.

No one--not even I, who so love them--could ever accuse the "piou-
piou" of being chic.

The French conscript in his misfits has too long been the object of
affectionate sarcasm and the subject of caricature to be unfamiliar to
the smiles of the whole world.

You see the army outfits are made in three sizes only. So far as my
observation goes none of the three measurements fits anyone today,
and as for the man who is a real "between"--well, he is in a sad box.
But what of that? He doesn't seem to care. He is so occupied today
fighting, just as he did in the days of the great Napoleon, that no one
cares a rap how he looks--and surely he does not.

You might think he would be a bit self-conscious regarding his
appearance when he comes in contact with his smarter looking Ally.
Not a bit of it. The poilu just admires Tommy and is proud of him. I do
wish you could see them together. The poilu would hug Tommy and