laughed loudly in a sympathetic crowd, and Mademoiselle Gaston laughed
also, and they loved her more than ever. When they learned that she had
chosen to be married in the ruined cathedral of her native town, their
affection turned to adoration. Not a peasant in the region but took this
to be an honor to his city and to himself. Gratitude and a nameless hope
filled the hearts of the people of Noyon.

The day was at hand. The _poste_ was closed, for within there was a
feast to prepare and a bride to adorn. In the early morning the
sun-browned peasant women brought flowers, masses of goldenrod and
asters. These we arranged in brass shells, empty husks of death, till
the bleak spaciousness of our shattered house was gay. The rooms, still
elegant in proportion, lent themselves naturally to adornment; and I
found myself wondering what former festivities they had sheltered, what
other brides had passed down this stately corridor before the bombs let
in the wind and the rain and the thieves; and what remote luxuries had
been reflected in the great mirror of which only the carved gilt frame
was left? Today, goldenrod and asters bloomed against the mouldy walls
and one little tri-colored bouquet. Flowers of France, in truth, sprung
on the battle field and offered by earth-stained fingers to her who had
served.

From the kitchen came noises of snapping wood, and a sizzling which
tempted me to the door. It was a fine old kitchen, though now the tiles
were mostly gone from the floor, and the cracked walls were smeared with
uncouth paintings, the work of some childish soul--some German mess
sergeant, perhaps, who had been installed there, but today Jeanne
reigned again, bending her philosophic face over the smoking stove, and
evoking with infallible arts aromatic and genial vapors from her
casseroles. At her side, Thérèse, pink and cream in the abundance of her