Valenciennes, Mauberge, Hirson and Mezières.

Things were beginning to look serious, although we still insisted on
believing that the Germans could not break through. One result of the
march of events was that we none of us had any longer the smallest
desire to argue. Theories were giving way to the facts of every day,
but in our minds, I imagine, we were every one of us asking, "How
long CAN we stay here? How long will it be wise, even if we
are permitted?" But, as if by common consent, no one asked the
question, and we were only too glad to sit out in the garden we had
all learned to love, and to talk of anything which was not war, until
the Critic moved his chair into the middle of the circle, and began
his tale.

"Let me see," he remarked. "I need a property or two," and he pulled
an envelope out of his pocket and laid it on the table, and, leaning
his elbows on it, began:

* * * * *

It was in the Autumn of '81 that I last saw Dillon act.

She had made a great success that winter, yet, in the middle of the
season, she had suddenly disappeared.

There were all kinds of newspaper explanations.

Then she was forgotten by the public that had enthusiastically
applauded her, and which only sighed sadly, a year later, on hearing
of her death, in a far off Italian town,--sighed, talked a little, and