While we all enjoyed the visit of this famous man, we took a personal
interest in Marshal Foch. And I'm not sure that General Diaz would have
been entirely pleased could he have seen the extra special arrangements
that were made to welcome Marshal Foch a few days later. Every ranger
was called in from outlying posts; uniforms were pressed, boots shined,
and horses groomed beyond recognition. Some of the rangers had served in
France, and one tall lanky son of Tennessee had won the Croix de Guerre.
To his great disgust and embarrassment, he was ordered to wear this
decoration. When the special train rolled in, the rangers were lined up
beside the track. The gallant old warrior stepped down from his car and
walked along the line. His eye rested on that medal. He rushed up and
fingered it lovingly "Croix de Guerre! Oui, oui, Croix de Guerre!" he
kept repeating, as delighted as a child would be at the sight of a
beloved toy. The ranger's face was a study. I believe he expected to be
kissed on both cheeks, as he probably had been when the medal was
originally bestowed upon him.

White Mountain was presented to the Marshal as "Le Chieftain de le
Rangeurs," and, as he said later, had a handshake and listened to a few
words in French from the greatest general in history!

The Marshal was the least imposing member of his staff. Small,
unassuming, and even frail, he gave the impression of being infinitely
weary of the world and its fighting, its falseness, and its empty pomp.
He spoke practically no English, but when a tiny Indian maid crept near
in her quaint velvet jacket and little full skirts, he extended a hand
and said quite brokenly: "How are you, Little One?" In fact he spoke
very little even in his own language.