patrie!" again and again.

Instantly, from here and there, other men, stout and middle-aged,
lifted out of their chairs by this intense and beautiful burst of
feeling, joined in that old heart-cry, and for two or three
shattering minutes the air was rent with hoarse shouts of "Vive
Joffre," "Vive la France," "Vive la patrie," to the louder and
louder undercurrent of music. Indifference, complacency, neutrality,
gave way. There was a general uprising and uproar; and America, as
represented by that olla podrida of the professions, including the
one which is the oldest in the world, paid homage and tribute and
yelled sympathy to those few Frenchmen among them whose passionate
love of country found almost hysterical vent at the sound of the
hymn which had stirred all France to a height of bravery and
sacrifice never before reached in the history of nations.

There were one or two hisses and several scoffing laughs, but these
were instantly drowned by vigorous hand-clapping. The next moment
the room resumed its normal appearance.

When Palgrave, who had been surprised to find himself on his feet,
sat down again, he saw that Joan's lips were trembling and that
there were tears in her eyes. He gave a little laugh, but before he
could say any thing, her hand was on his arm. "No, don't," she said.
"Let it go without a single word. It was too good for sarcasm."

"Oddly enough, I had no sarcasm ready," replied Palgrave. "When our
time comes, I wonder whether we shall have an eightieth part of that
enthusiasm for our little old tune. What do you think?"