to this garden.

Even the very poorest contrive to show their intense patriotism. It is
the rule of the German government to give twenty-five marks to any poor
woman giving birth to twins. The wife of a French workman during my
sojourn at Mulhouse had three sons at a birth, but though in very poor
circumstances, refused to claim the donation. "My sons shall never be
Prussian," she said, "and that gift would make them so."

The real thorn in the flesh of the annexed Alsatians is, however, as I
have before pointed out, military service, and the enforced German
education. All who have read Alphonse Daudet's charming little story,
_La derniere lecon de Francais_, will be able to realize the
painfulness of the truth, somewhat rudely brought home to French parents.
Their children must henceforth receive a German education, or none at
all, for this is what the law amounts to in the great majority of cases.
Rich people, of course, and those who are only well-to-do, can send their
sons to the Lycee, opened at Belfort since the annexation, but the rest
have to submit, or, by dint of great sacrifice, obtain private French
teaching. And, whilst even Alsatians are quite ready to render justice to
the forbearance and tact often shown by officials, an inquisitorial and
prying system is pursued, as vexatious to the patriotic as enforced
vaccination to the Peculiar People or school attendance to the poor. One
lady was visited at seven o'clock in the morning by the functionary
charged with the unpleasant mission of finding out where her boy was
educated. "Tell those who sent you," said the indignant mother, "that my
son shall never belong to you. We will give up our home, our prospects,
everything; but our children shall never be Prussians." True enough, the
family have since emigrated. No one who has not stayed in Alsace among
Alsatians can realize the intense clinging to France among the people,