the country. But in a swaggering mood he said he would not leave until
he had killed at least one of these condemned Frenchmen. His words were
reported, and he fled into an entry and made his way into an adjoining
house, where the crowd lost sight of him. When he emerged a cavalry
escort protected him against the mad people who wanted to lynch him, and
bundled him into a cab. He had been very badly handled, and his face was
streaming with blood. He drove away as fast as the horse could gallop,
but bystanders went after him, climbed up behind at the rear of the cab,
and shot him dead through the little window.

Foreigners who know the women of France, who have lived in the country,
have always given them a very high place as wives, mothers, and
managers. But to-day they merit the admiration of the world more than
ever.

I have seen them taking farewell of their husbands, sons, and brothers
during the past few days, and nothing could surpass the courage with
which they have sent them off to the war. They have struggled bravely to
conceal their emotion, and only after the men have gone have the women
given their feelings free play. An American lady who has seen some of
these departures told me the other day that the sight of the children
clinging to their fathers' hands so as to prevent them going away to the
war was one of the saddest sights she had ever witnessed.




_Saturday, August 8._