Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1918-06-09
And Thus Madame.

long hair?" madame asked a moment
ago. The one who mixed that last
potful-the one that made me dance
for the first time in forty years of
innkeeping in Picardy? If the Ger
mans do not kill that little devil he
will become very great"
Eli did not hear until after mess
that ne was to go up to the fight with
his Tight heavies." Every one loves
Eli, but all hate his little guns. They
are of the thirty-seven millimeter
sort-a nasty little gun that one man
can carry. and which fires tiny shell
weighing about a pound, and which
has the meanest' naggingest whine
any gun ever had. They get every one
into trouble. except Eli. He stirs up
the Germans, and then he dismounts
his guns, and his men take the COM
ponent parts under their arms, and
he withdraws his batteries by the
process of Logging 1t to shelter. The
men whose job it is to sit in the
trenches cannot follow him. Hence
they hate his little guns.
There's goin' to be a real sort of
time tonight" Eli announced. Like
ye-all used to have down on the Rio
Grande"
Mademoiselle farprised US. We had
not been paying much attention to
mademoiselle. except by being polite
to her and by trying to pay her COM
pliments in bad French, as is the
American way. But we were more
interested in the wine she served
this was before the mustego hour
than in the girl. She was a large and
frankly rounded parsonage. with big
blue eyes set far apart and fine teeth
and that dead white complexion that
often goes with an abundance of red
hair. When she pulled a cork she
held the bottle firmly between her
knees with one hand. Once a cork
stuck and the six foot four kid from
Nebraska took the bottle and twisted
the cork out by some trick of his
own. Mademoiselle was impressed
From that moment she stood behind
the group. listening to the singing.
sometimes she glanced at the Ne
How does the Marseillaise' eow
the Nebraskan asked. March
march-ong-"
Mademoiselle stepped forward. one
hand in the air. "Ecoute." she said.
Then Mademoiselle.
And she began to sing. There is a
story in Mademoiselle If one but
knew it. Perhaps there is a story in
every life in France since this war
began. Her voice was a fine con-
tralto, almost masculine in some of
its tones. 1t was a trained voice. too.
This girl did not learn what she
knows of singing by serving petit
verres to thirsty travellers in a dingy
little inn of northern France She put
her hands on her hips and threw back
her head and her deep breast swelled
and the smeared little room fairly
rang to the great song. A Frnch SOL
dler who had been sitting quietly in
the corner bowed to her.
III Mademoiselle will permit" he
said Il shall fetch my violin"
Perhaps Mademoiselle was only hay-
Ing fun with US. but while he was alb
sent she told us his name 1t is a
name well known in the orchestra of
the opera at Paris,s1 am told. 1t is
certain that he was a fine musician.
1t is likewise sure that MademoiseIle
was responsive to him as a good little
child fs to the teacher she adores. She
never looked now at the big young
ster from Nebraska. Her eyes were
on the violinist's face and once l am
sure that they were wet 1t was after
she had sung to the tender witchery
OF his bow a little simple song. An
old chanson Perhaps thing of re-
peated phrases and odd little strains
that ran in and out through the mel
ody-something that no American
there had ever heard before. II was
after that song that Mademoiselie dis
appeared.
And 1 who am old, must serve these