by were being cleared in anticipation of the wounded, who were already coming in fast from the opening stages of the third battle of Ypres.

There Archer rallied for a short time, and Jean learnt something of what had happened.

66

He, for his part, asked Jean anxiously for news of Adrienne, and, seeing how matters were, the Frenchman lied nobly, assuring the poor boy that she was très bien," and that, thinking Archer might be coming in the aeroplane, she had told Jean to be sure and give him her love, as unfortunately she was too busy in Lille with other matters to get away. This seemed to comfort him greatly. To Jean's endeavours to thank him for saving his life, he would only whisper, "That's nothing, old man ; you've done much more for me, and would do it again."

But it was soon clear that Jean was not to have the opportunity, for it became increasingly evident that Archer could not last long-and, indeed, his mother had already been telegraphed for. Unfortunately, on the morning that she reached Boulogne, the boy's brave spirit made its last flight, "per ardua ad astra," leaving the smuggler prostrate with grief, for he had learnt to love the boy with a sincerity strange in such a hardened sinner, whose whole life had been spent in a struggle against legally constituted au

younger days his manner of life would have been different.

Archer was put to rest near the hospital, in the war cemetery where sleep many of Britain's bravest and best, who came at her call from every quarter of the globe. And when the last trump shall sound, and the graves give up their dead, he will rise in a goodly company, and will not be ashamed.

And were the other bridges blown up? Who knows? but the reader may calculate for himself the chances of success or failure from this single instance, and it is unlikely that the other parties carried out their tasks with greater, or even with equal, skill and devotion. Certainly the course of the battle would not lead one to suppose that they met with any great measure of success; but that would not be conclusive, since it was the weather and not the enemy which beat the patient, plodding infantry, struggling forward through the ever-deepening mud.

Then Archer's sacrifice was in vain?

No! a thousand times No! For if the destruction of the bridge delayed even a few trainloads of men or munitions from reaching the front, as it must have done, it saved many a gallant life-and could any English gentleman ask more in exchange for his own? Certainly not Archer, who would

public school spirit, "Who dies if England lives?"

And even if we take the least favourable view of the material results achieved, the moral effects of such an exploit are incalculable. Should

we not then rather say with Lindsay Gordon ?

"Let never a tear his memory stain, Give his ashes never a sigh,

One of many who perished, NOT IN VAIN,

AS A TYPE OF OUR CHIVALRY."

Jean's injuries were not really serious, and though he walks with a slight limp, he is as active as ever; but during the war he went no more a-roaming. No doubt he would have been ready to answer the call had it come, but it was thought that he had earned a rest, and he was given it in the shape of a quiet billet on the lines of communication, where the Croix-de-guerre, which he now wore alongside his British medal, made a brave show, earning him many a petit verre from the men and, what he valued far more, many a soft smile from the ladies.

Faithful to his promise, "Le Commandant obtained a remission of the term of imprisonment to which he had been condemned in default for his last smuggling exploit, and after the Armistice he returned to his village, full of honour and renown.

But his house was in ruins, burnt, as we know, by his own hand, and though he was not ungenerously treated, perhaps he wanted money to rebuild it in style.

In any case, one cannot

and Jean soon found a life of respectability unutterably boring, even when combined with all the éclat of being the hero of the village. Not long ago the reader may have noticed a paragraph in the daily papers, somewhat to the following effect:

66 AFFRAY WITH SMUGGLERS ON THE BELGIAN FRONTIER.

"A daring attempt by armed smugglers to run two motor lorries full of contraband across the frontier led to a hot engagement between them and the Customs authorities, in which two of the latter were wounded. Finally, one of the lorries was captured, with one severely wounded wounded smuggler, but the remainder of the gang escaped in the other lorry across the frontier into Belgium."

many, to the deep chagrin of the Inspector, who, instead of the anticipated promotion, may be presumed to have received a censure for having made a great fuss about what apparently was all a mare's nest. It was no doubt to cover up the apparently unjustifiable tortures which he had inflicted on her, that they sent her out of the country.

It was more than a year later when both she and Grand'mere were sent back to their beloved France, which was once more free of the hated invader.

There from Jean she heard of Archer's death, and the manner in which he had met his end. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that the tragedy grieved her very deeply, and for a time she was inconsolable. But it removed one of the obstacles to following the path which had been marked out for her in the prison at Brussels-viz., to repay her debt to the Church, which had saved her, by devoting the remainder of her life to its service.

There still remained the question of Grand'mere, and Adrienne pondered long and earnestly as to where her duty lay. Seeing, however, that the old lady had other relatives in the village, quite apart from Jean, who were only too willing to watch over her declining years, the girl came to the conclusion that "le Curé " had a right to claim her, and thus

Lille, and passed once again through the great convent gates.

The pretty brown hair is now hidden under a dark veil; the beautiful eyes shine softly out from under a white coif; and the smile, which was perhaps her greatest charm, has taken on a tinge of sadness, which perhaps will pass away in time. And if her thoughts sometimes stray, when she looks out from the casement window from which she saw her boy hero fight his last great airbattle and emerge victorious against overwhelming odds, let us remember that nuns are human, that Adrienne is young, and hope that it may not be accounted unto her for sin.

It only remains to tell of the fate of the curl of brown hair which she cut off in prison and sent as a farewell message to Archer. It reached the address in Holland fully a month after the boy had been laid to rest, and was forwarded to his home in the country by the English officer who had met Adrienne in the hotel at Rotterdam. At the first opportunity after the Armistice his mother went over to visit her son's grave, and wishing at the same time to visit the scenes of his exploits, and to thank the brave people who had sheltered him, she took Adrienne's last letter to serve as an introduction to Grand'mere. There she heard for the first time that Adrienne had been spared, and in the circumstances she felt that, even as

right to keep a token which had been sent under a false impression of the actual course of subsequent events. She therefore begged the old lady to accept it as a tribute of admiration and gratitude from the mother of an English officer, who had lost her only son.

And thus it is that Grand'mere, silver-haired and frail, but greatly honoured, sits peacefully in the whitewashed kitchen, and looks proudly but sometimes sadly at the Cross of the Legion of Honour and the curl of brown hair in the simple frame which hangs by the side of the old stove. The curl is now not the only British tribute, for recently another frame has been added, containing a medal with purple ribbon, of which Grand'mere is intensely proud.

a

And when, during the long winter evenings, the neigh

bours gather in the old kitchen and tell over the well-known stories of the war, the old lady's face glows with pride as she recounts the exploits of her favourite grand-daughter; for, pace Jean, of all the local heroes and heroines there is none who can vie in the popular fancy with fair Adrienne. Was she not decorated by both the French and British Armies and, as Jean is wont to observe, glancing at his own manly breast, there is only one man and certainly no women in the Commune who has won this superlative honour.

Who knows but that, as the years roll by, Adrienne may not acquire something of the glamour of the Maid of Orleans, and by her example inspire future generations with the spirit of her own burning patriotism.