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The use of this fine mansion has been tendered to President and Mrs. Wilson by its owners, the Prince and Princess Murat. It is situated opposite the beautiful Parc Monceau, a scene in which is shown below

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This park is one of the most beautiful of the many fine parks of Paris. It is inclosed by a superb iron railing, it contains many notable statues, and among its decorative features are the Corinthian columns here shown, at the end of a tiny lake


growth he rather enjoyed, and to whose ultimate venting he looked forward with pleasure.

After a time, however, his physical ills became superior to this unsatisfactory species of enjoyment. The smash had given him an unpleasant headache which was increasing. This, combined with his cold, his hunger, his irritation at the dead Jean, and the persistent rain, was rapidly becoming insupportable. And the crowning insult was the state of his clothing and the consequent appearance he would make when finally he stood before General Taussel.

At last the Colonel rose with an oath which outdid his previous efforts and crawled out into the rain. He did this, not so much with the hope that he would succeed in getting anywhere, but rather that the additional injuries which he might experience would serve to increase that fine glow of rage which was now the chief support of his spirit.

In part the experiment succeeded with commendable completeness. These conjectured misfortunes which were to augment his wrath fell upon him like so many grim specters lurking in wait just outside his shelter.

He had not taken three steps when he tripped over a bent fender and sprawled in the mud, coming down ingloriously on all fours, then flattening out and sliding forward on his face and chest. Rising, he blundered forward into the darkness, which was as impenetrable as a black blanket.

Slightly dazed by his fall, he groped his way forward with blinking eyes and hands outstretched. The trunk of a wayside poplar slid maliciously between his groping hands and crashed against his face like a giant's club.

With a stifled grunt of pain, the Colonel recoiled and sought escape in a fresh direction. Here with his left shin he smote resoundingly the low stone wall which bordered a turnip-field, pitched headlong, and buried his face in the soft mud beyond, while his legs remained dangling upon the wall.

As best he could, closing even his mind to the thought of his hurts and the complete demoralization of his appearance, Gaspard crept back to that haven of refuge which the wrecked motor had suddenly become. Once back in its interior, he collapsed limply onto the seat and groaned aloud in anguish.

This was a world gone mad, a world which Gaspard knew not at all. This heavy, rain-shot darkness was positively alive with malignant spirits. In grim, relentless silence they reduced the martial figure of the Colonel to a mere human atom, covered him with mud and ignominy, and sent him back bruised and battered to the poor shelter which he had left in such braggart fashion

For some twenty minutes the Colonel lay, no more than an animate huddle, in the corner of the car nursing his hurts, his wrath forgotten. In the depths of his misery he did not hear the squelch of heavy boots plug-plugging through the mud nor feel the slight jar to the car imparted by the collision of an unwary shin with a rear hub, but he was galvanized into sudden life when a voice almost at his elbow exclaimed:

Why has le bon Dieu in his mercy sent me a limousine when I require merely a roof?"

The voice was exceedingly comforting because it sounded like that of a man consciously superior to the predicament in which he found himself, which at the moment Colonel Gaspard

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Temporarily the stiff-backed aristocrat had forgotten the depths which yawned between himself and a company cook. This was a human presence come to comfort him.

"Have you a match ?" he asked, almost tearfully. "A thousand," answered Théophile, and approached the door.

"The door is jammed fast," explained the Colonel.

From the tool-box on the running-board Théophile hauled forth a big wrench. With this he made short work of the jammed door. They lighted two of Gaspard's excellent cigarettes and he explained his plight. Discipline vanished; he spoke as one man to another. Théophile heard him with com

plete sympathy, his expression and gestures unfortunately hidden by the darkness.

"It is a pity," he declared, when the narrative was finished. "I had not thought that France held such a wretched corner, or that I was dunce enough to lose myself in it. But, since we are here, we shall have to make the best of it."

Such unconstructive philosophy irritated the Colonel. "But what can we do?" he demanded, petulantly. "We have neither food, fire, nor a knowledge of our whereabouts. It is impossible to get anywhere in this darkness, as I have proved by nearly destroying myself. We must wait until morning-and I cannot wait until morning!"

"Bien!" said Théophile; "in that case, your plight is worse than mine, for I can wait."

"You are a fool!" snorted the Colonel.

For an instant Théophile's great mustache bristled ominously, but in the flare of the match he had observed the other's uniform. He shrugged.

"That," he said, mildly, " remains to be established. In the meantime, I am at the orders of M. le colonel! Do we bivouac here or do we push on?"

"An owl could not find its way!" declared Gaspard. "Besides, I have hurt my leg."

"In that case, we evidently remain. The first thing to do is to eat."

"Eat!" Gaspard's tone was an epitome of incredulity. "Are you a wizard ?”*

"I am a cook," replied Théophile, who had answered the question before, and set forthwith to work.

To Gaspard Théophile was intermittently visible like a sort of fairy occasionally illuminated by the flare of a match. Now he was audible at the rear of the car, again in front, again at the roadside. Once Gaspard heard him fumbling about the body of the driver, and a moment later there came a grunt of satisfaction from Théophile and the beam of the torch he had found in Jean's pocket.

"A moment now, mon colonel, and there will be a fire!" he called cheerfully.

"How can you make anything burn in this flood?" Gaspard asked.

"With a tank full of gasoline, I could make a fire of wet sponges!" replied the cook, without pausing at his labors.

Fifteen minutes later the Colonel was hovering over a comforting fire made of sticks gathered from the forbidding darkness, splinters ruthlessly hewed from the wrecked car, and plentiful gasoline. Théophile's activities did not cease. His knapsack appeared bottomless. From it he produced cooking utensils and scraps of food. He made a darting foray into the field where Gaspard had come to final grief and returned with turnips.

Presently, with a manner somewhere between that of an anxious mother and a well-trained waiter, Théophile served, while the Colonel displayed the appetite of a plowman. It was not precisely the fare-consisting of turnip soup, bread, and cheese to which Gaspard was used, but at the moment the Colonel's tastes were not discriminating.

Under the combined influences of food and warmth his spirits improved wonderfully. The first intimation he gave of a return to his normal state appeared when, having finished his meal, he lighted a cigarette without offering one to Théophile. The latter, without appearing to note the omission, had recourse to a short pipe.

For a few moments they smoked in silence. By the time the Colonel had finished his cigarette-Théophile smoking in the meanwhile with his eye fixed on some invisible point in the darkness—he was ready to resume life at the point where it had been interrupted by the catastrophe. Already the diminutive figure of Théophile Gelas, with its absurdly bristling mustaches, had shrunk from the dimensions of an omniscient djinn to those of a common soldier set in his path by a watchful deity. Nor were the uses of this odd creature exhausted. The Colonel snapped the butt of his cigarette into the darkness and spoke. "You will now," he commanded, "go with all possible speed to the nearest point and secure a car-a closed car, which will be driven here at once. You will explain that it is for Colonel Gaspard."

Now, Théophile had been smoking his pipe to some good pur


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Théophile rose, pocketed his pipe, adjusted his pack, and saluted, Gaspard watched him with an uneasy eye.

"You may leave the food and the electric torch," he ordered. "Bien, mon colonel !"

An instant later Théophile vanished in the darkness, but he did not go far. Théophile Gelas, patriot and last of a race of heroes, had mutinied.

He groped his way down the road for some fifty yards, then, finding a clump of bushes which afforded some shelter from the rain, he crept beneath them and curled up like a dog. From where he lay he could see in the waning light of the fire the goblin bulk of the car and the cloaked figure of the Colonel.

"I give him half an hour," he muttered, complacently. The elements came swiftly to Théophile's assistance. First came a rush of chill wind, then a sudden deluge of rain which doused the fire and drove Gaspard in undignified flight back to the car. This done, the rain ceased. The flickering of the flashlight showed the Colonel emerging from his shelter, then doing futile things with his remaining matches around the drenched fire. The oath which accompanied the sputter of the last match reached Théophile's ears distinctly.

A few minutes later, as Théophile had expected, Gaspard began a series of desperate plunges into the darkness, putting too much faith in the torch. The cook was unable to see the details of the Colonel's successive downfalls, but there were tragio sounds audible, and presently the fugitive from solitude emitted a veritable yelp for assistance. Théophile did not stir. "He is weakening," he muttered. "In ten minutes he will be manageable."

Merciful darkness covered the Colonel's retreat. A dejected figure, stripped utterly of his recently regained dignity, he crawled back to the car, and an instant later his voice pierced

the darkness,

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"Mon colonel called?" he asked, simply.

To one in Gaspard's state of breathlessness the question was an insult, yet his answer was without resentment.

"I have split my throat!" he gasped. "In the name of heaven, rebuild that fire or I shall die!

When, some minutes later, the Colonel was rubbing his chilled hands over the grateful blaze, Theophile, squatting on a dry cushion he had taken from the car, eyed him speculatively. Then, without asking permission, he began to speak.

This night," he began, “has been for me the last of a series of painful lessons. It has been impressed upon me, mon colonel, that a man is very apt to overestimate his own importance. I had thought that I was indispensable to the health of the Tenth Company, for whom I have cooked, and whose collective diges tions were my constant care. I was wounded. They were in the hands of an ignorant pig who knew no more of cooking than I do of flying. I was wretched. I expected them to die in batches

"But what happened? Did they embrace me upon my return Not at all." They said, 'Ah, here is that Gelas again! Look well to your pots and pans scophile, for we have lived

fat while you were gone.' This to me, who have cooked for generals and been praised by no less than a brigadier! Was ever such ingratitude, ever such humiliation?

"Well, there it is, M. le colonel! A man thinks himself such a creature as cannot be spared. He goes away, and finds that, to say nothing of not having mourned him, nobody has even missed him! It is incredible, but it is true.

"To-night is the last straw. I, sleeping like the dead, must have rolled from the tail of a wagon into the road. Since I was not demolished, I take it that somebody kieked me into the ditch. I may even have crawled. I cannot say. At any rate, when I awoke it was black and wet. In some way, I missed the road. I wandered for hours. I should have gone on wandering for more hours had I not come upon the car of M. le colonel, which was extremely fortunate.

"But never again shall I boast of my own skill, of how the stalwarts of the Tenth Company would die like flies deprived of my presence."

"Which is to imply," Gaspard said unexpectedly, “that the consultation at General Taussel's headquarters will do very well without me."

"Oh, M. le colonel!" protested Théophile, and spread out his hands in a gesture of deprecation.

Gaspard took out his cigarettes, opened the case, and held it out to the cook.


Will you have one?" he asked.

"A thousand thanks, mon colonel," replied Théophile. They smoked in silence. Somewhere inside Colonel Philippe Gaspard the most astounding things had taken place. He was looking with new eyes at himself, and at the grotesque little man who sat cross-legged on the far side of the fire. To a sudden emergency this little cook, probably born in a garret and raised in the gutter, had risen, thoroughly adequate, while he. Gaspard, of the Staff, had crumpled like a rag. In the clear light of day this night's story would redound to the infinite credit of the cook and the undying shame of the colonel. This was the bitter truth, and Gaspard astonished himself by facing it squarely.

Yes, up to the moment it had been true. But that was no reason why it should continue. At bottom, by heaven, he was a better man than this diminutive cook! Not merely did he possess a better mind, he had a better body, a better courage. (Well, perhaps not better. He was experiencing a new justice. a new fairness.) As good, then. Let us see. With an abrupt movement the Colonel got to his feet.!

"Gelas," he said, and the tone brought Théophile to his feet and to attention as though springs within him had been suddenly released, "we have sat here long enough. We will now find the main road and the headquarters of General Taussel."

Together they sallied out into the darkness, striding manfully, heads up. For more than an hour they battled with mud, water, darkness, uncertain roads, pitfalls innumerable. Toward the gray of dawn, a hard road beneath their feet, they blundered into a sentry, who challenged sleepily, then stiffened at sight of Gaspard.

Crisp questions and prompt answers established their where abouts in a few seconds. A few moments later Gaspard was acknowledging the salute of a heavy-eyed subaltern, anxios only to please.

"A car, please, with all speed," the Colonel said, brisky. "But first a good breakfast for this man—”

He turned around, but Théophile had vanished. "Him!" muttered the Colonel. "Discretion added to his other virtues.”“

He took from his pocket a note-book and entered in it the words, "Théophile Gelas, cook, Tenth Co. Blankth Inf. of te Line," then stepped through the door which the puzzled stv tern held open for him.

Theophile trudged steadily into a wet, gray dawn, flower the road which would lead him to the Tenth Company.

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→ Bien." he grumbled, "I am extraordinarily wet, very hungry, and shall be dead when I have walked ten kilometers. But-and he grinned at a roadside sparrow-I ~ smoked two wonderful cigarettes which I can st paste, soiwho knows?—I may have slightly improved the Gregers Staff."

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