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In "demain," for August, 1917, we find the wonderful story of the fight in which this man was wounded and was then given brotherly help by the German soldiers. As he lay gasping, in expectation of the death-blow, a lad leaned over him smiling, holding out a hand, and saying in German, "Comrade, how do you feel?"
Although she questioned and cross-questioned Cairide', her story-teller, she could discover nothing about a lady who had been known as the Black Duck. But one night when Mongan seemed to speak with Duv Laca he mentioned her father as Fiachna Duv mac Demain, and the story-teller said that king had been dead for a vast number of years.
To one of them, a very handsome, fashionably dressed dark man, she called from a distance with the best Parisian accent, 'Comte, vous savez, il ne faut pas venir me voir ni aujourd'hui ni demain. The man took off his hat, without speaking, and dropped a low bow. 'Who's that? asked Sanin with the bad habit of asking questions characteristic of all Russians.
"Plus fin que Pachmann!" he reiterated, waving his arms wildly, and dancing. "Tu auras une migraine affreuse. Rentrons, petit coeur!" said George Sand, gently but firmly. "Laisse-moi le saluer," cried the composer, struggling in her grasp. "Demain soir, oui. Il sera parmi nous," said the novelist, as she hurried him away.
Across the battlefields, across the trenches, across a bleeding Europe, we stretch forth our hands to him. Henceforward, in face of the hatred which rages among the nations, we must affirm the union of New Europe. To the fighting "Holy Alliances" of the governments, we counterpose the brotherhood of the free spirits of the world! January 30, 1917. "demain," Geneva, June, 1917.
If that man had really been kissing her mother it was serious, and her father ought to know. "Demain!" "All right!" And her mother going up to Town! She turned in to her bedroom and hung out of the window to cool her face, which had suddenly grown very hot. Jon must be at the station by now! What did her father know about Jon! Probably everything pretty nearly!
As they went, tokens of the life within came out to them through doorway and window. Now it was the voice of a laughing young mother: "Si tu as faim Manges ta main Et gardes l'autre pour demain; Et ta tete Pour le jour de fete; Et ton gros ortee Pour le Jour Saint Norbe" And again: "Let us pluck the bill of the lark, The lark from head to tail " He knew the voice.
Did Father know that he called her mother "Annette"? Always on the side of her Father as children are ever on one side or the other in houses where relations are a little strained she stood, uncertain. Her mother was speaking in her low, pleasing, slightly metallic voice one word she caught: "Demain." And Profond's answer: "All right." Fleur frowned. A little sound came out into the stillness.
"ADIEU A DEMAIN!" there was a dreadful meaning in the words, which the writer of them little knew. "Adieu a demain!" the morrow was come, and the soul of the poor suicide was now in the presence of God.
Conditions in Germany were terribly difficult, and an army of two hundred thousand men was considered by the military experts the minimum necessary. The military commission presided over by Marshal Foch left Germany an army of two hundred thousand men, recruited by conscription, a Staff in proportion, service of one year, fifteen divisions, 180 heavy guns, 600 field-guns. That is less than what little States without any resources have now, three years after the close of the War. But France at once imposed the reduction of the German army to 100,000 men, no conscription but a twelve years' service of paid soldiers, artillery reduced practically to nothing, no heavy guns at all, very few field-guns. No opportunity was given for discussion, nor was there any. Clemenceau put the problem in such a way that discussion was out of the question: C'est la France qui, demain comme hier, sera face
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