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Quentin himself, as war has brought back to it now. No deeds we can find in history equal the deeds of to-day! We got lost going home, somehow taking the wrong road, straying into a wood, plunging and bumping down and down over fearful roads, and landing by what might have been a bad accident in a deep ravine almost too strange to be true. "Mon Dieu, c'est le Ravin de Bitry!" he cried.
Little did I think, Padre, to write you from Soissons! When last I spoke to you about it, we were gazing through field-glasses at the single tower of the cathedral, pointing out of purple shadows toward the evening star of hope. Then we lost ourselves in the Ravin de Bitry, and arrived thankfully at Compiègne two hours later than we had planned.
Horrible!... I don't think I could have slept at night for thinking of the Ravin de Bitry, if we hadn't had such a refreshing run home that the impression of the lost, dark place was purified away. Forest fragrance sprayed into our faces like perfume from a vaporizer.
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