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SYNOPSIS.
15
Le Comte de Sabron, captain of French
cavalry, takes to hla quarters to raise by
hand a motherless Irish terrier pup, and
names It Pltchoune. He dines with the
Marquise d'Escllsnac and meets Miss Ju
lia Redmond, American heiress. He Is or
dered to Algiers but is not allowed to
take servants or dops. Miss Redmond
takes care of Pltchoune, who, longing for
his master, runs away from her. The
marquise plans to marry Julia to the Duo
de Tremont. Pltchoune follows Sabron to
Algiers, dog and master meet, and Sabron
pus permission to keep his dog with him.
The Due de Tremont finds the American
heiress capricious. Sabron, wounded in
an engagement, falls Into the dry bed of
a river and Is watched over by Pltchoune.
After a horrible nluht and day Pltchoune
leaves him. Tremont takes Julia and the
marquise lo Algiers In his yacht but has
doubts about Julia's Red Cross mission.
After long search Aulla gets trace of Sa
bron's whereabouts. Julia fnr.the mo
ment turns matchmaker In behalf of Tre
mont. Hammet Abou tells the Mar
quise where he thinks Sabron may be
found. Tremont decides to go with Ham
met Abou to find Sabron. Pltchoune finds
a village, twelve hours journey away, and
somehow makes Katou Annl understand
his master's desperate plight. Sabron Is
rescued by the village men but grows
Weaker without proper care.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Two Love Stories.
If It had not been for her absorbing
thought of Sabron, Julia would have
reveled In the desert and the new ex
periences. As It was, its charm and
magic and the fact that he traveled
Dver it helped her to endure the Inter
val. In the deep Impenetrable silence she
eeeraed to hear her future speak to
her. She believed that it would either
be a Wonderfully happy one, or a hope
lessly withered life.
"Julia, I cannot ride any farther!
exclaimed the comtesse.
She was an excellent horsewoman
and had ridden all her life, but her
riding of late had consisted of a can
ter in the Bois de Boulogne at noon
and it was sometimes hard to follow
Julia's tireless gallops toward an ever
flisappearing goal,
"Forgiv" me," said Miss Redmond,
and brought her horse up to her
friend's side.
It was the cool of the day, of the
fourteenth day since Tremont had left
Aiglets and the seventh day of Julia's
excursion. A fresh wind blew from
the west, lifting their veils from their
relmets and bringing the fragrance of
the mimosa Into whose scanty forest
they had ridden. The sky paled to
ward sunset, and the evening star,
second in glory only to the moon,
hung over the west.
Although both women kt.ew per
fectly well the reason for this excur
sion and its Importance, not one word
had been spoken between them of
Sabron and Tremont other than a
natural interest and anxiety.
They might have been two hospital
nurses awaiting their patients.
They halted their horses, looking
over toward the western horizon and
Its mystery. "The star shines over
their caravan," mused Madame de la
Maine (Julia had not thought Therese
poetical), "as though to lead them
home."
Madame de la Maine turned her face
and Julia Baw tears in her eyes. The
Frenchwoman's control wat usually
perfect, she treated most things with
mocking gayety. The bright softness
of her eyes touched Julia.
"Therese!" exclaimed the Ameri
can girl. "It Is only fourteen days!"
i Madame de la Maine laughed. There
was a break in her voice. "Only four
teen days," she repeated, "and any
one of those days may mean death!"
She threw back her head, touched
her stallion, and flew away like light,
and it was Julia who first drew rein.
"Therese! Therese! We cannot
go any farther!"
"Lady!" said Azrael. He drew his
big black horse up beside them. "We
must go back to the tents."
Madame de la Maine pointed with
her whip toward the horizon. "It is
cruel! It ever recedes!"
"Tell me, Julia, of Monsieur de
Sabron," asked Madame de la Maine
abruptly.
"There Is nothing to tell, Therese."
"You don't trust me?"
"Do you think (hat really?"
In the tent where Azrael served
them their meal, under the celling of
Turkish red with Its Arabic charac-
ters in clear white, Julia and Madame
de la Maine sat while their coffee was
served them by a Syrian servant
"A girl does not come Into the Sa-
hara and watch like a sentinel, does
not suffer as you have suffered, ma
chere, without there being something
to tell."
"It Is true," said Miss Redmond,
"and would you be with me, Therese,
If I did not trust you? And what de
you want me to tell?" she added
naively.
The comtesse laughed.
"Vous etes cbarmante, Julia!"'
"I met Monsieur de Sabron," said
Julia slowly, "not many months ago In
Tarascon. I saw him several times,
and then he went away."
"And then?" urged Madame de la
Maine eagerly.
"He left his little dog, Pltchoune,
with me, and Pltchoune ran after his
master, to Marseilles, flinging himself
Into the water, and was rescued by
the sailors. I wrote about It to Mon'
sieur de Sabron, and he answered me
from the desert, the night before he
went Into battle."
"And t' at's all?" urged Madame de
la Maine.
"That's all," said Miss Redmond.
She drank her coffee.
"You tell a love story very badly,
ma chere."
"Is it a love story?"
"Have you come to Africa for char
ity? Voyons!"
Julia was silent. A great reserve
seemed to seize her heart, to stifle
her as the poverty of her love story
struck her. She sat turning her coffee-spoon
between her fingers, her
eyes downcast. She had very little
to tell. She might never have any
more to tell. Yet this was her love
story. But the presence of Sabron
was so real, and she saw his eyes
clearly looking upon her as she had
seen them often; heard the sound of
hiB voice that meant but one thing
and the words of Bis letter came back
to her. She remembered her letter
to him, rescued from the field where
he had fallen. She raised her eyes to
the Comtesse de la Maine, and there
was an appeal In them.
The Frenchwoman leaned over and
kissed Julia. She asked nothing more.
She had not learned her lessons in
discretion to no purpose.
At night they sat out in the moon
light, white as day, and the radiance
over the sands was like the snow
flowers. Wrapped in their warm cov
erings, Julia and Therese de la Maine
lay on the rugs before the door of
their tent, and above their heads
shone the stars so low that It seemed
as though their hands could snatch
them from the sky. At a little dis
tance their servants sat around the
dying fire, and there came to them the
plaintive song of Azrael, as he led
their singing: ,
And who can give again the love of yes
terday? Can a whirlwind replace the sand after It
IS BCflx xGrcQ '
What can heal the heart that Allah has
smitten?
Can the mirage form again when there
are no eyes to see?
"I was married," said Madame de la
Maine, "when'l was sixteen."
Julia drew a little nearer and smiled
to herself In the shadow.
This would be a real love story.
"I had just come out of the con
vent. We lived in an old chateau,
older than the history of your coun
try, ma chere, and I had no dot. Rob
ert de Tremont and I used to play to
gether in the allees of the park, on
the terrace. When his mother brought
him over when she called on my
grandmother, he teased me horribly
because the weeds grew between the
to bed, and I went down to the lowt
terrace where the weeds grew ii
plenty, and told Robert. Somehow,
did not expect him to make fun, al
though we always joked about every
thing until this night. It was aftei
nine o'clock."
The comtesse swept one hand to
ward the desert. "A moon like this
only not like this ma chere. There
was never but that moon to me foi
many years.
"I thought at first that Bob would
kill me he grew so white and terrible.
He seemed suddenly to have aged ten
years. I will never forget his cry as It
rang out in the night 'You will marry
that old man when we love each oth
er?' I had never known it until then.
"We were only children, but he
grew suddenly old. I knew it then,"
said Madame de la Maine Intensely, "I
knew it then."
She waited for a long time. - Over
the face of the desert there seemed to
be nothing but one veil of light The
silence grew so intense, so deep; the
Arabs had stopped singing, but the
heart fairly echoed, and Julia grew
meditative before her eyes the cara
van she waited for seemed to come out
of the moonlit mist, rocking, rocking-
the camels and the huddled figures of
the riders, their shadows cast upon the
sand.
And now Tremont would be forever
changed in her mind. A man who had
suffered from his youth, a warm-hearted
boy, defrauded of his early love. It
seemed to her that he was a charming
figure to lead Sabron.
"Therese," she murmured, "won't
you tell me?"
"They thought I had gone to bed,"
said the Comtesse de la Maine, "and I
went back to my room by a little stair
case, seldom used, and I found myself
alone, and I knew what life was and
what it meant to be poor."
"But," interrupted Julia, horrified,
"girls are not sold in the twentieth
century."
"They are sometimes in France, my
dear. Robert was only seventeen. His
father laughed at him, threatened to
send him to South America. We were
victims."
"It was the harvest moon," con'
tlnued Madame de la Maine gently,
"and it shone on us every night until
my wedding day. Then the duke kept
his threat and sent Robert out of
France. He continued his studies in
England and went into the army , of
Africa."
There was a silence again.
"I did not see him until last year,'
said Madame de la Maine, "after my
husband died."
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Meeting.
Under the sun, under the starry
nights Tremont, with his burden, jour
neyed toward the north. The halts
were distasteful to him, and although
he was forced to rest he would rather
have been cursed with sleeplessness
and have journeyed on and on. He
rode his camel like a Bedouin; he grew
brown like the Bedouins and under the
hot breezes, swaying on his desert
ship, he sank into dreamy, moody and
melancholy reveries, like the wander
ing men of the Sahara, and felt him
self part of the desolation, as they
were.
"What will be, will be!" Hammet
Abou said to him a hundred times, and
Tremont wondered: "Will Charles live
to see Algiers?"
Sabron journeyed in a litter carried
between six mules, and they traveled
slowly, slowly. Tremont rode by the
sick man's side day after day. Not
once did the soldier for any length of
time regain his reason. He would pass
from coma to delirium, and many
times Tremont thought he had ceased
to breathe. Slender, emaciated under
his covers, Sabron lay like the image
of a soldier In wax a wounded man
carried as a votive offering to the
altars of desert warfare.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
AIRE FUIH ARE FIGHTING 10
LOST PROVINCE OF LORRAINE
Edward B. Clark Describes a Visit to the French Trenches Near
Nancy Noise of the Batteries Is Terrific Men Live Under
ground Day in and Day Out, Yet Keep Their Spirits
Above Ground Sees War and Peace Side by Side.
By EDWARD B. CLARK.
(Staff Correspondent of the Western
Newspaper Union.)
At Lorraine's battle front. Nancy,
In French Lorraine, is the city at
which I left the
train to make
my way under
military g u 1 d -ance
to the bat
tle front. This
town of France
is only a few
miles distant
from where the
troops of the re
public and the
troops of the
empire are at
grips along one
of the most hot
ly contested
fronts in this
world war.
It is the am
bition of the
French army to
take German
hold it for all
time. German took this province
away from France in 1870, and France
wants to take It back. It is probable
that the French soldiers here have
an added spirit for the fighting be
cause fair Lorraine, their one-time
possession, is the prize at stake.
It was not my thought that I should
see any of the real battling until I
reached the actual front, but strange
ly enough perhaps I saw fighting of
a kind which 15 years ago could not
Dave been witnessed, and I saw it
Edward B. Clark.
Lorraine and to
never know where one of the things is
going to drop. The noise is terrific,
and while all the batteries along the
front may be firing at something
miles away, the hearer and the onlook
er does not know this necessarily, but
if he suspects it and thinks that dan
ger is remote he has full realization
that a variation of an inch or two
to the right or to the left of the muz
zle of one of the big guns will change
the direction of the fire so that the
next projectile may land In his lap.
We reached the firing line. Now, if
people have any idea that on the mod
ern battlefield, except on the occasions
of charges and countercharges, there
are thousands upon thousands o( men
in view, the idea may as well be fore
gone. There are two big armies In
the field here, and yet you don't see
them,, so to speak, Individually. The
soldiers of France and Germany here
are either covered by the dense woods
or elaeihey are underground 'like so
many thousands of ribbits in their
burrows.
The cannonading is terrific and yet
it Is difficult unless you happen to
be at the exact point where the
shells fall, to tell what all the row is
about. In this section of the coun
try the French biplanes and the Ger
man taubes make their high and lofty
excursions for the purpose of detect
ing some point in the enemy's line
which It Is considered the part of
war wisdom to bombard. It may be a
blockhouse hidden in the woods but
commanding some pathway through
the trees, which has been discovered
by the sky pilot. When such is the
case the artillery will open as accu
trom a hotel window in the big city
of Nancy. The windows of my room rately as possible upon the spot des-
At Night They Sat Out in the Moon
light. stones of our terrace. He was very
rude.
"Throughout our childhood, until I
was sixteen, we teased each other
and fought and quarreled."
"This is not a love-affair, Therese,"
said Miss Redmond.
"There are all kinds, ma chere, as
there are all temperaments," said
Madame de la Maine. "At Assump
tionthat is our great feast, Julia
the Feast of Mary It comes In Au
gustat Assumption, Monsieur de la
Maine came to talk with my grand
mother. He was forty years old, and
bald Bob and I made fun of bis few
hairs, like the children In the Holy
Bible."
Julia put out her hand and took the
hand of Madame de la Maine gently.
She was getting so far from a love
affair.
"I married Monsieur de la Maine in
six weeks," said Therese.
"Oh," breathed Miss Redmond, "hor
rible!"
Madame de la Maine pressed Julia's
hand.
"When It was decided between my
grandmother and the comte, I escaped
at night, after they thought I bad gene
Things That Have Been Condemned.
If we banished from our tables all
the commodities which like pota
toes have been condemned In print
our diet wouM be decidedly monoto
nous. "Food faddists are most aggres
sive persons," Henry Labouchere once
complained. "In my time I have known
them preach that we should give up
meat, tobacco, alcohol, soup, starch
(Including bread and potatoes), salt.
tomatoes, bananas, strawberries and
bath buns. I have also witnessed
movements for giving up boots, waist
coats, hats, overcoats, carpets, feather
beds, spring mattresses, cold baths.
linen clothes, woolen clothes, sleeping
more than six hours, sleeping less
than nine hours and lighting fires at
the bottom."
Some Lost Motion.
A Philadelphia mathematician has
figured it out that the telephone com
panies lose 125 hours' work every day
through the use of the word "please"
by all operators and patrons. Another
has discovered that the froth on the
beer pays the freight But as yet no
one has estimated the total horse
power wasted in swallowing cigarette
moke and forcing it through the nose
Instead of blowing It from the mouth.
Newark News.
Scandinavian Housekeeping.
In Scandinavia the peasant wom
en who worked all day In the fields,
have bad tbelr tireless methods of
cooking for a long time. While break
fast was cooking, the pot containing
the stew for dinner was brought to
a boil then placed Inside a second
pot and the whole snugly ensconced
between the feather beds, still warm
from the night's occupancy. Some of
these women bad a loosned hearts-
stone and r. bole beneath.
faced east I was at the top of the
hotel. The view before me was un
broken to the hills eastward under
whose shadow the German troops are
lying. Seated by the window just be
fore sunset I heard in quick succes
sion the reports of a fusillade. I
looked out and in the air at a distance
of perhaps a mile a German taube
was wheeling and dodging In the
midst of showers of shrapnel. There
were 29 shells fired in less than as
many seconds at least so it seemed.
The projectiles burst about the flying
machine seemingly only a few yards
away from it and yet so far as I could
discover it withstood tile hall unhurt
Watches a Cloud Battle.
As each shell burst a wreath of
light smoke formed, perfect in con
tour, and as sightly as all things are
which follow the curvet: lines of beau
ty. There was not a breath of air stir
ring, and the crowns of smoke touched
by the setting sun were like halos.
There were 29 shells fired, and each
gave forth its wreath of smoke, and
the last one had burst before the
smoke crown gave the least sign of
disintegration. It was a war sight, but
It was appealing.
The German taube finally turned
and planed down behind the hill and
was lost to my eight. I knew that it
went well within the German lines,
but whether its crew of two men es
caped injury or not, I do not know
The French were content perhaps that
their battery had driven the enemy
back into his own lines and had pre
vented the dropping of bombs into the
streets of Nancy, or perhaps the tak
ing of observations which might have
been of assistance to the Ioe.
It was the next day after this cloud
battle scene that I went to the front.
It Is not far from Nancy to the firing
line, and long before you come to the
place where the shells are fired you
get to the place where the shells drop.
It could not have been more than four
miles out of town before the pound
ing of the guns hit my ears and hit
them in a most unpleasant way. When
the tenderfoot goes forth to war the
tenderness of his feet is likely to find
companionship with the tenderness of
his heart. In other words, the heart
sinks Into the boots where the feet
ire.
Notts Is Terrific
The trouble with the Infernal shell
ing as far as It affects the man who
is going forth to see it, Is that you
Big French Guns In Action.
ignated by the flying machine scout,
and then after the shells have rained
for a while there will be an advance
of Infantry to capture the position.
Labyrinths cf Barbed Wire.
It did not seem possible to me that
there was so much barbed wire In this
big world of ours as is strung along
through the woods and fields of this
part of France. It Is a deadly wire,
for It has more prickles than any burr
that grows in the fields, and these
prickles are of steel. The wire is
strung into labyrinths through which
it is impossible to thread one's way
except under guidance. Back of these
mazes of barbed wire are the trenches,
and In these trenches are the soldiers
of France, although you do not know
It until you drop down into their
midst.
Here they are with their periscopes
watching and waiting in the lull times
for a chance to pick off a foeman
who is looking through his periscope
in a trench some hundreds of yards
away. This Is like squirrel shooting.
Probably not more than seven or
eight men are killed in 21 hours by
this sharpshootlng process, but the
soldiers indulge in it all the time in
order to make their enemy keep under
ground, and if they can, to make
them keep their hearts underground
with them.
Keep Up Their Spirits.
I do not understand how men can
live underground day in and day out
and keep their spirits aboveground.
The French are doing it, however, and
I suppose by the same token that the
Germans are doing it also. Once in
a while they get surcease from stag
nation by an order to charge. It is
an event, the effect of which in buoy-
ance of spirits lasts for weeks, when
one side of the other takes a single
trench from the enemy and holds It.
There Is a curious looking telescope
In use in the French trenches. At
first sight I thought it was a silver
mounted flute, for it looks like a flute
more than anything else. Instead of
looking through the "flute" lengthwise
you look though it "sldewlse," and In
It you see mirrored the rough line
which shows the outer edge of the Ger
man Intrench ments, but you don't see
any Germans unless you watch care
fully for a long time. Then you see
a little movement perhaps and then
a rifle at your right or left speaks,
and then you know that possibly there
la a dead or ft wounded man In the
trench you see to your front
We went out of the field trenches
and made our way back into the wood'
My army officer companion asked me
bow much I knew about woodcraft1
Pecause of a life given over to a con
siderable extent to natural history
pursuits which had carried me into
the wilderness on many occasions, I
said that I thought I knew s little
something of the forest and of "signs
and seasons." Then the officer asked
me to let him know if I discovered
anything that looked unusual as we
walked through the lights and shades
of the birch forest
I put all my senses to work and
tried to detect some symptom that
everything was not just as it should
be In an ordinary wood. I sensed'
nothing out of the ordinary, and was
just about to say so when my knee
struck something hard and I looked
down. I was staring straight into the
muzzle of a huge naval gun emplaced
at an angle of about thirty degrees.
A Well-Concealed Gun.
ThiB gun was in an "underground
house." For a distance of at least
two feet back of the muzzle the gun
was shrouded with a green growth
which completely concealed it. The
house had a roof, but green things
were growing upon it and there was
absolutely nothing to tell that under
the cover was a gun pit. We entered
the house by means of some concealed
steps and there we found a detach
ment of men ready to make the gun
speak when a returning air scout
should give the gunners directions as
to just where to let a shell drop.
It was while I was in this gun pit
that rapid firing was heard at the ex
treme edge of the wood. The can
nonading was from a French battery
engaged in driving off a German aero
plane which unquestionably was seek
ing to locate this big gun which had
caused trouble in the German lines,
but whose position the enemy had
been unable exactly to determine.
The next day from a rock rising al
most sheer to a height of nearly seven
hundred feet I looked through the
clear air toward Metz, the capital ot
German Lorraine, which with Its cir
cling fortresses is the prize most cov
eted by the French. The artillery of
the republic emplaced on a ridge to
the right and a little in advance of
this position has succeeded in reach
ing with Its shells one of the most
formidable forts standing guard over
Metz. When the French break down,
It they can break down, the defenses;
of Metz, an army will spring from thej
ground and advance toward the Ger
man goal of its ambition. Metz, how
ever, while really only a few miles
away, is a long ways oft, because be
tween the outermost French lines and
the city of desire lies a German army,
and right here on this line within
the next few days or weeks, or per
haps even months, there is sure to
come fighting of a quality so fierce as
to put all other fighting along this
600-mile line Into the class with things
tame.
Views the Battlefield.
From where I stood there is a bird's
eye view of a great battlefield. We
made an early start in order to be
able to climb this needle-like rock be
fore the sun was high. This hill is
called MouBBon, and on its crown
there is a chapel built In the eleventh
century and which affords a fair and
commanding mark for the enemy's ar
tillery. The Germans for some rea
son or other have left this pinnacle
alone for the main part On occasions
they send shells over it, and today
was one ot the ocacslons. A shell
passed over my head while I was
climbing the rock. I heard Its whiz
zing distinctly, and Instinctively I
crouched, much to the amusement of
the French army officer who stood at
my side. "The thing you hear," he
said, "never hits you. It's half a
mile past you before you hoar the
sound."
In climbing the hill of Mousson
there are many places where one 1b
out from under cover. Walking up the
hill was difficult, but running was more
than difficult, and yet I had to run be
tween the covered points. On this
hill we were within range, not only of
shell fire but of small rifle fire, and
the Journey up and down had its un
pleasant moments.
When half-way down this Rock ot
Mousson the cannonading grew louder.
The truth was that a new battery had
opened, one much nearer to us than
the guns which had been thundering
before. We looked down from the hill
side to the village of Pont-a-Mousson
which lay nestling at our feet. Into
the village the shells were pounding.
All that we could see was clouds ot
dust and smoke mingled as we knew
with mortar, stone fragments, and
the ground powder of plaster.
Short Ereathlng Space.
We reached the foot of the hill, en
tered a military automobile, and were
whirled into Pont-a-Mousson. The
cannonading had ceased and the vil
lagers, men, women and children,
again going about the streets. No
one knew, however, when the fusillade
would begin again. It did begin
again, not long after we left the town,
and 20 people met their death inside
of an hour from the time the first
gun spoke.
Pont-a-Mousson Is not far from Metz.
The same river supplies water to botb.
cities. One is in France and the oth
er is In Germany. The French say
that before the snow flies again both
cities will be In France, and that both
will belong to France for all time. I
do not know whether this will prove
true or not, but I io know that all
along this line tr - French are fight
ing with a doub' strengthened heart,,
and perhaps v !h a doubly strength
ened ferocity. They want Lorraine,
and Lorralm ihey are going to get it
valor can w n it