Part 1 (1/2)

Lorraine.

by Robert W. Chambers.

TO MY FATHER

LORRAINE!

_When Yesterday shall dawn again, And the long line athwart the hill Shall quicken with the bugle's thrill, Thine own shall come to thee, Lorraine!_

_Then in each vineyard, vale, and plain, The quiet dead shall stir the earth And rise, reborn, in thy new birth-- Thou holy martyr-maid, Lorraine!_

_Is it in vain thy sweet tears stain Thy mother's breast? Her castled crest Is lifted now! G.o.d guide her quest!

She seeks thine own for thee, Lorraine!_

_So Yesterday shall live again, And the steel line along the Rhine Shall cuira.s.s thee and all that's thine.

France lives--thy France--divine Lorraine!_

R. W. C.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

The author desires to acknowledge his indebtedness to the valuable volumes of Messrs. Victor Duruy, Archibald Forbes, Sir William Fraser, Dr. J. von Pflugk-Harttung, G.

Tissandier, Comdt. Grandin, and ”Un Officier de Marine,”

concerning (wholly or in part) the events of 1870-1871.

Occasionally the author has deemed it best to change the names of villages, officers, and regiments or battalions.

The author believes that the romance separated from the facts should leave the historical basis virtually accurate.

R. W. C.

New York, September, 1897.

LORRAINE

I

A MAKER OF MAPS

There was a rustle in the bushes, the sound of twigs snapping, a soft foot-fall on the dead leaves.

Marche stopped, took his pipe out of his mouth, and listened.

Patter! patter! patter! over the crackling underbrush, now near, now far away in the depths of the forest; then sudden silence, the silence that startles.

He turned his head warily, right, left; he knelt noiselessly, striving to pierce the thicket with his restless eyes. After a moment he arose on tiptoe, unslung his gun, c.o.c.ked both barrels, and listened again, pipe tightly clutched between his white teeth.