And hold their manhood cheap, when any speaks
That fought with us. . . .
Ah, yes—ah, yes—to have been in the battle of the Marne!
On the way back, below the crest of the hill, the motor stopped at the village church and the officer jumped down.
"Some of our men are buried here," he said.
Mrs. Belknap, with a murmur of sympathy, caught up the bunch of roses she had gathered in the ravaged garden of the château, and they picked their way among the smashed and slanting stones of the cemetery to a corner behind the church where wooden crosses marked a row of fresh graves. Half-faded flowers in bottles were thrust into the loose earth, and a few tin wreaths hung on the arms of the crosses.
Some of the graves bore only the date of the battle, with "Pour la France," or
