SPIRIT OF FRANCE
A tired and dusty doughboy drew up in front of a shell-battered house in Château-Thierry and asked a French woman if he could get a drink of water.
“Oui, mon garcon,” said the woman. “You come right along with me.”
After the soldier had obtained his drink and was about to depart, he remarked that her house had suffered more or less from the guns.
“Yes,” was the reply. “I used it as a dressing station for the Americans who were wounded here, and the Boche seemed to know about it. But it’s all right. We will build it up again and everything will be the same.”
She explained in detail just how she would rearrange the architecture, how the windows would be built larger.
“We will have to carry a lot of rock,” she smiled. “You see, those are all shot to pieces. But it’s not far to the river.”
Then she turned and resumed her task of clearing away the debris that had once been the east wall of her house.