"Because," was the reply, "he looked so lonely—he seemed to need it most."
They marched up the street with us, arm in arm, all who could get near enough, and threw a thousand questions at us in one unintelligible clatter of French. It was a welcome to stir the blood of the coldest, and from that moment we took France to our hearts, as she had taken us, and held her fast.
What did the landing of a mere handful of Canadians mean to France? There weren't enough of us to be of much importance, compared with the thousands of other British troops which landed daily. But the French, with their keen sense of appreciation, recognised at once that the advent of this little Canadian band had a broad significance; it meant that in her great struggle for the cause of liberty and humanity France was to be supported not only by Britain but by the far-flung elements of the Empire. It meant encouragement; it meant success!
And as they shouted "Vive le Canada" we echoed with a will, "Vive la France." We sang, too, "God Save the King," and "La Marseillaise." A few who knew English joined in the first, but "La Marseillaise" starting by courtesy with us, swelled in a moment into a mighty anthem which swept the city like a storm. Later, when we followed with "The Maple Leaf," a respectful silence fell upon the throng. With quick intuition they knew it was a song of home, with which they sympathised, but which they could not understand. And as the melody concluded we could hear them whispering one to another: "Quelle est cette chanson?" And we answered in our broken French, "It is a song of our native land, far, far from here."
It was my good fortune during this strange march to ride upon the side close to the curb, while Reggy, in comparative obscurity, rode opposite. Frequently, too, it was my privilege to return the greetings of the dainty French girls who lined the walk and waved their handkerchiefs high above the heads of the crowd in the road.
At last Reggy, trotting along in the shadow, could contain himself no longer. He burst out:
"Hang it all, major! Just my bally luck again; you're always closer to the girls than I."
"But not closer to their hearts, Reggy dear," I interjected soothingly.
"Small consolation, that, in the present situation," Reggy was grumbling, when he was suddenly interrupted by a pretty black-eyed girl who, running alongside his horse, caught him by the hand and forthwith begged a kiss. I believe—or, rather, I hope—Reggy blushed. I should always like to think that at that precise moment Reggy's sense of modesty came to his rescue. If it did, however, it vanished again with alarming rapidity.
"Here's an embarrassing situation," he cried dolefully.