"Don't fail, Richard, to call on your god-mother," I cautioned, adding with a smile, "and don't forget to kiss her for me."
It was only a short while before I received the following letter from the Marquise de R——:
"You have sent me a charming god-son, but the day of his arrival he seized me in his arms as if with all his strength and planted a sonorous kiss on both cheeks, saying, 'On behalf of my god-father!'
"It appears that you are his god-father! I am still thrilled by it. I pardon you this time because this brave boy has lifted a small corner of the great veil that hangs over Paris and which hides your sufferings. You are bold, he told me—do not expose yourself uselessly.
"The life in Paris is once more the same as ever. I am sending you some Parma violets, since you like them. They are all that I could find. I seldom go out. It is quite a long time since you have written——"
CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE ENEMY, BEFORE ST. GEORGES.
August, 1915.
On arriving at the "Brick Bridge" to-night, I found everyone in great spirits. There was a group along the edge of the canal—in the middle was a boche prisoner.
The big lumbering cuss had the air of complete bewilderment. Our marines were all talking to him at once and harassing him with a thousand questions. An officer approached.
"Quiet, men! Two men to conduct this fellow to the Brigade Headquarters, and lively!" They took the road, followed by the German, who kept at their heels like a pet dog.
The officer explained that for several days his marines had maintained correspondence with him. They placed their messages in a bottle which drifted along with the current. The boche had written: