In the Place de la Concorde, filled with statues commemorative of French history, the girls observed a vast mass of waving flags. Here all the trophies of war had been placed. Soldiers and young girls were climbing on the big guns, shouting, laughing, kissing one another.
Save for Miss Patricia’s leadership the Camp Fire girls would never have moved on with so little difficulty. Like a happy grenadier she marched with her head up and her old eyes flashing. France had no greater admirer than the elderly American spinster.
A French soldier, leaning over to kiss Mary Gilchrist, who was gazing upward and unconscious of him, found Miss Patricia’s hand suddenly interposed between his lips and Mary’s face. Being a Frenchman, he had the grace gallantly to kiss Miss Patricia’s hand and then to march off laughing at the joke on himself.
Finally the little group of Americans found themselves in a temporary shelter near the statue of Alsace-Lorraine in the Place de la Concorde. From the close of the Franco-Prussian war this statue of an heroic figure of a woman, representing the lost provinces, had been draped in mourning. Today the mourning had been torn away and the statue smothered in flowers.
It chanced that Bettina Graham and Peggy Webster were crowded close against the railing surrounding the statue.
“Peggy,” Bettina whispered, “I want to add my little tribute to France’s victory after forty years of waiting for the return of her provinces. I have nothing to offer but this little bunch of violets I have been wearing all morning. And certainly they are a faded tribute! Still there is no chance of getting any other flowers today.”
“Oh, never mind, it is the sentiment after all, isn’t it, Bettina? The tribute is no tinier than the effort we Camp Fire girls have been making in the last year to help France. It is simply that we have given all we had to give,” Peggy returned.
While she was speaking, Bettina had unfastened a large bunch of Roman violets, which she was wearing at her waist, and was leaning over the railing trying to find a place for her small bouquet. At the same instant a hand, holding an enormous bunch of red and white roses encircled with deep blue forget-me-nots, was thrust above her head.
Flushing at the contrast, Bettina hurriedly dropped her violets and glanced upward.
Behind her was a young man, evidently an American, although not a soldier, as he was not wearing a uniform.