And the next day—Algiers—the quaint streets—the mosques—flowers—and white robed Arabs.
Very quietly they had been married in the Cathedral which bears the name of a whole continent.
Notre Dame d'Afrique.
The sun had smiled as it shone on the city by the sea.
It grew colder.
A train came into sight on the vast field of snow.
On that train the man she loved and had married was coming to her.
That enchanted period in Algiers—He was returning—perhaps a wreck of his once splendid self—a cripple
War
It had shattered homes—brought skeletons—where once children laughed.