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This music, this place of thoughtfulness, had made
something break in his heart. . . Some of our young officers, but not
many, knelt on the cane chairs and prayed, face in hands. French
officers crossed themselves and their medals tinkled as they walked up
the aisles. Always there were women in black weeds kneeling before the
side--altars, praying to the Virgin for husbands and sons, dead or
alive, lighting candles below holy pictures and statues. Our men
tiptoed past them, holding steel hats or field--caps, and putting
their packs against the pillars. On the steps of the cathedral I heard
two officers talking one day.
"How can one reconcile all this with the war?"
"Why not? . . . I suppose we're fighting for justice and all that.
That's what The Daily Mail tells us."
"Seriously, old man. Where does Christ come in?"
"He wasn't against righteous force. He chased the money-changers out
of the Temple."
"Yes, but His whole teaching was love and forgiveness. 'Thou shalt not
kill.


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