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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



Photograph by G. Frederick Atherton 



A VIEW OF THE SEINE 



The river has wound its silver thread through the stately, dramatic, and violent years of 

 Parisian history, but never through a chapter more poignant or exalted than the present, 

 when France has become for all civilization the symbol of heroic sacrifice. 



great stack on the sidewalk*. Wasn't he 

 clever? 



And father ordered two kinds of fish, 

 though, of course, he hadn't meant to. 

 And the only way they got nuts for des- 

 sert was by imitating a nut-cracker with 

 their hands. Even the waiter laughed, 

 and the proprietor gave each of them a 

 post-card, with a picture of the restau- 

 rant on it, to remember him by. Wasn't 

 it just like a book ? 



And every night, no matter how tired, 

 they wrote a joint letter to mother. 



"mother's the best sport in the 

 Family" 



Freddie told her what they'd done 

 from breakfast to lunch, Eddie how 

 they'd filled in the time from lunch to 

 dinner, and father how they'd passed the 

 evening. So mother wouldn't think she 

 was forgotten for a minute. I guess not. 

 Why, every morning since they'd left 

 her, soon as their eyes popped open, first 

 thing they all did was to pull out her 

 "pic," salute, and say, "Good morning, 

 little mother." 



And guess where they carried her? 



In their caps, of course. Easy to get at, 

 you know. 



"Gee ! if she could only be along to- 

 night ! Going to grand opera ! And the 

 seats cost something — fifteen francs 

 apiece, if you please. But, shucks, mother 

 wouldn't mind. Why, mother's the best 

 sport in the family." I agree to that. 



As I pass the bread to a newcomer I 

 recognize an acquaintance of yesterday. 

 In answer to the usual question, "How 

 long have you got?" he had informed me 

 with a knowing wink and a dig in the ribs 

 that he might be here a "considerable" 

 time; for he is private chauffeur to the 

 colonel and "the colonel's got his lady." 

 He slips me a little bunch of violets under 

 the table because I "was so good to him 

 yesterday," but he'd like to know why I 

 took so much trouble to direct him to the 

 "booleyvard" ? He grins as he asks: 



"Why didn't you just tell me to walk 

 till I smelled the perfume? I found it 

 all right and it cost me a pretty penny, 

 too. Say, I'll bet a guy could spend a 

 thousand francs a day in this town and 

 lead a righteous life. And if he lived the 

 other kind" — 



