"Mademoiselle," he
replied, "I have no time for a godmother since I myself am a godfather."
He then explained that far away in his village there was a young
assistant in his shop, "And God knows the boy loves France, but both his
lungs are touched, so they won't take him, but I write and tell him that
the good God has given me strength for two, that I fight for him and
for myself, and that we are both doing well for France." I went back in
imagination to the village, I could see the glint in the boy's eyes,
realised how the blood pulsed quicker through his veins at the sight of,
not the personal pronoun "I" in the singular, but the plural "We are
doing well for France": for one glorious moment he was part of the hosts
of France and in spirit serving his Motherland. It is that spirit of the
French nation that their enemies will never understand.
On one occasion a young German officer, covered with mud from head to
foot, was brought before one of the French Generals. He had been taken
fighting cleanly, and the General was anxious to show him kindness. He
asked him if he would not prefer to cleanse himself before examination.
The young German drew himself up and replied: "Look at me, General; I am
covered from head to foot with mud, and that mud is the soil of France.
You will never possess as much soil in Germany." The General turned to
him with that gentle courtesy which marks the higher commands in France,
and answered: "Monsieur, we may never possess as much soil in Germany;
but there is something that you will never possess, and, until you
conquer it, you cannot vanquish France, and that is the spirit of the
French people.
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