of convalescence, there probably would have been no filling of sheet upon sheet of paper with the then fresh and vivid impressions that ultimately took shape in the epic Verdun 'couronné par l'Académie Française. M. René approached the river and the Pont d'Iéna. Two young men, students it appeared from the books and papers under their arms, stood aside to let him pass, and swept off their hats and bowed. Quickly M. René's cane was whipped under the maimed left arm, and his right hand flew to his hat to answer the salute. He did not recognise the young men, and the kindness of his heart bade him halt. He could not bear that any one should think him casual or supercilious. "Pardon," ," said he, "but do I forget? Is it that I should know you, young men ? authors, it is true, recognise me, and step aside to let me pass. I wonder how they knew me? It is possible, of course, that they have heard me lecture, but it may be that with my portrait in so many of the journals-ah, it is something to be an Academician at just over fifty years of age! M. René experienced a mood of great elation. The sunshine poured down in generous amber on the gardens of the Trocadéro. It made vivid the green of the young foliage on the planetrees. Everything under it had the clean cut of jewels. It made deliciously dazzling the bright dresses of the children, which caused M. René to search for comparisons in the downy plumage of swans and clean ducks, in the petals of cyclamen and faintly blushing roses. He paused for a moment to watch a buxom nursemaid in the costume of Arles shepherding two fluffy mites of children in creamy yellow, and he was inexpressibly cheered to find that his trite simile of the farmyard was just. The air of the spring morning was crisp without the slightest sense of chill. M. René took several deep breaths of it, and suddenly felt more vigorous than he had felt for months. His mood of elation grew stronger, and the cane in his hand all at once had the balance of an epée. Its point went up to the sun in salute and its handle came to his lips. Next moment, with a lightning lunge, he had pierced a bush that stood by the pathway. ening gruff voice behind him, "it is strictly forbidden to injure the shrubs and plants of the garden!" "Monsieur ! said a threat- Pah-fame! A myth! If only he had listened to the protestations of the good Jules, and had worn the familiar red button. Even the most ignorant of park-keepers would have hesitated to bully one who wore the token of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Or if, at ordinary times, it had been de rigeur to go about in that famous green uniform M. René recovered his point in haste, dropped it, and wheeled to find a uniformed keeper of the garden regarding him menacingly. "Ah, pardon!" M. René said, somewhat shamefacedly. "In the vigour created by the beauty of the morning, I forgot." "It is forbidden," the official repeated sternly. 66 "It was foolish, perhaps," M. René said in contrition, "but I do not think I have injured the bush even slightly." The official peered at the bush suspiciously and at length. 'Well," he admitted, after a pause which brought the poet no little apprehension, "perhaps not. But it is forbidden. It must not happen again, or I shall be compelled, monsieur, to deal drastically with you." "I am obliged indeed for your forbearance," M. René said relievedly. "Permit me to offer you He got away just as the inevitable crowd began to gather. So much for fame, the poet exploded, as exasperatedly he hurried toward the Bois de Boulogne. So much for all the writing in the news-sheets, for all the photographs and sketches published, so much for being one of the forty immortals! To think that a member of the Académie Française should be bullied by an ungrammatical park-keeper for light-heartedly piercing a bush with a cane! And at that play of imagination, M. René began to laugh. What nonsensical tricks the imagination sometimes played, to think of strutting about in the bright sun of a spring morning all stiffly got up in gold emblazoning and braided pantaloons-carrying a sword, too! Simply because a parkkeeper very rightly checked one for stabbing at a bush. Then M. René felt glad that he had tipped the park-keeper. The man had merely done his duty, and he was not to be blamed if he failed to recognise a member of the Académie. What had a poor fellow like that to do with literature? And, after all, it was nothing detractive of one's celebrity if a few people here and there failed to know one for one of the Forty. M. René's mood lightened again. It was pleasant to think that one's days of comparative penury were probably over, that M. Martin's prophecy about riches most likely was true. The English and American translations most surely would augment one's income-probably double it. English and American authors sometimes made great fortunes. Now that the position of Academician had to be kept up, an augmented income became a necessity. It had been hard to get along sometimes since the war and the fall of the franc. A small private income, which before the war had meant safety at least, now went for next to nothing. M. René determined to take no chances. He would attend every meeting of the Academy, and so obtain the full allowance. affluence came from the foreign editions, so much the better. Yes, it was something, after all, to be a member of the Académie Française. It set the seal of eminence on one, almost made certain a worldwide reputation. As a youngster he had often wondered what real fame would be like, and now, at not too much over fifty, he had attained it. Everybody would "Bon jour, M. René!" his bulk, the man was beautifully turned out. The poet gathered all this in one flash before he turned his gaze up again to the heavy-jowled face. He held out his hand. "It is?" he said tentatively. "Paul Cordery," said the opulent-looking one. "Paul Cordery-Paul Cordery? M. René turned the name over in his mind while he still gazed mildly at the If man. Then suddenly it came to him who the man was. It came to him in a series of pictures, rapidly flashed. He saw himself as a boy in a neat sailor suit playing in the courtyard of an old Paris house with another boy of like age, bulletheaded and rather roughly dressed. He saw a gaunt but powerful woman on her knees beside a bucket of water, scrubbing out the tiled corridors of the house, or scrubbing its steps. The bullet-headed lad was the son of the charwoman, engaged periodically to do the rough work about the d'Erlande household. Mother and son bore the name of Cordery. "But, Paul! Paul Cordery!" M. René exclaimed. "It is 66 It was a singularly hearty greeting that brought the poet out of his dreaming to a realisation that he was already in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne. He found himself faced by a large and impressive stranger. And yet, not quite a stranger. years-years-!" There was something oddly familiar about the man's face, though for the life of him M. René could not recollect where he had seen it. The man was dressed in clothes of unmistakably good cut, his linen was immaculate, his boots had been made on a fashionable last, his hat had been purchased nowhere else but from one shop in London's Mayfair. Despite Thirty-nearly forty," the big man said complacently. "How ever did you recognise me?" demanded M. René. He expected to hear of portraits in the journals. "Ah, M. René, there are still traces of the boy I knew. I felt I could not be mistaken. You came up the side-walk smiling. It was the old smile." "Oh!" said M. René faintly. "You look very well, Paul- sight, with illuminating invery well-and successful." "I have not done badly," the big man said smugly. "But shall we sit for a moment ? " M. René agreed, and immediately found himself under a flood of words. The opulent one told the story of his life unhesitatingly and in detail. It was a story of success. From the first, said the son of the charwoman, he had meant to become rich, really rich, tout seul. By the time the war had broken out he had, by almost superhuman exertion, become a successful contractor. As the only son of a widow, then alive, he had not been called upon to serve a bit of luck, that!-and he had seized the chance to enrich himself by financing enterprises for the supply of munitions. stances. He heard airy mention of sums the mere thought of which made him giddy. Millions seemed to be to the charwoman's son what hundreds were to the Academician. "Yes," said Paul grandly. "And now, M. René, I have one of the biggest contracting businesses in France. Just look at the next new building you see, and it would be a safe wager that you would find 'Cordery and Company' on a board outside it. At this moment, M. René, I could write a cheque for " The figure, whispered confidentially in the poet's ear, did actually make his head swim, but he kept his senses enough to contrive a feeble murmur. "Splendid, Paul! Splendid!" "But at the same time, M. A large automobile drew up René," he said impressively, on the edge of the pathway, "at the same time, of course, an Hispano-Suiza of huge horseone thought always of the good power, all shining aluminium, of the cause." glittering silver, finest leather, "But, naturally," murmured and most point-device of chaufthe poet. He almost closed his eyes in the spate of information. He remarked idly that M. Paul's diction had not kept pace with his acquisition of wealth or the impressive correctness of his up-to-date apparel. In his effort to achieve polite distinction, M. Paul used such solecisms as cintième for cinquième." The poet heard in minute detail how a large fortune was made, of the cunning that was required, the fore feurs. My car," said the charwoman's son and got to his feet. "Can I take you anywhere, M. René ? Thanks, no," stammered the poet. "I have still to finish my constitutional." He rose to say farewell. "And what," said the millionaire, with the absent look of one who has exhausted the interest of a conversation, " and what have you been doing in all these years, M. René ? A DIVERSION. BY OEL. functions, AMONG the very small community at home which has any real interest in India, there exists a general impression that those of us who have elected to spend our lives in that harassed land find our compensation in the fact that boredom is eliminated by the range of congenial pursuits which the East offers. This impression is caused partly by the tone of the normal westward-bound showed at its dawn little prommail letter, which is naturally ise of dissociating itself from a record of the brighter events its of the week, and partly by our habit, when home on leave, of comparing general conditions with the memory of a series of isolated occurrences six thousand miles away. Not that we lead a dull existence-far from it. But undoubtedly there are periods when routine holds sway, and therein lies our greatest danger. An Indian will sit for hour after hour, lost in meditation; and what he is meditating no one, least of all himself, can say. The East casts its spell upon us from the start, and to combat it we require variety to stimulate interest, and interest to maintain effort. In my own particular case, my regiment is stationed for nine months in the year on the top of a mountain. The remaining three months are spent in the plains in a whirl of social VOL. CCXXIII.-NO. MCCCLII. The 8th of October 1927 immediate neighbours. There was, it is true, a battalion parade timed to take place at twelve o'clock, at which we were to be present to see the swearing-in of the annual batch of recruits. But generally there was no indication of the possibility of any form of upheaval. In Shortly after ten o'clock, therefore, I found myself in the orderly room, engaged, with two other officers, in our quarterly entertainment of auditing the regimental accounts. the middle of a thrilling discussion on investments, I suddenly became aware of a stir amongst the office orderlies and hangerson, who invariably congregate in the verandah outside; and then, in the mongrel dialect of our hills, I caught the local version of my name and the word "panther." Rushing out, I recognised, in a circle of our 2 D 2 |