I saw a very touching thing the other day in the Madeleine, where
I went to Mass. A woman no longer young, in the heaviest of crape,
came in and sat down and buried her face in her hands. She shook with
suppressed sobs and terrible weeping. Presently there came in another
worshipper, a stranger to her, and sat down by her side. He was a
splendid-looking officer in full-dress uniform--a young man, with
a wedding-ring upon his hand--one of those permissionnaires home,
evidently, for the short eight days that all the officers are given
now--a hiatus between the old war and the new. He bent too, praying;
but the weeping of the woman at his side evidently tore his heart.
Presently she lifted her face and wiped her eyes, and the officer put
his hand on hers. And as I was sitting near, I heard what he said:
"_Pauvre madame, pauvre madame!... Ma mère pleure comme vous._"
She glanced at him, then bent again in prayer. But when she had
finished, before she left her seat, I heard her say to him:
"_Monsieur, j'ai beaucoup prié pour vous. Sachez que vous aves les
prières d'une vieille mère a laquelle ne reste rien au monde._"
He touched her hand again and said:
"Merci, madame. Adieu!"
* * * * *
It was just one of those intensely touching pictures in that dimly
lighted church, full of worshippers, that one can never forget....