THE MARK OF THE BEAST

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 3132, 10 July 1917, Page 7

THE MARK OF THE BEAST

IN THE WAKE OF THE GERMAN RETREAT . (By Kenneth Ingram.) (l'ublished by authority-of ilie British £rwo Bureau, and forwarded by vho Hoyal Colonial Institute.) "'ilbre Anton did not escape, wiien the Germans eutored tho lowu. .Site u.-.cs -m old wouiun who (tiid lived in tlio town mi her life, and in noventy .years one liecomes too deeply roolwl U> tear oncseif away ami seek, n now htine. Alero Anton did not believe tlio would hurt an old woinau. bho w;\,s periiapa u. little inci-eduiouH of tho liorrotvi of which her neighbours had spoken, though every drop of her blood was loyal lo France. . ' • . Whci tlie Boolies c<tmo they treated her, iL-i they treated nil the people who remained, like dirt under their feo!. They commandeered her fowls and two.! hor house as they chose. But Hero Anton wisely kept as much as possible out of their way, aud as sho was nothing to thorn, they let her livo on.

Ah! it is easy to say "live." • But lilioso long mouths were a nightmare which sho had to.grapple with alono, and only her indomitable gallantry and patience, typical of French -woman as well as meu, tarried her through. All the hideous carnago of war was at her door, and the continual, loathsome, presence of the conqtit.'ror3 had to be endured. For the most part site ivas solitary, fighting an interminable fear and suspense day and night, day and night. But when occasionally she 6aw one of her friends it fell to her lot to ae,t as fortor.. "Have courage," she would sny. "The Boohes will bo driven out. _ The good God, at his own time, will bring our-own people to give us back our homes. We must not bo impatient with . Him. He never fails. Listen to those guns—they are the guns of the Array of France. They aro firing for our deliverance." j . It was easier to speak words of comfort than to remain patient oneself, Tho time was very long, the strain £O 'unceasing, the temptation to abandon hope so strong. . For the little remnant of tho citizens, week followed week, and months became years. Food was scarce, and old < land-maTks disappeared. It seemed that the grip of the Boohe had 6ettled for ever on. the town, and -would l never relax, that -'the day of deliverance would never dawn. But madame prayed continually to God and Our , Lady, and prayer was her mainstay. .. Then came the summer of 1916, wnen there were rumours of an Allied advance. Hope sprang up with a wild crop of rumours. Tho French and English were breaking* through. 'But still the Germane remained in Peronne, and the advance died down into a, cruel winter. , And then at last, when hope had all but faded, The Day broke'on them, as a thief in the night. The Boches were ■Tβ. tiring. It seemed impossible to believe. Madame hid herself, for fear that ner joy would reveal.itself in her face and- that they would kill her in their vengeance.. But sho thought that, the worst was over, that at last her prayers had been answer, eil. It was so wonderful that her home had Wen spared. "She was proud and glad to think that ehe could go forward to meet the victors and point out to them how so much of tho town remained—her church, her home, the littlo street in which she lived. Suddenly from her cellar she.hoard tlio imminent sound of explosions', which drove her from ■ her hiding place itt terror. She camo out into the street. They wore blowing tjio houses to nieces. Hor church was a maes of Tuins. Yesterday it had been eafo and tho high altar and the statuo of nor own patron—St.' Anthony—had remained untouched. Now nil was gono. A moment later they were at work on her .own. home.. Had she stayed there ti second longer J What could it mean? She knew nothing of military plans, but shfl wondered wlint object it could servo. In her simple heart pho tried to excuse even the onemy, tolliuf? herself that it must bo for. sc-mo. war purpose she ooiild not understand. She.stood dazed and pitiful. A Gorman officer «iw hor and apolto in French. Wo ii.ro-leaving you, Madame," he sa.id, "but wo are leaving our mark behind.us, so that yon will not forget us or ourgoing-' , H.n. laughed. "But, monsieur," cried Mere- Anton, 'it was ray home."

Tho officer laughed again. So ilero Anton watched Ihroiigh her fears'-tbo''last work of destruction. To hor, oven aftor the months of ngony, even on th« ovo of freedom, this was tho hardest blow of all. For with her homo was perishing her 'memories and hopes, all that gave her touch with life. It was not; war. Sho wouldi not 60 deeply havo minded that, for sho had grown. u«e<l to war. It was a. cruel and blundering :vindi,otiveness. , - ' Tbe Germans left.' never' in return, and later came the joyous moment of re-, leaee, the hour for which she had lived and prayed, when tho British troops strode through thntown, shouting and oh-sering in their triumphant journey. A young officer passed close to tho old lady as she stood thcro silently, stopped, and saluted her.' ; .

'.'Well, Madame," ho cried, "we have roamed you at^last," ■ Mere Anton smiled sadly. "1 would -t could welcome you to my home," sho an. Bivered. "Yesterday it stood—but to-day it has gone. The heastsrhavo left their mark, lest wo forget. Wo f.liall not forget.". . *Mcre—mother. , '