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young people gathered at the subway station. Most of them were furriers from small shops, including the one on the rue Gambetta. But not all had come: Lucien, the cutter was as usual busy at some rendezvous; while Mary had stayed away out of fear. Monsieur Levitan, her uncle, had given her firm orders to keep away from "those agitators and hooligans"; if she dared disobey him, he told her, he would lock her out and she would be written off as a member of the family. Mary, although she was by no means the timid and easily frightened sort, nevertheless, had had enough bitter experiences in her orphaned life. So she stayed at home.

Suzette, on the other hand, showed real heroism. She sacrificed her usual weekly visit to her little daughter, who was living in a village outside of Paris, and made it plain for all to see that she was a woman of character, firm in her solidarity with her fellow-workers.

So far as Anna and little Marcel were concerned, Pierre had no difficulty at all. The long line of marchers had just started to move when Anna dashed up, running and out of breath. Her face was paler than usual, but her eyes gleamed with heightened color. She took her place alongside Pierre and Marcel. The marchers moved forward four abreast, linked together in a long human chain. Every once in a while a new slogan would fill the air, billowing from one end of the demonstration to the other.

Pierre, in his deep, resonant voice, shouted-"Down with war!"-and thousands of voices echoed the words. "Down with war! A bas la guerre!" Someone began to sing the Marseillaise. Marcel's voice rose higher than the rest, breaking ever so often into a shrill shriek. His rosy face, covered with a faint blonde fuzz, his reddish blonde hair, his deep blue eyes, all bespoke earnestness and sincerity. The fifteen-year-old