the wicked Germans. _Angelique_. (_Lip trembles_.) I'm sorry--they died. _Jean-Baptiste_. But, _p'tite!_ That was one hundred years ago. It is necessary that they would have been dead by now in every case. It was more glorious to die fighting for freedom and France than just to die--fifty years later. Me, I'd enjoy very much to die fighting. But look! You pulled up the roots. And what is that thing hanging to the roots--not a rock? _Angelique_. No, I think not a rock. (She takes the object in her hands and knocks dirt from it.) But what is it, Jean-B'tiste? _Jean-Baptiste_. It's--but never mind. I can't always know everything, don't you see, Angelique? It's just something of one of the Americans who died in the ditch. One is always finding something in these old battle-fields. _Angelique_. (_Rubs the object with her dress. Takes a handful of sand and rubs it on the object. Spits on it and rubs the sand_.) _V'la_, Jean-B'tiste--it shines. _Jean-Baptiste_. (_Loftily_.) Yes. It is nothing, that. One finds such things. _Angelique._ (_Rubbing more_.) And there are letters on it. _Jean-Baptiste_. Yes. It is nothing, that. One has flowers _en masse_ now, and it is time to go home. Come then, _p'tite_, drop the dirty bit of brass and pick up your pretty flowers. _Tiens!_ Give me your hand. I'll pull you up the side of the ditch. (_Jean-Baptiste turns as they start_.) I forgot the thing which the grandfather told me I must do always. (_He stands at attention_.) _Au revoir_, brave Americans. One salutes your immortal glory. (_Exit Jean-Baptiste and Angelique_.) THIRD ACT _The scene is the same trench in the year 2018. It is eleven o'clock of the same summer morning. Four American schoolgirls, of from fifteen to seventeen years, have been brought to see the trench, a relic of the Great War, in charge of their teacher. The teacher, a worn and elderly person, has imagination, and is stirred, as far as her tired nerves may be, by the heroic story of the old ditch. One of the schoolgirls also has imagination and is also stirred. The other three are "young barbarians at play." Two out of five is possibly a large proportion to be blessed with imagination, but the American race has improved in a