[Illustration: THE MARÉCHALE IN THE CAFÉ (From the painting of Baron Cederström, now in the Picture Gallery of Stockholm)]
At last she put her hand on the door, pushed it open, and went in. A man in a white apron was selling drink. Going up to him, she said, "May I sing something?"
Trembling from head to foot, she repeated, "I should like to sing something."
"Le ciel est ma belle patrie, Les anges y font leur séjour; Le soldat qui lutte et qui prie Y sera bientôt à son tour."
While she sang, Blanche chimed in with her guitar and her second voice. As they proceeded, the smoking, drinking, and card-playing ceased, and every face was turned towards them. They sang on:
"En marche, en marche, Soldats, vers la patrie! En marche, en marche, Soldats, vers la patrie!"
When they had finished the hymn, the Maréchale thanked her audience, adding that they could hear her again at Rue Auber Hall; and that she knew a Friend, of whom she wished to tell them. As she and her comrades turned to walk out, the man in the white apron bowed, as if they had done him a service.
"May I come another time?" said the Maréchale.
They visited sixteen cafés that night, and when she got home she felt she had never been happier in her life, never nearer to Jesus. She had tried in her own way to obey His command, "Let your light shine before men." Since then, thousands and thousands of cafés have been visited, and much good has thus been done. Let one case stand for many.
There used to be a well-known resort in Paris called the Café de l'Enfer, the windows and walls of which were painted with lurid scenes representing hell. There rouged and powdered singing girls entertained people of the dare-devil type, who sat drinking and smoking at little tables. From an open coffin a grim skeleton stared at everybody, and prizes were given for the most audacious witticisms about death. The more outrageous the blasphemies were, the louder were the roars of applause with which they were received.
But the Maréchale and her young lieutenants, "armed in complete steel"--the panoply of God--were not afraid of the gates of hell. Having obtained permission to sing, they mounted the _estrade_, and rendered some of their most attractive part-songs. The café orchestra at once took up the airs as if it had been paid to do so. The songs of Paradise were well received even in those regions, and then the Maréchale, stepping forward, made a little speech: