General John Joseph Pershing, changed by Time and the War from hardboiled brigadier to dapper boulevardier, stepped with his crisp cock-robin stride from the Place de la Concorde into the ornate lobby of the Hotel Crillon. An excited reporter from the Paris Herald rushed at him.
"General Pershing, have you heard about the death?"
"Death of whom, young man?"
"Herrick. Ambassador Herrick!"
"Herrick!" The shoulders of the 68-year-old General slumped. He walked slowly into the writing room, sank into a chair.
"The third now—Foch, Bishop Brent, Herrick. We grow old. A...
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