As I entered the beautiful village of Ed-Damur, one of the most prosperous and enchanting places on earth, I saw entire regiments of Turkish troops encamped in and about the village.
While I was watering my horse, I tried to ask questions from a few inhabitants.

My fair hair and complexion and my khaki costume made them take me for a German, and they barely answered me, but when I addressed them in French their faces lit up.

For the Lebanon, for all it is thousands of miles away from France, is nevertheless like a French province.

For fifty years the French language and French culture have taken hold of the Lebanon.

No Frenchman has more love for and faith in France than lie in the hearts of the Lebanese Christians.