They were unrelenting.

I invoked my identity card.

No, they had heard me speak in a foreign tongue and all foreign tongues to them were German!

And so we entered La Ferte.

Doors and windows no longer existed—the former had been dashed to splinters by the butt ends of guns, while the latter were shattered to powder and from their apertures swung bed clothing, personal adornment and household belongings in shreds and tatters—all willfully soiled by mud and filth.

It was useless to try to drive our cart up the main street, so calling a passing comrade, my detainers bid him hold my horse until they returned after having fait leur affaire, as they expressed it.

The plate glass windows of every store lay in thousands of pieces below their sashes, and the entire stock of merchandise whether furniture or drapery, groceries or dairy products, had been hurled through them into the middle of the thoroughfare. Above these were piled pell-mell bedding and chairs, wardrobes and wash basins, all splintered and broken—the whole making the most pitiable conglomeration I ever hope to witness. One plucky dealer was already boarding up the great yawning cavities that were once show windows, and here and there a frightened female face peeped out from behind the ruins of her commerce.

"Madame Huard!" cried a familiar voice behind me. "Mon Dieu—you!"

I turned and recognized my pastry baker's wife.

"Oui, moi; arretee."

"Arrested!"

"Yes, unless you will be good enough to inform these gentlemen who I am?"

"Est-il possible! Est-il possible! Why, of course, I know you—how dare they!"

"You see," I said, turning to the auxilaires.

But they were inflexible, bidding my friend follow on if she could swear to my identity. She obeyed, but our group had attracted the attention of a couple of small boys who darted out of an alley way like rats from a cellar, calling, "L'espionne—l'espionne!"

Thank fortune, at that instant we came upon an officer, whom I accosted at a distance, explained my case and produced my card and my pastry baker. He understood in a moment, and hastily discharged my custodians.

"I cannot scold them. They're over zealous, but we've been so horribly betrayed all along. You understand, I'm sure. Please accept my apologies, Madame!"

I bowed and he departed. Then I turned to my friend.

"You've heard the news, I suppose, Madame?"

"No—what?"

She suddenly grew white.

"Quick—out with it, woman!"

She hesitated.

"Is H.—?"

"Non, not that, Madame, but a quarter of an hour ago it was noised about that the enemy are still retreating, and that we were pounding into their headquarters—le chateau de Villiers."

I felt myself whitening. The woman saw it, and catching me by the arm. "Come, come," she said. "You're tired; perhaps it isn't true, so many false alarms have been launched. Come and have a cup of coffee—you'll excuse our back room—it's all we have left."

I gladly followed her, picking my way through what had once been one of the most enticing of provincial pastry shops, the good soul apologizing all the time, as if she had been responsible for the damage. As she prattled on, though my own brain was swimming I now and then grasped such phrases as three days of looting, two days' bombardment. As she passed me a cup of coffee, she explained that the invaders had not been satisfied with violently appropriating all personal articles which they had found to their liking, but after having drunk all the wine in the cellars, they had willfully cut open the bags of flour and thrown it pell-mell in every direction.

"And, Madame, they got into my reserve of eggs—five thousand of them—" she wept, "five thousand! All my winter's store. I wouldn't have minded if they had eaten them but to see them purposely crushed and wasted. Two of those wretches spent half a day bringing them up from the cellar in their helmets, and then dragging me out, would hurl them at the walls and windows, savagely rejoicing in my distress!"

I couldn't remain indoors—I had but one thought—get to Villiers or see someone who knew for certain what had happened there.

Again I crossed the shop, paddling through that sticky yellow slime in which bits of furniture and clothing floated like croutons in a gigantic nauseating omelet.

Outside, towards the end of the street that opened on to the quay, great animation reigned. A bugle sounded and I could hear the tramp of soldiers' feet.

"Look!" cried my friend. "Look, all that is left of the Institut St. Joseph, the pride of La Ferte."

Across the river between the broken spans of the bridge, my eye fell upon the gutted remains of what had once been a most exquisite bit of eighteenth century architecture. The mansion which had sheltered Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette on their eventful return from Varennes, was now a smoking pile of ashes!

"And to think we had to do it! Oh, curse their hides!" muttered an elderly man close to my elbow.

"We?"

"Yes."

"?"

"Why, when they had to get out of here they crossed the Marne, destroyed the bridge and entrenched themselves in the houses along the bank. The English caught them like rats in a cage, but at what a price! One fellow that's rowed across says he can bear them moaning, but you bet they can rot there before we'll go to 'em. Begging your pardon for the language!"

A dozen men of the genie were busy constructing a temporary arch between two spans, and just as soon as a plank was laid a regiment from Cherbourg (almost all reservists) filed over one by one. The population gave them an ovation, and it was a curious sight to see these care-worn, haggard-faced people simply going mad with joy, while around them was heaped desolation.

"I hope you haven't come for your tea service, Madame?"

I turned and recognized my china dealer, who smiled cynically as he motioned towards his shop.

"It doesn't pay to be a glass merchant these days. It only took two shells to send twenty years' earnings into splinters! There's not a whole goblet or plate in the entire establishment! But I wouldn't have cared if they hadn't maltreated the women. I—"

"Come and see!" cried another. "Durant's house has tumbled down and his wife and family are smothering in the cellar. Quick!"

There was a general rush in that direction, but I pushed on towards the bridge. It was evident my carts could not cross, but there was just a hope that they would let George and me through with our bicycles.

I accosted the sentry who stood mounting guard beside a motor which was thrown up on the side of the road, twisted and distorted like a tin toy one has walked on.

No, the bridge was for the army only.

I insisted.

An officer came to my rescue, but could only confirm the sentry's orders.

"You're not safe even here. This is the firing line. We don't know yet for certain whether we are going to hold the ground we gained. Villiers? Still in the Germans' hands."

I sighed and was about to turn away. "Then where's the nearest bridge across?"

"Meaux."

"But that's thirty kilometres west! I'm only fifteen from home here!"

"I wish I could help you, but there's no use trying to leave here unless you go that way."

Then Meaux it must be, and though our trip was considerably lengthened, anything was better than inaction.



VIII

It was with much reluctance that we turned our backs on La Ferte the following morning and headed our horses westward.

Naturally the right of way was reserved for the army, and the roads bordering the Marne were now lined with soldiers, guns, ambulances and supply vans rushing to the front. After being side-tracked and halted no less than two score times, we finally reached Trilport, where the invaders had done but little material damage. The terrified civil population was even exultant, for two nights previously an automobile containing four German officers sped through the town, in the direction of Paris, and ignorant of the fact that the English had destroyed the bridge, had been precipitated into the river. The affair seemed to be considered as a huge joke, and the chief amusement now consisted in hanging over the broken side and contemplating the gruesome spectacle of a half-submerged motor, and four human bodies lying inanimate on some rocks, rapidly swelling, thanks to heat and the current.

"When we're sure they're good and dead, we'll bury 'em," explained a man whom I questioned.

As I write this phrase, now that more than a year has elapsed, it seems cruel and heartless, but on the spur of the moment, and after all that each one had endured, it was but justice.

Though barges were being rapidly brought into position so as to form a temporary bridge, I felt it would be a good two days before we could get across, and so following the course of the river, we wended our way in and out, round about, this time through peaceful country, until we reached Meaux.

My heart leaped with joy when on approaching I saw the cathedral standing unharmed, like a guardian above the peaceful little city.

The Germans had made but a brief stay here, merely an entree and sortie, and had been received by Bishop Marbeau, in such a fashion as is likely to be recorded in history and place his name beside that of his famous predecessor, Bossuet.

One or two stray shells had fallen into the place, but the harm done was insignificant. The most picturesque and melancholy sight was along the river front, where to head off the enemy's approach the French had been obliged to blow up those ancient bridges, landmarks of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, for, like the Ponte Vecchio at Florence, they were lined with houses and mills, whose pointed roofs and apparent beams had weathered nearly five hundred years! Strange as it may seem, it was they that resisted the most, and, though the dynamite had severed their connection with land and shattered their pale-blue window panes, not a house had collapsed, and as they stood in the sun's dying blaze, they seemed to say, "Touch me, if you dare!"

Washboats, rowboats, barges and every available means of navigation had been sunk or put out of working order and though the enemy was hardly ten miles distant, men and women were busily engaged in setting them afloat.

Once again all we could do was to stand and gaze at the opposite bank and after assuring ourselves that there was no possible way of crossing, we hastily departed for Lagny.

That night we slept in a shed hospitably offered by a lone peasant woman, and the next morning triumphantly crossed the river and set our faces homeward.

Branching northward into the open country we chose all the by-roads and short cuts where our carts would pass, in order to avoid the long streams of ambulances and ammunition vans, as well as in the hope of finding better thoroughfares. A drizzling rain had set in the night before, making the roads, which up until now had been covered with a thick layer of dust, slippery and uncomfortable. Highways which heretofore had been seldom trodden, were full of ruts and bumps, and from Langy to Villiers there was hardly a corner but what showed signs of the invaders' passage. Over these green and fertile fields whose crops had proudly waved their heads about the lovely Marne, were strewn straw and empty bottles in unimaginable quantities. Thousands of blackened or charred spots dotting the countryside, told of campfires and hasty bivouacs, and as we silently plodded on towards Charny, the growing evidences of recent battle met our saddened gaze.

Here a shell had burst on the road, in the midst of a bicycle squadron, scattering men and machines to the four winds of Heaven. A little mound, a rough-hewn cross, marked the spot where some sixty soldiers lay in their last peaceful sleep, while the melee of tangled wire and iron which had once been machines, as well as blood-stained garments, bits of shell, and even human flesh, made a gruesome and indescribable picture.

Souvenirs? The idea never entered my head. And my kodak, which I had been so prompt to use to commemorate various events, seemed a vulgar, inquisitive instrument, and was left unheeded in the bottom of the cart. Each step brought us face to face with the horrors of warfare. Towards Villeroy a number of battered Parisian taxicabs gave us the first hint of General Gallieni's clever maneuver which helped save the capital—and then the wind brought towards us a nauseating odor, which paralyzed our appetites, and sent us doggedly onwards: the stench of the battlefield.

The girls in the cart drew closer together, shivering, though the air was warm and muggy. Even old Cesar seemed to feel the awe of that Valley of Shadow, and no one murmured as we passed the first bloated carcasses of dead horses and came upon that far more horrid sight—human bodies—swelled to twice their natural size, lying as death had met them, some in piles, others farther apart—all unrecognizable, but once proud mothers' petted darlings. I think they were our enemies. I did not stop to investigate; the flies bothered us so terribly, and long low mounds with red kepis piled upon them told of the graves of France's defenders. Far ahead I could discover groups of men with shovels, hastily burying those who remained. To the right a lazy column of dense smoke rose reluctantly in the heavy air. I fancied it came from a funeral pyre; we certainly smelled tar and petrol. The ground beneath rocked with the thundering of the distant cannon, and as one peal burst louder a flock of jet black crows mounted heavenward, mournfully cawing in the semi-twilight.

So we continued, a silent, foot-sore, rain-soaked community. With the growing remoteness of imminent danger came the reaction of all we had passed through, and deep down in our hearts we welcomed the idea of entering a village.

A village! Alas! As we reached the road leading to Barcy, there was a rift in the clouds, and a long golden ray shot through an enormous breach in the church tower, flickered a moment upon a group of roofless houses, and was gone. Night closed in.

Our spirits sank. Yvonne began to moan with agony, her sciatica had returned with the dampness, and Nini for some unknown reason, began sobbing as though her heart would break. I could see the moment not far distant when our whole party, seized with fear, would become panic-stricken, and that idea, together with the one of camping in the sodden fields surrounded by grim death, was anything but reassuring.

"Come on," I urged. "Surely Barcy is not entirely deserted."

What mud! What a road—sometimes entirely gutted, sometimes so obstructed with gasoline cans, hubs of wheels and scraps of iron, that I was obliged to lead Cesar by the bridle, while the others would walk ahead and clear a passage. Their progress was snail-like, for there was little oil left in our lantern and they hesitated before casting the refuse into the ditch for fear of profaning some unknown hero's grave.

And so, stumbling and halting, we came into Barcy. As we passed in front of the battered church we could see the huge bronze bell lying amid a pile of beams, at the foot of the belfry. The cadran of the clock tower was midway between the ruins of the edifice itself and those of what had once been the town hall. Not a living soul was to be seen anywhere. Stay—yes—there in front of us was a masculine figure.

I called "Monsieur!"

He halted an instant. Then shook his head and skulked away.

Through an oiled paper that had replaced the panes of a shattered window in a house which no longer had a second story I caught sight of a flickering light. I boldly knocked on the door.

"Qui est la?—" asked a high-pitched, trembling female voice.

"I, Madame H. of Villiers."

"I don't know you—go your way."

"But we are refugees."

"I have nothing left. Allez-vous-en!"

That was categorical, to say the least. So on we went, past the charred ruins of one-time happy homes.

As we rounded a corner our lantern cast a dim glow on to the drawn shutters of a half-collapsed structure.

"Stop a moment," said Julie; "there's something written on those blinds."

I approached, and holding the light as close as possible I read the following sign, chalked in huge white letters:

"Attention. No Loitering. Looters will be shot on the spot!"

That was the last straw, and though it was obvious that the warning was intended for the troops now miles away, it sent us ahead with uncanny celerity.

Our advance was short-lived, however, for it soon became evident that our horses were fagged out. Yet where to go became an agonizing question, for though we were still within the limits of the village, not a roof was to be seen. There seemed to be but one thing to do, and so, halting, I fumbled in the bottom of the cart and brought forth a handful of dry straw, and my precious bottle of brandy. Thanks to these, a match and a sheltering wall, a flame managed to blaze up, and from somewhere in the vicinity Julie procured a bundle of brush and an old broom.

With the heat our spirits rose. The girls dried themselves as best they could before the welcome fire, and though still awed by our surroundings, we nibbled a crust of dry bread and some stale cheese.

Then silently Nini and Yvonne crept back into the cart, covered themselves with hay and a blanket, opened an umbrella above their beads, and soon were fast asleep. The others begged me to share their bed beneath the cart, but tormented by the thought of what had become of H., racked by the anxiety of what the future held in store, I could not resign myself to rest, and the first gray streaks of that cool September dawn found me seated on a stone, staring at the glowing embers of our watch-fire.

Again the wind shifted in our direction, bringing with it that same loathsome smell. I shivered and pulled myself together, and after carefully scrutinizing my road-map, decided that there was just a chance of reaching Villiers before night, but only if we started at once. This living in suspense was beginning to tell on my nerves and anything, even the assurance of dreaded misfortune, would have seemed a relief. After the state in which we had found Barcy there was little doubt that our part of the country had been treated the same way. Perhaps it was still in the Germans' hands; we had no way of knowing to the contrary.

I roused the servants and told them of my intention, and in a few moments a pot of coffee was boiling on the tripod. In spite of the early hour I did not hesitate to add a little brandy in each cup, for after twenty-four hours of continual rain a stimulant was not only necessary but welcome. I tried to coax the dogs to take some, they seemed so wet and miserable, but they spurned my offer, and stood looking at me with most pitiful and mournful eyes.

Presently Tiger disappeared behind the wall, and a second later we heard a low growl. With childlike temerity Nini jumped up to see what was the cause of his alarm, and then almost instantly I heard her gasp, "Un mort!"

That brought us to our feet and in a bound I was on the spot just in time to see her fearlessly approaching the prostrate form of a German soldier, the upper extremity of whose body was hidden beneath the top of a tin wash boiler. The child raised the lid, beheld, as we did, a headless human trunk, and fell into a swoon.

We were well on our road before she came to her senses, and there were moments when I almost wished she might remain dormant until we had passed beyond the gruesome plain that stretches between Barcy and Vareddes—now a historic battlefield.

What a weird and wonderful sight it presented that gloomy September morning. Behind us Barcy, whose every edifice was decapitated or so degraded as to look like a gigantic sieve. Around us and on all sides fields fairly ploughed up by shot and shell, and every fifty yards it seemed to me rose a freshly covered mound, extending as far as eye could see. On these new-made graves were piled hundreds of red soldier caps, and here and there a hastily hewn wooden cross bearing such inscriptions as these, scrawled in lead pencil on a smooth space whittled by a jack knife:

Aux Braves du 248

When an officer was found and identified, he was buried alone and his name was carefully written on the cross, but more often we saw graves marked thus:

-Ici reposent deux offlciers et quarante hommes du 28 ... ieme._

Sometimes the tomb was in the ditch (to save digging) and once we saw the Parisian pompiers burying some German corpses in the very trench they had dug and died in.

Overhead tangled electric wires swung dangerously near the road, the poles shattered or knocked agog, while in the distance the stumps of a once-majestic row of poplars made the horizon look like a grinning toothless face.

Time and again we were obliged to leave the road to avoid accident by passing over unexploded shells, and I shall always recall a gigantic oak tree which though still standing was cleft in twain by a 77-shell embedded intact in the yawning trunk; the impact, not the explosion, had caused the rift.

The farther we advanced the more evident became the signs of recent conflict. Hay stacks seemed to have been a favorite target as well as refuge. One we saw was almost completely tunneled through, and the blood bespattered sides of the opening told that the occupant had been caught as in a trap. Around these stacks were scattered the remains of old boots and shoes, scarlet blood-soaked rags, dry beans, bits of soap, playing cards and songs. Oh, lighthearted sons of France, it can be truly said that death held no terrors for you, since from Barcy to Soissons the ground you loved and so valiantly defended was strewn white with hundreds of thousands of tender ditties and chansons de route.

From Vareddes we passed on to Congis, the only living soul we met being a little old white-haired parish priest, who had set himself the task of blessing each new-made grave.

"If this rain continues some of them will be so effaced in a fortnight that we shall never find them. See—this cross is but two bits of straw, bound together by a shoe string!"

And he held up the fragile ornament for my inspection.

"These are more durable," and he showed another relic made of a bayonet sheath, crossed on the blade itself!

"And you—Monsieur le Cure—bow is it you are here?"

"Alas—would to God they had taken me in the place of our boys! Seven of them, Madame, carried off as hostages. I was too old to be of use!"

"And the women?"

The poor little man hung his bead.

"Twere better they had died!"

I understood and shuddered.

"God speed you, my daughter, and never cease to thank Him for preserving you!"

Again we went our way.

Lizy-sur-Ourq, which we reached in the late forenoon, presented a more animated, though hardly more pleasing spectacle. On the tracks in front of the station dozens of flat cars and freight trains had been purposely run together. Some had telescoped, others mounted high in piles, one upon the other, their locomotives as well as their contents being smashed and damaged—the whole scene presenting the aspect of a gigantic railway wreck.

On the steps of the station, seated gun in hand, three soldiers sat playing a game of cards. Across the street a sentry mounted guard in front of a large door over which floated a Red Cross flag.

"What's in there?" I asked.

"Prisoners and wounded."

"Can I be of any assistance?"

"Hardly—only flesh wounds."

I peeked into the courtyard.

In one corner lounging upon the ground were a dozen untidy, unshaven men, whom I recognized by their uniforms to be Germans. One man cast an insolent glance toward me and turned his back. Two others smiled and pointed toward the bread they held in their hands. On some straw in a couple of drays lay five or six individuals, their arms in slings, their heads bandaged.

"Nothing serious," explained a sergeant. "We're waiting for our men to clear up the tracks and the genie to throw a bridge across the canal. Then we'll evacuate them."

He was neither sad nor triumphant.

"Were you in the battle?"

"Rather!"

"How did your regiment come off?"

"We're all that are left—forty-four of us," and he pointed toward the station where work was rapidly progressing.

From them I procured some singe or army beef, and we halted an hour to rest the horses and eat our luncheon. We were beginning to reach familiar territory and the idea of getting home put new life into our tired limbs, and made each moment of delay seem uselessly long.

From Lizy ours was a straight road and we made rapid progress. The depressing signs of battle became fewer and fewer. It was evident that the rush had been northwest, for while we encountered numerous proofs of the armies' passage, graves and shells, trenches and corpses gradually began to disappear. At Cocherel, however, the enemy had burned a grocery shop when they had failed to find what they wanted. The few men who remained had suffered much from ill treatment and passing by the open gate of a splendid estate I cast a glance up the long avenue and saw a sight which gave me a pang at the heart. On the green in front of the chateau lay a battered billiard table and a grand piano, both turned on end, and much the worse for having served as a defense against a rain of shot. Around them were strewn broken furniture, pictures, linen and bottles in such a sorry mess that I dared not even think what Villiers might now look like.

Curiosity was quenched. We cast a second glance, and turned our faces eastward.

The afternoon was well advanced when we reached Montreuil-aux-Lions, our home country. We found that here less damage had been done from heavy artillery, but all the edifices had suffered from close-range rifle fire. An English sentry was pacing up and down in front of the town hall. Over the entrance was nailed a Turkish towel on which a Red Cross was stained with human blood!

"Prisoners?" I asked.

"All wounded, thank you," was the courteous reply.

I sought out my friend the inn-keeper who held up his hands in astonishment, bade us enter and made us partake of a warm meal. The first we had had since we left home!

"But how did you come to be spared?" I queried.

"Because I was good to them."

"Bah! How could you?"

"I didn't intend to, but, you see, they tricked me. It was early morning when half a dozen officers on horseback rode up to the door. 'Where are our Allies?' they asked.

"I thought of course they were Englishmen. The uniform was unfamiliar to me, but they all spoke perfect French. Unwittingly I gave them the requested information, and they asked me to bring up some good wine. Then they threw a gold piece on to the table, and when I had poured out my Burgundy, they begged me to touch glasses with them.

"'Ah, gentlemen, it is a pleasure to offer you the best I have. Thank God, it is not for German stomachs!'

"To my surprise, an uproarious laugh greeted my statement and brought my glass down with a shock.

"'Poor fellow!' they tittered. 'Come, drink to our success and the Kaiser's health!'

"I think they realized my fright and agony. They did not force me—but laughed anew, drank and were gone."

"What regiments drove them out?"

"The English. Quels gaillards! And clean! Well!"

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, they nearly used up all the water in Montreuil washing!"

"Do you know anything of Villiers?"

"No. I spent most of my time in the cellar during the fight, and since they've been gone I'm living in terror lest they return."

"Have you seen no one from down there?"

"No, not a soul."

"Do you think Villiers was bombarded?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I know the English troops that were here headed in that direction."

This suspense was too agonizing! I fear I so abbreviated my stay at Montreuil that the good inn-keeper was offended. I jumped on to my bicycle and knowing that the roads were now familiar to all, abandoned my little party, bidding them hurry to join me at home.

On, on I sped, through the slippery mud, looking neither right nor left, but straight ahead in the hope of recognizing a familiar face or form.

Twilight was deepening when I entered Bezu-le-Gury (our nearest home town), which seemed to show apparently but few signs of pillaging. I did not even dismount to make inquiries, but pedaled on till I reached the summit of that long, long hill that leads straight down to my home. Excitement lent a new impulse to my energy, and my heart thumped hard as I recognized familiar cottages still standing. This raised my hopes and sent me rocket-like down that steep incline.

Still not a soul in sight—no noise save that of the guns roaring in the distance.

But what was that in the semi-darkness ahead of me? A dog? Could it be true? I back-pedaled and whistled—a long, low, familiar howl greeted my ears and brought the tears to my eyes.

And then my poor old beagle hound came trotting up the road to welcome me—his tail wagging joyously and a long frayed cord dangling from his collar.

This was a relief and somewhat steadied and prepared me for what was to come. Through a gap in the trees I caught a glimpse of the roofs below. And so I rounded the corner and started on my last hundred yards.

The broken and tangled grill of our stately gateway told of the invaders' visit. A few paces further and the chateau come into full view.

Yes, it was standing, but only the shell of that lovely home I had fled from but fourteen days before.

Dropping my machine I rushed towards the entrance hall, cast one glance through the broken panes into the vestibule, and turned away in despair.

All the willful damage that human beings could do had been wrought on the contents of my home.

The spell was broken. My nerves relaxed and heedless of the filth I dropped on to the steps and wept.



IX

I think it was the stench from within that first roused me from my grief and made me realize that this was war and no time for tears. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that at least I had a roof to cover me, but this was poor consolation.

Pulling myself together, I started across the lawn towards the village in search of aid, for a second glance told me that it was useless even to think of entering the house, so great was the filth and disorder.

Slowly I pushed onward, my head bent, my heart heavy with sorrow and worry. Twenty paces in front of me I discerned a low mound and then, horror of horrors, a huge black cross stood forth in the semi-darkness. A grave—a German grave. Some poor souls interred on my greensward; but why, since our little cemetery is but a couple of hundred yards up the road?

Villiers is not a cheerful village even in time of peace, but on this particular evening (September 14, 1914) it was even darker than ever. My eyes growing accustomed to the obscurity could see that most of the houses, though damaged from the battle, were still standing and in one or two windows the glow of a light gladdened my gaze.

I went straight to the town hall where I pounded on the door and called my name. A familiar shuffling of feet told me that Monsieur Duguey had remained faithful to his post as town clerk (the only acting official since the army was mobilized) and when he opened the door and saw me, his eyes lit up with joy. Holding a candle high over his head, he smiled and then his face fell.

"Pauvre Madame," he said. "Have you seen the chateau?"

I nodded.

"Ah, the vandals! Not war, but highway robbery, I call it. We poor peasants had little to lose, but with you, Madame, it is different."

And then he told me how but a few hours after I had left the Germans took possession of the chateau and how for five nights and days in a ceaseless stream the flower of the Prussian army had poured down the road towards the coveted capital.

At dawn on that eventful September morning an officer had ridden up to the town hall, called for the mayor or his representative, and on Monsieur Duguey's appearance, had demanded so much fodder for the horses, so much champagne for the officers, and Charles Huard!

M. Duguey was taken hostage to respond to the first two demands and on having sworn on the cross that both my husband and I were absent, he was ordered to lead the way to our home, where for forty-eight hours he was detained as prisoner in the kitchen, while a staff of German noblemen raised riot in our home.

Taunted and insulted by the soldiers who mounted guard in the kitchen where a chef prepared the general's food, he was bid hold his tongue and his temper by this same chef, who, for eleven years, had cooked at a well known hotel on the rue de Rivoli! No wonder he spoke good French.

"Pauvre Madame! Perhaps you've come back too soon! If we only knew they would not return!"

The cannon in the distance shook the house as though to corroborate his statement.

"Is there anyone left to help me clean place to sleep in?"

"I'll go. There are only one or two women who remained behind, but I presume sorry they did! What a God-send you got away!"

I understood and was thankful.

Monsieur Duguey put his candle into lantern, shouldered a broom, and taking blanket, led the way towards the chateau.

Want of words to express our fears and distress sealed our lips as we picked our way into a filthy, can-strewn, bottle-littered courtyard, towards a wing of the chateau where I had chosen to sleep.

I hardly know what we plodded through the corridor. My companion pushed things, into heaps in one corner of the room, and when I saw him sweep off a mattress and throw his blanket upon it, I realized that my bed was made.

"You are not afraid, Madame?"

"No."

"Then a demain. I will come and help you. I fear, however, that I must leave you in darkness, for there are no matches in the village. We have to borrow light for our fires, and our stock of candles is nearly gone. They are only the butts the Germans left behind!"

Exhausted I fell asleep, to be awakened with a start towards dawn by the clatter of horses' feet on the paved court beneath my window.

Cavalry?

I listened.

Yes, surely. But what cavalry? Ours?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I put my head out of the empty sash to behold a most pathetic sight. There in the pouring rain stood some twenty shivering horses, once fine animals' but now wounded and broken. The lamentable little group, left-behinds of the invaders, was headed by my old gray donkey, who had gathered them together and was now leading them towards warmth and shelter. This sympathy among animals moved me deeply, and I started down to see what I could do to alleviate their suffering.

I am ashamed to say, however, that I never reached the stable, for the sights of filth and horror that I met on the way so distracted me that I pushed on through the whole house, anxious to see really how much damage had been done.

I was still making my disheartening rounds when the others drove into the yard, and the wails of lamentation rose long and loud from their lips.

How can one describe it? It seems almost impossible. Too much has already been said, too little is really known, so I shall content myself with a few brief statements.

Above all I would have it understood that the chateau was first occupied by General von Muck and his staff. The names crayoned on the doors of my bedrooms in big red letters bear testimony—as well as some soiled under-linen and a glassentuch marked v. K.—and numerous papers stamped with the Imperial seal. These latter are all orders or reports belonging to the third army corps, and were left behind in the precipitation of the flight!

As I now am able to see the matter in a cooler frame of mind, I realize that not only was efficiency carried out in warfare but in looting—for it seems that everything we possessed was systematically classified as good, bad or indifferent—the former and the latter being carefully packed into huge army supply carts, which for five long days stood backed up against our doorstep, leaving only when completely laden with spoils.

Then what remained was thrown into corners and willfully soiled and smeared in the most disgusting and nauseating manner.

A proof of the above-mentioned efficiency can be given in a description of my husband's studio, where I found all the frames standing empty—the canvases having been carefully cut from them with a razor, and rolled for convenience' sake.

Useless to mention that tapestries, silver, jewels, blankets and household, as well as personal linen, were considered trophies of war. That to me is far more comprehensible than the fact that our chateau being installed with all modern sanitary conveniences, these were purposely ignored, and corridors and comers, satin window curtains and even beds, were used for the most ignoble purposes.

Everywhere were sickening traces of sodden drunkenness. On the table beside each bed (most of them now bereft of their mattresses) stood champagne bottles, and half emptied glasses. The straw-strewn drawing-room much resembled a cheap beer garden after a Saturday night's riot, and the unfortunate upright piano was not only decked with empty champagne bottles but also contained some two to three hundred pots of jam poured down inside—glass and all, probably just for a joke. Oh, Kultur!

I think that and the fact that most of my ducks and small animals had been killed and left to lie and rot, were the things that most angered me, and every time the guns boomed I prayed ardently for revenge!

And 'twas I, who believing in Teuton chivalry, had imagined my love-letters, protected by my country's emblem, would be respected! My poor little rosewood desk had been mercilessly jabbed with bayonets, and its contents strewn from one end of the village to the other. As to the Stars and Stripes, when we finally disgorged the pipes of certain sanitary apparatus that one does not usually mention in polite society, they were found there in a lamentable condition and carried to the wash-house with a tongs.

What a destitute little village we were. Mine was but the common lot, for each one had lost in proportion to his fortune. Yet there was no lamenting. There was work to be done, for the vintage season was coming on and the vines in most places had been respected. The German officers had even announced the fact that our country was already annexed, and that this was to be the champagne to commemorate the triumph of the Fatherland!

My little servants took hold of their filthy job and worked unceasingly though it was a thankless task—for soap and soda did not exist, and food, save the vegetables and a little pork, was hard to get.

A week sped by, and then one afternoon a military auto drove up to the door. As I saw it enter the yard, I trembled lest it bring bad tidings of H., but a kindly officer reassured me, by stating that though he brought only word of mouth, my husband was still in the land of the living. He also announced that it was his duty to requisition my property as a French emergency hospital and that he would be obliged if I would put all the beds I owned at his disposal. A doctor and some infirmiers would be sent immediately to put the place in working order. Would I help? And did I know of anyone I would care to have with me?

"You will be voluntary prisoners, you know, for this is the zone de operations, and you will not be allowed to leave."

I bethought me of Madame Guix. Was she still alive?

My friend said he would be glad to accompany me to Rebais, as that was as near as any place for recruiting a nurse.

And so again I whisked across the Marne. This time en grande vitesse, and in little over an hour was greeted by the gentle superior who 'mid the ruins of all the neighboring houses was quietly continuing her work in the convent.

Yes. Madame Guix was there—a heroine, so I learned, loved and respected by every soul who had been obliged to remain in that unfortunate town. I found her ministering to twenty-six severely wounded men—French, English and Germans—quite alone to do all the work, an eighty-year-old doctor coming in but once every two days.

"I cannot leave them," said she, pointing to the soldiers, when I asked her to ally forces in the reconstitution of my hospital. "But just as soon as they are able to be removed, I will come, I promise."

In the parlour below, the Sister Superior told me of the invasion, while I waited the return of the military motor which was to bear me home.

"She is wonderful," said Soeur Laurent, referring to Madame Guix. "Wonderful—afraid of nothing. Once at the beginning of the invasion she was put against the wall and a brute of a German aimed and pulled the trigger of a gun he had found in a corner. She had accidentally covered it with a wounded man's great coat! He accused her of hiding arms! Then in the thick of the battle, she went out into the German lines and sought a doctor for our men—feeling herself incompetent. The whole German medical staff came in and felicitated her on her courage and devotion, before they left. I tell you all this because she never will!"

A couple of days later a doctor and the infirmiers arrived, the latter not picked men, since in ordinary life they are a tax collector, a super at the Theatre de Belleville, an omnibus painter, a notary's clerk and a barber! But they are all "good fellows," ready to work with no choice as to the "job."

Madame Guix duly made her appearance, and our hospital was declared open.

From loans and requisitions we accumulated a hundred beds, and for fifteen months now, by begging and strictest economy, we have managed to keep alive and to care, as best we can and in our primitive way, for all those of France's brave sons who come to us, sick or wounded. With God's help, we shall go on doing so until the day of our complete victory.

The End