In one little town near Clearmont we came in for a strange echo of war.
A woman in a high cart drove past quickly. I was talking with a woman of
the inn.
There was silence, then an outburst from the handsome Sibyl-faced
hostess who had two sons at war. “Think of it,” she said; “three of our
soldiers were chased from the fight at Creil. They took refuge with
her. She is rich and has a garden. She hid them in a hayloft and threw
their uniforms in the garden. The Germans came. They slept in her house.
“They said: ‘We are forced to fight; it is not of our seeking. The
French attacked us.’
“They found the uniforms. They put a pistol to her breast.
“‘We will shoot you if you do not say where these soldiers are.’
“She cried: ‘In the loft.’
“They shot them all--three traitors--and it would have been so easy to
lie.”