We have had no Prussians in the village for quite four-and-twenty
hours, so the peasants are becoming almost their normal selves. We walk
freely about the street and dare to laugh. Laughter is a rare sound in
Manhay these days. We even affect to despise the Germans for not coming
on in greater numbers.
“Nous avons vu les échantillons, mais où sont les marchandises?” (We
have seen the samples, but where are the goods?) asks one village wit.
M. Floribert puts his tongue in his cheek and says the Walloon
equivalent of “let ’em all come.”
René and Victor are showing their contempt for the foe by lassoing
imaginary Prussians up and down the street, René as usual acting the
unfortunate Teuton who is lassoed, hanged, decapitated, in whirlwind
fashion, turn by turn.
A group of women sit out under the shady trees in the orchard and talk
together as they mend their socks. Some of the older men stroll over
to us and spin yarns. An Ardennois legend is spoken of. Anyone could
weave a legend round a spider’s web in the Ardennes. But legend-making
is really rather out of fashion. Instead we have become military
experts in minutiæ. We splay our fingers convincingly upon our tattered
maps and say here ... and here ... are the English, there ... there ...
and there are the French. They will advance so, and the Germans will
retreat so ... until our audience fades away from sheer boredom and we
are left to strategise alone.
The jade Rumour mocks our faith at every turn. We begin by swallowing
each new idea with delicious open-mouthed credulity. The Germans have
already conquered Antwerp ... England ... the world. Our cruisers
have been sunk _en masse_. All the French generals have been shot.
Someone has launched a projectile from an aeroplane and destroyed the
entire Teuton army at one fell stroke. We sit out boldly on the hotel
_terrasse_ after this last glorious item of news and sip our coffee
with brave show. Only the entry of some noisy Uhlans suffices to
scatter us and rumour at the same time....
“Do be quiet!” says M. Job testily later in the day. He is worried by
his children’s nervous chatter as they wander restlessly about the
dimly lighted rooms. He has been working in the nursery garden all
through the hot hours and is a little annoyed not to find his supper
ready.
Mdlle. Rosa slips a soft white hand into her mother’s wrinkled one and
rubs her slender nose affectionately against the elder woman’s cheek.
Even in war-time she does not forget the teaching of the Good Sisters
of the Orphelinat de St. Joseph. She repeats in a dreamy childish
voice: “Te souviens, Maman. Qui que le bon Dieu garde, eh bien il le
garde ... bien” (Remember, Mamma, he whom God watches over He guards
well). So we go to bed consoled.