September 8, 1914.
This morning everything and everybody was astir early. It was another
gloriously beautiful day. The birds were singing as if to split their
throats. There was a smell of coffee all over the place. Men were
hurrying up and down the hill, to and fro from the wash-house, bathing,
washing out their shirts and stockings and hanging them on the bushes,
rubbing down horses and douching them, cleaning saddles and
accouterments. There is a lot of work to be done by an army besides
fighting. It was all like a play, and every one was so cheerful.
The chef-major did not come down until his orderly called him, and when
he did he looked as rosy and cheerful as a child, and announced that he
had slept like one. Soon after he crossed the road for his coffee I
heard the officers laughing and chatting as if it were a week-end house
party.
When Amelie came to get my breakfast she looked a wreck--I saw one of
her famous bilious attacks coming.
It was a little after eleven, while the chef-major was upstairs writing,
that his orderly came with a paper and carried it up to him. He came
down at once, made me one of his pretty bows at the door of the library,
and holding out a scrap of paper said:--
"Well, madame, we are going to leave you. We advance at two."