"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.