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?"