From the wife of the Maire of an important town in Lorraine I heard the
story of how her husband had been carried off as a hostage for three
weeks, while the Germans were in occupation. Meanwhile German officers
were billeted in her charming old house. "They used to say to me every
day with great politeness that they _hoped_ my husband would not be
shot. 'But why should he be shot, monsieur? He will do nothing to
deserve it.' On which they would shrug their shoulders and say, 'Madame,
c'est la guerre!' evidently wishing to see me terrified. But I never
gave them that pleasure."
A long drive home, through the dark and silent country. Yet everywhere
one feels the presence of the Army. We draw up to look at a sign-post at
some cross roads by the light of one of the motor lamps. Instantly a
couple of Tommies emerge from the darkness and give help. In passing
through a village a gate suddenly opens and a group of horses comes out,
led by two men in khaki; or from a Y.M.C.A. hut laughter and song float
out into the night. And soon in these farms and cottages everybody will
be asleep under the guard of the British Forces, while twenty miles
away, in the darkness, the guns we saw in the morning are endlessly
harassing and scourging the enemy lines, preparing for the day when the
thoughts now maturing in the minds of the Army leaders will leap in
flame to light.
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