ren and a crippled man came out of doors at sight of us. M.
Doumer introduced himself and shook hands all around. They were
glad to meet him in much the same way as if he had been on an
election campaign.

"A German shell struck there across the square only half an hour
ago," said one of the women.

"What do you do when there is shelling?" asked M. Doumer.

"If it is bad we go into the cellar," was the answer; an answer which
implied that peculiar fearlessness of women, who get accustomed to
fire easier than men. These were the fatalists of the town, who would
not turn refugee; helpless to fight, but grimly staying with their homes
and accepting what came with an incomprehensible stoicism, which
possibly had its origin in a race-feeling so proud and bitter that they
would not admit that they could be afraid of anything German, even a
shell.

"And how did the Germans act?"

"They made themselves at home in our houses and slept in our beds,
while we slept in the kitchen," she answered. "They said that if we
kept indoors and gave them what they wanted we should not be
harmed. But if anyone fired a shot at their troops or any arms were
found in our houses, they would burn the town. When they were
going back in a great hurry--how they scattered from our shells! We
went out in the square to see our shells, monsieur!"

What mattered the ruins of her home? "Our" shells had returned
vengeance.

Arrows with directions in German, "This way to the river," "This way to
Villers-Cotteret," were chalked on the standing walls; and on door-
casings the names of the detachments of the Prussian Guard billeted
there, all in systematic Teutonic fashion.

"Prince Albrecht Joachim, one of the Kaiser's sons, was here and I
talked with him," said the Mayor, who thought we would enjoy a
morsel from court circles in exchange for a copy of the Echo de Paris,
which contained the news that Prince Albrecht had been wounded
later. The Mayor looked tired, this local man of the people, who had to
play the shepherd of a stricken flock. Afterwards, they said that he
deserted his charge and a lady, Mme. Macherez, took his place. All I
know is that he was present that day; or, at least, a man who was
introduced to me as mayor; and he was French enough to make a
bon mot by saying that he feared there was some fault in his
hospitality because he had been unable to keep his guest.

"May I have this confiture?" asked a battle-stained French orderly,