ng turkey cock, a
peacock that had already lost nearly all his tail and therefore
declined combat with the turkey and was, moreover, an isolated
bachelor; guinea-fowls scratching and running about alternately; and
plump cocks and hens of mixed breed covered most of the ground in
the adjacent farm yard and the turf of an apple orchard, where the
fruit was already reddening under the August sun. Pigeons circled
against the sky with the distinct musical notes struck out by their
wings, or cooed and cooed round the dove cots. The dairy women of
the farm laughed and sang and called out to one another in Flemish
and Wallon rough chaff about their men-folk who were called to the
Colours. There was nothing suggestive here of any coming tragedy.

This was the morning of the 13th of August. For three more days
Vivie lived deliriously, isolated from the world. She took new books
to the shade of the forest, and a rug on which she could repose, and
read there with avidity, read also all the newspapers her mother had
brought over from England, tried to master the events which had so
rapidly and irresistibly plunged Europe into War. Were the Germans
to blame, she asked herself? Of course they were, technically, in
invading Belgium and in forcing this war on France. But were they
not being surrounded by a hostile Alliance? Was not this hostility
on the part of Servia towards Austria stimulated by Russia in order
to forestal the Central Powers by a Russian occupation of
Constantinople? Why should the Russian Empire be allowed to stretch
for nine millions of square miles over half Asia, much of Persia,
and now claim to control the Balkan Peninsula and Asia Minor? If
England might claim a large section of Persia as her sphere of
influence, and Egypt likewise and a fourth part of Africa, much of
Arabia, and Cyprus in the Mediterranean, why might not Germany and
Austria expect to have their little spheres of influence in the
Balkans, in Asia Minor, in Mesopotamia? We had helped France to
Morocco and Italy to Tripoli; why should we bother about Servia? It
might be unkind, but then were we not unkind towards her father's
country, Ireland? Were we very tender towards national independence
in Egypt, in Persia?

Yet this brutal invasion of France, this unprovoked attack on Liege
were ugly things. France had shown no disposition to egg Servia on
against Austria, and Sir Edward Grey in the last days of June--she
now learnt for the first time, f