"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.

I insisted.

An officer came to my rescue, but could only confirm the sentry's
orders.

"You're not safe even here. This is the firing line. We don't know yet
for certain whether we are going to hold the g