My Home In The Field of Honor | Page 3

your horses harnessed with their halters!"
H. laughed and told him that he was giving himself a lot of useless trouble.
Thursday, the 30th, market day at Charly, the nearest town to Villiers. We both drove down in the victoria, and were not surprised to see my officers of the day before seated in the hotel dining-room, finishing breakfast.
"What are they down here for?" I queried of the proprietor.
"Oh, they belong to the Etat Major and are out here to verify their maps. The Mayor has given them an office in the town hall. They go off on their bicycles early every morning and only return for meals."
"It's rather a treat to see a uniform out here, where hardly an officer has appeared since last year when we had Prince George of Servia and his staff for three days."
The general topic on the market place was certainly not war, and we drove home somewhat reassured.
Friday, the 31st, however, the tone of the newspapers was serious and our little village began to grow alarmed when several soldiers on holiday leave received individual official telegrams to rejoin their regiments immediately. Little knots of peasants could be seen grouped together along the village street, a thing unheard of in that busy season when vineyards need so much attention. Towards noon the news ran like wildfire that men belonging to the youngest classes had received their official notices and we're leaving to join their corps. Yet there was no commotion anywhere.
"It will last three weeks and they'll all come home, safe and sound. It's bothersome, though, that the Government should choose just our busiest season to take the men out for a holiday!" declared one peasant.
There was less hilarity in the servants' hall when I entered after luncheon. At least I fancied so. The men had gone about their work quicker than usual, and the women were silently washing up.
"Does Madame know that the fils Poupard is leaving by the four o'clock train---and that Cranger and Veron are going too?" asked my faithful Catherine.
"No."
"Yes, Madame--and Honorine is in the wash-house crying as though her heart would break."
I turned on my heel and walked toward the river. In the wash-house I found Honorine bending over her linen, the great tears streaming down her face, in spite of her every effort to control them.
"Why, Honorine, what's the matter?"
"He's gone, Madame--gone without my seeing him--without even a clean pair of socks!"
"Who?"
"My son, Madame!"
And the tears burst out afresh, though in silence.
"Yes, Madame, I found this under the door when I came in at noon.--" She drew a crumpled paper from her apron pocket. I smoothed it out and read:
"_Je viens de recevior ma feuille. Je pars de suite. Je prends les deux francs sur la cheminee. Jean._" (I've just received my notice. Am leaving at once. Have taken the two francs that are on the mantel. Jean.)
I cannot say what an impression that brief but heroic note made upon me. In my mind it has always stood as characteristic of that wonderful national resolution to do one's duty, and to make the least possible fuss about it.
At tea-time the male contingent of the house-party was decidedly restless.
"Let's go up to Paris and see what's going on."
"There's no use doing that. Elizabeth Gauthier went this morning and will be back in an hour with all the news. It's too late to go to town, anyway!"
"Well, if things don't look better to-morrow I've got to go. My military book is somewhere in my desk at home and it's best to have it en regle in case of necessity," said Delorme.
"Mine's at home, too," echoed our friend Boutiteron.
"We'll all go to-morrow, and make a day of it," decided H.
Just then the silhouette of the three officers on bicycles passed up the road.
"Let's go out and ask them what's up," suggested someone.
"Pooh! Do you think they know anything more than we do? And if they do know something, they wouldn't tell _you!_ Don't make a fool of yourself, Hugues!"
Presently Elizabeth Gauthier arrived, placid and cool as though everything were normal. "Paris is calm; calm as Paris always is in August."
"But the papers? Your husband? What does he say?"
"There are no extras--Leon doesn't seem over-alarmed, though as captain in the reserves he would have to leave within an hour after any declaration of hostilities. He has a special mission to perform. But he's certain of coming down by the five o'clock train to-morrow."
We went in to dinner but conversation lagged. Each one seemed preoccupied and no one minded the long silences. We were so quiet that the Angelus ringing at Charly, some four miles away, roused us with something of a shock.
Saturday morning, August 1st, the carryall rolled up to the station for the early train. All made a general rush for the papers