mingled with shouts of the gangs of workmen, with the tinkling of bells, with the panting of machines. … I recognized a little boy from Saint-Michel whose swollen eyelids oozed, who coughed and spat blood. I asked him where they were going. He did not know. Having left Mans, they were held up at Connerre for twelve hours without food because of congestion on the road—too crowded to lie down and sleep. He hardly had strength enough to speak. He went into a tavern to rinse his eyes with warm water. I shook hands with him, and he said he sincerely hoped that in the first battle the Germans would make a prisoner of him. … And the train pulled out, disappeared in the night, carrying all these wan faces, all these bodies already vanquished——toward what useless and bloody slaughters?
I shivered with cold. Under the icy rain which drenched me to the very marrow, I felt a terrible cold penetrating me. It seemed as if my members were getting numb. I took advantage of the confusion caused by the arrival of a train to reach the open gate and run out on the road in search of a house or cover where I could warm myself, find a piece of bread or something. The inns and public places near the station were guarded by sentries who had orders not to let anyone in. … Three hundred yards away I noticed a few windows which shone gently in the night. These lights looked to me like two kindly eyes, two eyes filled with pity which called me, smiled to me, caressed me. … It was a small house isolated a few strides away from the road. I ran toward it. … A sergeant accompanied by four men was there, shouting and swearing. Near the fireplace without a fire, I saw an old man seated on a very low wicker chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. A candle burning in an iron candlestick lit up half of his face hollowed and furrowed by deep wrinkles.
"Will you give us some wood, I am asking you for the last time?" shouted the sergeant.
"I ain't got no wood," answered the old man. … "It's been eight days since the troops passed here, I tell you. … They took everything away."
He huddled himself up on the chair and in a feeble voice muttered:
"I ain't got … nothing … Nothing! … "
"Don't act the rogue, you old rascal. … Ah, you are hiding your wood to warm the Prussians. … Well I am going to knock those Prussians out of your head."
The old man shook his head:
"But if I ain't got no wood. … "
With angry gestures the sergeant commanded the soldiers to search the house. They examined everything, looked everywhere from cellar to garret. They found nothing, nothing but evidence of plunder and some broken furniture. In the cellar, damp with spilled cider, the casks were broken open and over the whole there spread a hideously offensive stench. That exasperated the sergeant who struck the flat end of the butt of his musket.
"Come on," he shouted, "come on, you old sloven, tell us where your wood is," and he rudely shook the old man who tottered and almost struck his head against the andiron of the fireplace.
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