Part 28 (2/2)

Again I crossed the shop, paddling through that sticky yellow slime in which bits of furniture and clothing floated like croutons in a gigantic nauseating omelet.

Outside, towards the end of the street that opened on to the quay, great animation reigned. A bugle sounded and I could hear the tramp of soldiers' feet.

”Look!” cried my friend. ”Look, all that is left of the Inst.i.tut 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 gla.s.s merchant these days. It only took two sh.e.l.ls 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 ground we gained. Villiers?

Still in the Germans' hands.”

I sighed and was about to turn away. ”Then where's the nearest bridge across?”

”Meaux.”

”But that's thirty kilometres west! I'm only fifteen from home here!”

”I wish I could help you, but there's no use trying to leave here unless you go that way.”

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