All that the Curé knows is that in a house belonging to persons of his
acquaintance, where some officers of the rear-guard left behind in
Senlis are billeted, two of the young officers have been in tears--it is
supposed, because of bad news. Another day, an armoured car rushes into
Senlis from Paris; the men in it exchange some shots with the German
soldiers in the principal _place_, and make off again, calling out,
"Courage! Deliverance is coming!"

Then, on the 9th, just a week from the German entry, there is another
fusillade in the streets. "It is the Zouaves, knocking at the doors,
dragging out the conquerors of yesterday, now a humbled remnant, with
their hands in the air."

And the Curé goes on to compare Senlis to the sand which the Creator
showed to the sea. "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." "The grain
of sand is Senlis, still red with the flames which have devoured her,
and with the blood of her victims. To these barbarians she cries--'You
want Paris?--you want France? Halt! No road through here!'"

* * * * *

This combination of the Curé's written and spoken account is as close to
the facts as I can make it. His narrative as he gave it to me, of what
he had seen and felt, was essentially simple, and, to judge from the
French official reports, with which I have compared it, essentially
true. There are some discrepancies in detail, but nothing that matters.
The murder of M. Odent, of the other hostages, of the civilians placed
in front of the German troops, and of four or five other victims; the
burning out by torch and explosive of half a flourishing town, because
of a discreditable mistake, the fruit of panic and passion,--these