not turn refugee; helpless to fight, but grimly staying with their homes
and accepting what came with an incomprehensible stoicism, which
possibly had its origin in a race-feeling so proud and bitter that they
would not admit that they could be afraid of anything German, even a
shell.

"And how did the Germans act?"

"They made themselves at home in our houses and slept in our beds,
while we slept in the kitchen," she answered. "They said that if we
kept indoors and gave them what they wanted we should not be
harmed. But if anyone fired a shot at their troops or any arms were
found in our houses, they would burn the town. When they were
going back in a great hurry--how they scattered from our shells! We
went out in the square to see our shells, monsieur!"

What mattered the ruins of her home? "Our" shells had returned
vengeance.

Arrows with directions in German, "This way to the river," "This way to
Villers-Cotteret," were chalked on the standing walls; and on door-
casings the names of the detachments of the Prussian Guard billeted
there, all in systematic Teutonic fashion.

"Prince Albrecht Joachim, one of the Kaiser's sons, was here and I
talked with him," said the Mayor, who thought we would enjoy a
morsel from court circles in exchange for a copy of the Echo de Paris,
which contained the news that Prince Albrecht had been wounded
later. The Mayor looked tired, this local man of the people, who had to
play the shepherd of a stricken flock. Afterwards, they said that he