At Charly, our station, I was much surprised to see three French
officers in full uniform get off the train and step into the
taxi-autobus which deposits its travelers at the only hotel in the
vicinity.

At the chateau my story failed to make an impression. The men
pooh-poohed the idea of war, and returned to the evening papers and the
_proces Caillaux_, which was the most exciting question of the moment.
In the pantry the news was greeted with hilarity, and coachman and
gardener declared that they would shoulder their spades and _faire la
guerre en sabots_.

My friend and neighbor, Elizabeth Gauthier, was the only one who took
the matter seriously, and that because she had no less than five
brothers and a husband who would be obliged to serve in case of serious
events. I felt rather ashamed when I saw her countenance darken, for
after all, she was alone in Villiers with two tiny children; her
husband, the well-known archivist, coming down but for the week-end.
"What is the sense of alarming people so uselessly?" I thought.

Wednesday, the 29th, the papers began to talk of "a tension in the
political relations between France and Germany" which, however, did not
quench the gaiety of a picnic luncheon in the grove by our river.

In the afternoon the old _garde-champetre_ asked for H. in the
courtyard.

"In case of mobilization," said he, "you have three horses and your farm
cart to present to the authorities. Your cart must have its awnings