A third did not deign to reply, sturdily marching on ahead, his eyes
fixed on the road in front of him.

On top of a farm cart half filled with bay I saw the prostrate form of a
woman with two others kneeling beside her ministering to her wants. In
the trap that followed was the most sorrowful group of old men and
middle-aged women I ever hope to see. All were sobbing. Besides them
rode two big boys on bicycles. I stopped one of these.

"What's the matter with her?" I questioned, pointing to the woman on the
cart.

"She's crazy."

"?"

"Yes, lost her mind."

"How, when, where?"

"Two days ago, when we left X. (Try as I may, I cannot recall the name
of the little Belgian town be mentioned.) She was ill in bed with a
fever when the Germans set fire to the place--barely giving us time to
hoist her into the cart. Her husband lingered behind to scrape a few
belongings together. In spite of our efforts, she would stand up on the
cart, and suddenly we heard an explosion and she saw her house burst
into flame. She fainted. Outside in the woods we waited an hour, but
her husband never came. Perhaps it's just as well, for when she woke up
her mind was a blank!"