and "'Seph!" They are not as a rule either attractive in appearance or
desirable in character. Every man in this country, who _is_ a man, is
away, as a matter of course, doing a man's only possible duty under
the circumstances. This leaves 'Nri and 'Seph, who through physical or
mental shortcomings are denied the proud privilege, and shamble about
in the muck and mud of the farm, leering or grumbling, while Madame
exhorts them to further activity from the kitchen door. They take
their meals with the family: where they sleep no one knows. External
evidence suggests the cow-house.

Then, the family. First, Angèle. She may be twenty-five, but is more
probably fifteen. She acts as Adjutant to Madame, and rivals her
mother as deliverer of sustained and rapid recitative. She milks the
cows, feeds the pigs, and dragoons her young brothers and sisters. But
though she works from morning till night, she has always time for
a smiling salutation to all ranks. She also speaks English quite
creditably--a fact of which Madame is justly proud. "Collège!"
explains the mother, full of appreciation for an education which she
herself has never known, and taps her learned daughter affectionately
upon the head.

Next in order comes Émile. He must be about fourteen, but War has
forced manhood on him. All day long he is at work, bullying very large
horses, digging, hoeing, even ploughing. He is very much a boy, for
all that. He whistles excruciatingly--usually English music-hall
melodies--grins sheepishly at the officers, and is prepared at any
moment to abandon the most important tasks, in order to watch a man
cleaning a rifle or oiling a machine-gun. We seem to have encountered
Émile in other countries than this.