when, with a soup-ladle in his hand, his assistants armed with German
rifles, followed by the soup-kitchen and twenty prisoners, he marched in
to report.

It is curious to note how near humour is to tragedy in war, and how
quick-wittedness may serve a useful purpose and even save life. A young
French medical student told me that he owed his life to the quick wit of
the women of a village and the sense of humour of a Saxon officer.
Whilst passing from one hospital to another, he was captured by a small
German patrol, and in spite of his papers, proving that he was attached
to the Red Cross Service, he was tried as a spy and condemned to be
shot. At the opening of his trial the women had been interested
spectators; towards the end all of them had vanished. He was placed
against a barn door, the firing squad lined up, when from behind the
hedge bordering a wood the women began to bombard the soldiers with
eggs. The aim was excellent--not one man escaped; the German officer
laughed at the plight of his men and, in the brief respite accorded, the
young man dashed towards the hedge and vanished in the undergrowth. The
Germans fired a few shots, but there was no organised attempt to follow
him, probably because their own position was not too secure. He was
loath to leave the women to face the music, but they insisted that it
was "Pour la Patrie," and that they were quite capable of taking care of
themselves. Later he again visited the village, and the women told him
that beyond obliging them to clean the soldiers' clothes thoroughly, the
German officer had inflicted no other punishment upon them.

A certain number of inhabitants are still living in the village of
Revigny. You see everywhere placards announcing "Caves pour 25," "Caves
pour 100," and each person knows to which cellar he is to go if a Taube
should start bombing the village. I saw one cellar marked "120 persons,