along the brown roads on their way to the day's work. Was it the war
that had driven away all those poor village folk, or was it the rough
fist of the Teuton that kept them prisoners locked up in their cellars
and threatened with revolvers?

And yet, from where I stood, nothing could lead me to suppose that the
village was occupied by the enemy. I could not distinguish any work of
defence. There did not seem to be any barricade protecting the
entrance. No sentinel was visible at the corners of the stacks or
under the trees.

To the south of the village, pointing in our direction, the imposing
bulk of a large farm protruded, like the prow of a ship. It seemed to
form an advanced bastion of a fortress, represented by Courgivault.
Its walls were high and white. At the end a strong round tower was
planted, roofed with slates; and this enhanced the likeness to a
miniature donjon. The road we had followed, winding between the
fields, passed, so far as we could judge, in front of its principal
entrance. Opposite this entrance there was apparently another road at
right angles to the first, its direction marked by a line of trees
which bordered it. Along this road, separated by short intervals, a
dozen big stacks had the appearance of a threatening line of battle
facing us, so as to bar our approach to the village.

All these things were steeped in the same atmosphere of silence, which
certainly had a more tragic effect than the din of battle. I was
impressed with the idea that the two armies had withdrawn in opposite
directions, and that we were left behind, forgotten, at 100 kilometres
distance from both of them.