rose, in the sacked palaces of the German king. Reine Allix alone of
them was serious and sorrowful, she whose memories stretched back over
the wide space of near a century.

"Why art thou anxious, _gran'mere_?" they said to her. "There is no
cause. Our army is victorious everywhere; and they say our lads will
send us all the Prussians' corn and cattle, so that the very beggars
will have their stomachs full."

But Reine Allix shook her head, sitting knitting in the sun. "My
children, I remember the days of my youth. Our army was victorious then;
at least, they said so. Well, all I know is that little Claudis and the
boys with him never came back; and as for bread, you could not get it
for love or money, and the people lay dead of famine out on the public
roads."

"But that is so long ago, _gran'mere_!" they urged.

Reine Allix nodded. "Yes, it is long ago, my dears. But I do not think
that things change very much."

They were silent out of respect for her, but among themselves they said,
"She is very old. Nothing is as it was in her time."

One evening, when the sun was setting red over the reapen fields, two
riders on trembling and sinking horses went through the village using
whip and spur, and scarcely drew rein as they shouted to the cottagers
to know whether they had seen go by a man running for his life. The
people replied that they had seen nothing of the kind, and the horsemen
pressed on, jamming their spurs into their poor beasts' steaming flanks.