of the thicket, he parted the branches and peered out over the
vale.

Its eaves sloped gently to the level floor where the river loitered
in loops and curves. The sun was just topping the eastern hills;
the heads of the trees were dark against a primrose sky.

In the fields the hay had been cut and gathered. The aftermath
was already greening the moist places. Cattle and sheep sauntered
out to pasture. A thin silvery mist floated here and there,
spreading in broad sheets over the wet ground and shredding into
filmy scarves and ribbons as the breeze caught it among the pollard
willows and poplars on the border of the stream. Far away the water
glittered where the river made a sudden bend or a long smooth reach.
It was like the flashing of distant shields. Overhead a few white
clouds climbed up from the north. The rolling ridges, one after
another, enfolded the valley as far as eye could see; dark green
set in pale green, with here and there an arm of forest running
down on a sharp promontory to meet and turn the meandering stream.

"It must be the valley of the Meuse," said the soldier. "My faith,
but France is beautiful and tranquil here!"

The northerly wind was rising. The clouds climbed more swiftly.
The poplars shimmered, the willows glistened, the veils of mist
vanished. From very far away there came a rumbling thunder, heavy,
insistent, continuous, punctuated with louder crashes.

"It is the guns," muttered the soldier, shivering. "It is the guns
around Verdun! Those damned Boches!"