not yet come, and the islanders were still talking about the latest
newspaper which told about the approaching trial of Madame Caillaux
for the shooting of Gaston Calmette. It was, therefore, with more than
usual eagerness that the whole colony assembled at the quay on a day
in mid-September to hear from the captain what the verdict had been.
They learned that for over six weeks now those of them who were
English and those of them who were French had been fighting in behalf
of the sanctity of treaties against those of them who were Germans.
For six strange weeks they had acted as if they were friends, when in
fact they were enemies.

But their plight was not so different from that of most of the
population of Europe. They had been mistaken for six weeks, on the
continent the interval may have been only six days or six hours. There
was an interval. There was a moment when the picture of Europe on
which men were conducting their business as usual, did not in any way
correspond to the Europe which was about to make a jumble of their
lives. There was a time for each man when he was still adjusted to an
environment that no longer existed. All over the world as late as July
25th men were making goods that they would not be able to ship, buying
goods they would not be able to import, careers were being planned,
enterprises contemplated, hopes and expectations entertained, all in
the belief that the world as known was the world as it was. Men were
writing books describing that world. They trusted the picture in their
heads. And then over four years later, on a Thursday morning, came the
news of an armistice, and people gave vent to their unutterable relief
that the slaughter was over. Yet in the five days before the real
armistice came, though the end of the war had been celebrated, several
thousand young men died on the battlefields.