But what was that in the semi-darkness ahead of me?  A dog?  Could it be true?  I back-pedaled and whistled—­a long, low, familiar howl greeted my ears and brought the tears to my eyes.

And then my poor old beagle hound came trotting up the road to welcome me—­his tail wagging joyously and a long frayed cord dangling from his collar.

This was a relief and somewhat steadied and prepared me for what was to come.  Through a gap in the trees I caught a glimpse of the roofs below.  And so I rounded the corner and started on my last hundred yards.

The broken and tangled grill of our stately gateway told of the invaders’ visit.  A few paces further and the chateau come into full view.

Yes, it was standing, but only the shell of that lovely home I had fled from but fourteen days before.

Dropping my machine I rushed towards the entrance hall, cast one glance through the broken panes into the vestibule, and turned away in despair.

All the willful damage that human beings could do had been wrought on the contents of my home.

The spell was broken.  My nerves relaxed and heedless of the filth I dropped on to the steps and wept.

IX

I think it was the stench from within that first roused me from my grief and made me realize that this was war and no time for tears.  I tried to comfort myself with the thought that at least I had a roof to cover me, but this was poor consolation.

Pulling myself together, I started across the lawn towards the village in search of aid, for a second glance told me that it was useless even to think of entering the house, so great was the filth and disorder.

Slowly I pushed onward, my head bent, my heart heavy with sorrow and worry.  Twenty paces in front of me I discerned a low mound and then, horror of horrors, a huge black cross stood forth in the semi-darkness.  A grave—­a German grave.  Some poor souls interred on my greensward; but why, since our little cemetery is but a couple of hundred yards up the road?

Villiers is not a cheerful village even in time of peace, but on this particular evening (September 14, 1914) it was even darker than ever.  My eyes growing accustomed to the obscurity could see that most of the houses, though damaged from the battle, were still standing and in one or two windows the glow of a light gladdened my gaze.

I went straight to the town hall where I pounded on the door and called my name.  A familiar shuffling of feet told me that Monsieur Duguey had remained faithful to his post as town clerk (the only acting official since the army was mobilized) and when he opened the door and saw me, his eyes lit up with joy.  Holding a candle high over his head, he smiled and then his face fell.

“Pauvre Madame,” he said.  “Have you seen the chateau?”

I nodded.

“Ah, the vandals!  Not war, but highway robbery, I call it.  We poor peasants had little to lose, but with you, Madame, it is different.”