“Give me the keys to the wine cellar,” said he.  “And, Nini,” he continued, addressing my youngest maid, aged ten, “Nini, lay a cloth and bring out the champagne glasses.  The boys shan’t go without a last joyful toast.”

There were four of them; four of them whose military books ordered them to reach the nearest railway station, with two days’ rations, as soon as possible after the declaration of mobilization.  H. had hardly time to bring up the champagne before we could bear the men clattering down the stairs from their rooms.  Their luggage was quickly packed—­a change of underclothes and a second pair of shoes composed their trousseaux—­and Julie came hurrying forward with bread, sausages and chocolate!  “Put this into your bags,” she said.  Though no one had told them, all those who remained seemed to have guessed what to do, for in like manner George, one of the younger gardeners, had hitched the horses to the farm cart and drove up to the kitchen entrance.

A moment later Catherine called me aside and tearfully begged permission to accompany husband and brother as far as Paris.  The circumstances were too serious to refuse such a request and I nodded my assent.

“Come on, boys,” shouted H.  “Ring the farm-bell, Nini, and call the others in.”

Their faces radiant with excitement, they gathered around the long table.  H. filled up the glasses and then raising his—­

“Here’s to France, and to your safe return!” said he.

“To France, and our safe return!” they echoed.

We all touched glasses and the frothy amber liquid disappeared as by magic.  Then followed a hearty handshaking and they all piled into the little cart.  George cracked the whip and in a moment they had turned the comer and were gone.

Gone—­gone forever—­for in the long months that followed how often did I recall that joyful toast, and now, a year later, as I write these lines, I know for certain that none of them will ever make that “safe return.”

Elizabeth Gauthier bore up wonderfully under the strain.  She was the first to admit that after all it would have been too trying to say good-bye to her husband.  H. and I then decided that it was best for her to bring her children and maid and come over to the chateau where we would share our lot in common.  There was no time for lamenting—­for the sudden disappearance of cook, butler, and the three most important farm-hands, left a very large breach which had to be filled at once.  There was nothing to do but to “double up,” and the girls and women willingly offered to do their best.

Julie, the only person over thirty, offered to take over the kitchen.  To George and Leon fell the gardens, the stables, the horses, dogs, pigs and cattle.  Yvonne, aged seventeen, offered to milk the cows, make butter and cheese, look after the chickens and my duck farm, while Berthe and Nini, aged fourteen and ten, were left to take care of the chateau!  Not a very brilliant equipment to run as large an establishment as ours, but all so willing and so full of good humour that things were less neglected than one might imagine.