“Des soldats!” cried someone.

In a second I was on my feet.

“Where?”

“Two-on bicycles, going into the hotel opposite.”

I reached there as soon as they did.  Their story was brief.

“We’re the forerunners of a cavalry depot, being transferred to Rozoy from Montmirail.  It’s getting too hot down there!  How far is it to Rozoy?”

I pulled out my map.

“Seventeen kilometres.”

“Oh, Lord!”

And the poor fellows wiped the great beads of perspiration from their dusty necks and faces.

“Bring up a bottle of wine.  I’ll stand for the drinks,” called a man from a corner of the cafe.

“What regiment do you belong to?”

“L’Escadron du train.”

My heart leapt with expectancy.

“Do you know a man named H.?”

“No.”

My disappointment was even greater than my joy.

“How many horses are you taking to Rozoy?”

“Two hundred and some.”

“At what time will they pass here?”

“They’re due in half an hour, if they don’t get cornered by the Boches on the way.  We had a close call ourselves.”  And swallowing their glasses of white wine and water, they were on their bicycles and gone, before we could get any further details.

I had now had enough experience to know that it was high time to take to the road if we didn’t wish to be captured.  Yet it seemed unfair to go and leave some two-score innocent people praying for the soul of their dear departed to a long drawn-out musical accompaniment.  So while the boys were harnessing I entered the sanctuary and approaching the chancel by a side aisle, beckoned an altar boy and whispered in his ear words to the effect that the curate would better hurry his mass and thereby give his flock time to escape the invaders.

I said this calmly, and hoped he would follow my example in delivering my message, but imagine if you can the effect produced by this frightened individual, who, lifting his hands in the air, cried out in terror, “Vite, vite, Monsieur le Cure’!  Voila’ les Prussiens!”

I didn’t wait to see what happened, but went out and joined my group, which was making ready to start.  How far advanced was mass when I entered the church I did not observe, but what I do know is that it finished abruptly after my warning, and the poor hearse horse never before galloped towards the cemetery of Choisy at such a pace nor in such an undignified manner.  As to the mourners, they fairly flew beside it, greatly diminished in number, the others scattering like chaff before the wind.

The half-hour’s interval allowed by the cyclists for the horses to arrive was far overlapped by the time we once again took the road, but the sound of the cannonade had gradually grown closer.