As an old lady, who narrated the story, said, “We had no idea, Monsieur, what was to happen. Les Boches had been with us for nearly three years; it never entered our heads that they were leaving.  When they took the last of our young girls from us and all who were strong among our men, it was something that they had done so often and so often.  When they made us hide in our houses, we thought it was only to prevent a disturbance.  It is not easy to see your boys and girls marched away into slavery—­Monsieur will understand that.  Sometimes, on former occasions, the mothers had attacked les Boches and the young girls had become hysterical; we thought that it was to avoid such scenes that we were shut up in our houses.  When darkness fell, we sat in our rooms without any lights, for they also were forbidden.  All night long through our streets we heard the endless tramping of battalions, the clattering wheels of guns and limbers, the sharp orders, the halting and the marching taken up afresh.  Towards dawn everything grew silent.  At first it would be broken occasionally by the hurried trot of cavalry or the shuffling footsteps of a straggler.  Then it grew into the absolute silence of death.  It was nerve-racking and terrible.  One could almost hear the breathing of the listening people in all the other houses.  I do not know how time went or what was the hour.  I could endure the suspense no longer.  They might kill me, but ...  Ah well, at my age after nearly three years with ’les Boches,’ killing is a little matter!  I crept down the passage and drew back the bolts.  I was very gentle; a sentry might hear me.  I opened the door just a crack.  I expected to hear a rifle-shot ring out, but nothing happened.  I opened it wider, and saw that the street was empty and that it was broad daylight.  Then I waited—­I do not know how long I waited.  I crouched against the wall, huddled with terror.  All this took much longer in the doing than in the telling.  At last I could bear myself no longer.  I tiptoed out on to the pavement—­and, Monsieur will believe me, I expected to drop dead.  But no one disturbed me.  Then I heard a rustling.  Doors everywhere were opening stealthily, ah, so stealthily!  Some one else tiptoed out, and some one else, and some one else.  We stood there staring, aghast at our daring.  Suddenly we realised what had happened.  The brutes had gone.  We were free.  It was indescribable, what followed—­we ran together, weeping and embracing.  At first we wept for gladness; soon we wept for sorrow.  Our youth had departed; we were all old women or very ancient men.  Two hours later our poilus came, like a blue-grey wave of laughter, fighting their way through the burning country that those swine had left in a sea of smoke and flames.”