There was no one to oppose them. This time it is
different. It was harvest-time that year, and they took everything, and
destroyed what they did not take. They bedded their horses in the
wheat."
You see Pere's father was in the Franco-Prussian War, and his
grandfather was with Napoleon at Moscow, where he had his feet frozen.
Pere is over seventy, and his father died at ninety-six. Poor old Pere
just hates the war. He is as timid as a bird--can't kill a rabbit for
his dinner. But with the queer spirit of the French farmer he has kept
right on working as if nothing were going on. All day Saturday and all
day Sunday he was busy digging stone to mend the road.
The cannonading ceased a little after six--thirteen hours without
intermission. I don't mind confessing to you that I hope the war is not
going to give me many more days like that one. I'd rather the battle
would come right along and be done with it. The suspense of waiting all
day for that battery at Coutevroult to open fire was simply nasty.
I went to bed as ignorant of how the battle had turned as I was the
night before. Oddly enough, to my surprise, I slept, and slept well.
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