Now, as I write, we are making our headquarters in Compiegne, sleeping
there, and sightseeing by day on what they call the "Noyon Front."
After Rheims and before Noyon we stopped three days in Paris instead of
one, as we'd planned, for Mother Beckett was tired. She wouldn't confess
it, but "Father" thought she looked pale. Strange if she had not, after
such experiences and emotions! Sometimes, when I study the delicate old
face, with blue hollows under kind, sweet eyes, I ask myself: "Will she
be able to get through the task she's set herself?" But she is so
quietly brave, not only in fatigue, but in danger, that I answer my own
question: "Yes, she will do it somehow, on the reserve force that kept
her up when Jim died."
The road from Paris, past Senlis, to Compiegne, was even more thrilling
than the road to Nancy and beyond, for this was the way the Germans took
in September, 1914, when they thought the capital was theirs to have and
hold: "_la route de l'Allemagne_" it used to be called, but never will
French lips give it that name again.
Just at first, running out of the city in early morning, things looked
much the same as when starting for Nancy: the unnatural quiet of streets
once crammed with busy traffic for feeding gay Paris; military motors of
all sorts and sizes, instead of milk wagons and cartloads of colourful
fruits; women working instead of men; children on their way to school,
sedately talking of "_papa au Front_," instead of playing games.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207