But the thing which left the clearest picture in my
brain was a sight sweet as well as sad: a charming little chateau,
ruined by fire, yet pathetically lovely in martyrdom; the green trellis
still ornamenting its stained facade, a few autumn roses peeping with
child-like curiosity into gaping window-eyes; a silent old gardener
raking the one patch of lawn buried under blackened tiles and tumbled
bricks. The man's figure was bent, yet I felt that there was hope as
well as loyalty in his work. "They will come back home some day," was
the expression of that faithful back.
In the exquisite beauty of the forest beyond Senlis there was still--for
me--this note of hope. "Where beauty is, sadness cannot dwell for ever!"
As we rushed along in the big car, the delicate gray trunks of
clustering trees seemed to whirl round and round before our eyes, as in
a votive dance of young priestesses. We saw bands of German prisoners
toiling gnome-like in dim glades, but they didn't make us sad again. _Au
contraire!_ We found poetical justice in the thought that they, the
cruel destroyers of trees, must chop wood and pile faggots from dawn to
dusk.
So we came to Compiegne, where the French army has its headquarters in
one of the most famous chateaux in the world.
CHAPTER XX
It took a mere glance (even if we hadn't known beforehand) to see that
noble Compiegne craved no Beckett charity, no American adoption.
True, German officers lived for twelve riotous days in the palace, in
1914, selecting for home use many of its treasures, and German
"non-coms.
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