They are as correct and as gentlemanly as ever, our friends the English. A young officer is kind enough to give us news, and good news, too. The Germans are beginning to fall back. Already a pontoon-bridge has been thrown across the Marne at Meaux. After trying to cross sixteen times, and sixteen times seeing their efforts of no avail, the Germans gave up the attempt to cross the river. The French General Staff has already arrived there, and GalliÉni's army is advancing from Paris.

All this good news fills us with joy.

From now on we shall see no more Germans.

Troops are beginning to arrive. A regiment of infantry went through Voisins this afternoon. These men have come on foot from Paris. What a fearful march! They still have several miles to go before reaching a cantonment. Some of them drag themselves along painfully, their faces streaming with perspiration, their legs tottering under their weight, staggering like drunken men. Others, with a show of cheerfulness, hum marching songs to keep up their courage, but what a monotonous sound it is!

They are hot and thirsty, poor boys! They need something to drink. We go out with a pitcher of fruit syrup and water. They are not allowed to stop, so we follow on beside them and fill their cups which they take out hastily as soon as they catch sight of us. It seems to please them and renew their courage.

My little nieces are with us. The eldest, aged three, is holding up fruit which she takes from "Gamma's ba'ket." One of the men, as if to find new strength in the touch of her fresh childish cheeks, asks if he may kiss her, saying with tears in his eyes: "I have a little girl of my own at home about her age, with light hair like hers." Several of the men kiss her as they march along, and it makes them happy.

Poor things! Will they ever see again those little ones of whom our children remind them?

At the same moment, in a far-off home, the mother presses close to her breast her youngest born, who is asleep. The child stirs slightly. A gentle breath moves her fair curls. Do not waken, little one. Thy father kisses thee.

The mother's face is growing worn. The sister is silent. The bride-to-be is on her knees. They all have but one thought—the Absent One!

How many among those men who are marching by will see their own again?

Alas! Many of these women, these mothers, these sisters, will all their lives remain fixed in the same attitude—waiting. By force of habit, through the long years, each of them will keep her ear strained for the footsteps on the road, her eye fastened on the door, hoping against hope to see her loved one enter there.

The State road is full of troops, marching in close formation. The ranks extend from the foot of Couilly hill as far as the eye can reach, in the direction of Meaux, along the streets of Voisins and Quincy. The 8th Division of the 4th Army Corps, the 115th, 117th, and 124th regulars, the 148th, 246th, etc., cavalry goes towards Charny.

A captain asks me to show him the road to Saint-Fiacre. While I give him the information he wants, I walk along a moment beside his horse. This movement of troops interests me.

Before leaving me, he expresses his surprise that I should be here all alone, and asks if I am not afraid.

"No," I answered, "I am not afraid. Perhaps I shall be, later. Do you think, Captain, that there is still danger? The Germans are falling back, aren't they?"

"Yes, but who can tell? Tomorrow you might see very ugly things. They are not far away yet."

"They evacuated Penchard yesterday, didn't they?"

"Yes, and they left behind them unspeakably foul traces of their Kultur."

"But, Captain, seeing all these troops here reassures me. We were two whole days without setting eyes on a soldier. That was the time to be afraid. All the troops you are bringing up will drive them back still further. And besides, Captain, if danger threatened, wouldn't these troops insure the escape of the civilians who are left?"

"If it were in their power, certainly."

"But, Captain, let me say again, I have faith in your soldiers."

"You are quite right," he said, as he shook hands with me and wished me good luck.

"For my part, Captain, I am sure good luck will go with you."

The 117th stopped at Voisins. The soldiers are billeted everywhere, but preferably in the few houses that are still inhabited.

This regiment, which made the retreat from Belgium, has just come on foot from AsniÈres where it had been sent to recuperate. Several of the men with bleeding and blistered feet stop me in the street to ask if I can give them socks. Unfortunately, I have none. All I can offer them is women's stockings, linen bandages, and talcum powder.

For several days Boche aviators have been reconnoitring above us. One of them was only a hundred or two feet up, directly over the heights of Huiry. We thought he was going to land. He looked like an immense bat.

This evening another one came. The soldiers were just building their fires to cook dinner, when the command was passed along: "Stand close to the walls." The street, which a minute before was swarming with people is, to all appearances, empty and deserted, nothing but a single row of men on either side, standing close to the houses.

A platoon in a back street fires several times with machine guns. We watch anxiously.

"It's hit," someone shouts.

Sure enough, the 'plane gives a lurch and is certainly going to fall.

It is out of control.

But this was nothing but a trick. Once out of reach, it righted itself and shot straight forward in the direction of Coulommiers, where they say the Crown Prince and his staff are stationed.

It was a great disappointment.

The soldiers go on building their fires, making little square ovens of bricks. Rations have not arrived yet. Some of the men, worn out, stretch out on the ground to wait. It is getting dark.

The sight of these haggard men, gray with dust, blowing on fires which cast fitful gleams on their wan faces, calls up visions of Dante.

And still rations do not come. The men are too tired to wait, and lie down to sleep supperless in any sheltered spot they can find.

The few who are not completely exhausted make a descent on the houses that are inhabited. They fall upon our garden and clean out our larder. The salad bowl and kettles not being large enough, they season and mix a huge salad in tubs and washboilers. It is all they will have to eat this evening.

Scarcely anyone was courageous enough to wait for rations, which were delayed by the block on the roads and did not arrive until nearly ten o'clock. Not a single man gets up.

The battle lasted very late last night.

The officers went up on the plateau of Huiry to follow the artillery duel that was in progress, and they found it amazing.

On one of my trips to-day I had the good luck to meet one of the few civilians. It is a man who has come from Chelles on foot. He has heard that Meaux, CrÉcy, Coulommiers and all the neighboring villages have been put to fire and sword. He wanted to see his people who live in this region. He had to swim across the Marne, and was obliged to go over and back several times in order to bring his clothing.

He is to return to Paris by the same route. I gave him several letters which he was kind enough to take charge of. They are not of great importance—mostly messages to my friends from whom I feel so cut off at this moment, but I want very much to set my brother's mind at rest as to the fate of his children. The thought of his anxiety makes me unhappy.