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"It is you?" I asked.
"Yes, in 1913, before the war. I have changed since then--n'est-ce
pas, Monsieur?"
"There is a change," I said. I tried not to express my thought of how
much change.
"You have suffered in the war--more than most people?"
"Ah, I have suffered!"
She told me her story, and word for word, if I could have written it
down then, it would have read like a little novel by Guy de
Maupassant. She was the daughter of people in Lille, well-to-do
merchants, and before the war married a young man of the same town,
the son of other manufacturers. They had two children and were very
happy. Then the war came. The enemy drove down through Belgium, and
one day drew near and threatened Lille. The parents of the young
couple said: "We will stay. We are too old to leave our home, and it
is better to keep watch over the factory. You must go, with the little
ones, and there is no time to lose."
There was no time to lose. The trains were crowded with fugitives and
soldiers--mostly soldiers.


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