FICTIONv.FACT
Wehave had no Prussians in the village for quite four-and-twenty hours, so the peasants are becoming almost their normal selves. We walk freely about the street and dare to laugh. Laughter is a rare sound in Manhay these days. We even affect to despise the Germans for not coming on in greater numbers.
“Nous avons vu les échantillons, mais où sont les marchandises?” (We have seen the samples, but where are the goods?) asks one village wit.
M. Floribert puts his tongue in his cheek and says the Walloon equivalent of “let ’em all come.”
René and Victor are showing their contempt for the foe by lassoing imaginary Prussians up and down the street, René as usual acting the unfortunate Teuton who is lassoed, hanged, decapitated, in whirlwind fashion, turn by turn.
A group of women sit out under the shady trees in the orchard and talk together as they mend their socks. Some of the older men stroll over to us and spin yarns. An Ardennois legend is spokenof. Anyone could weave a legend round a spider’s web in the Ardennes. But legend-making is really rather out of fashion. Instead we have become military experts in minutiæ. We splay our fingers convincingly upon our tattered maps and say here ... and here ... are the English, there ... there ... and there are the French. They will advance so, and the Germans will retreat so ... until our audience fades away from sheer boredom and we are left to strategise alone.
The jade Rumour mocks our faith at every turn. We begin by swallowing each new idea with delicious open-mouthed credulity. The Germans have already conquered Antwerp ... England ... the world. Our cruisers have been sunken masse. All the French generals have been shot. Someone has launched a projectile from an aeroplane and destroyed the entire Teuton army at one fell stroke. We sit out boldly on the hotelterrasseafter this last glorious item of news and sip our coffee with brave show. Only the entry of some noisy Uhlans suffices to scatter us and rumour at the same time....
“Do be quiet!” says M. Job testily later in the day. He is worried by his children’s nervous chatter as they wander restlessly about the dimlylighted rooms. He has been working in the nursery garden all through the hot hours and is a little annoyed not to find his supper ready.
Mdlle. Rosa slips a soft white hand into her mother’s wrinkled one and rubs her slender nose affectionately against the elder woman’s cheek. Even in war-time she does not forget the teaching of the Good Sisters of the Orphelinat de St. Joseph. She repeats in a dreamy childish voice: “Te souviens, Maman. Qui que le bon Dieu garde, eh bien il le garde ... bien” (Remember, Mamma, he whom God watches over He guards well). So we go to bed consoled.