I got up at once.  It was the morning of Friday, the 4th of September.  I dressed hurriedly, ran down to put the kettle on, and start the coffee, and by five o’clock I had a table spread in the road, outside the gate, with hot coffee and milk and bread and jam.  I had my lesson, so I called the corporal and explained that his men were to come in relays, and when the coffee-pot was empty there was more in the house; and I left them to serve themselves, while I finished dressing.  I knew that the officers were likely to come over, and one idea was fixed in my mind:  I must not look demoralized.  So I put on a clean white frock, white shoes and stockings, a big black bow in my hair, and I felt equal to anything—­in spite of the fact that before I dressed I heard far off a booming-could it be cannon ?—­and more than once a nearer explosion,—­more bridges down, more English across.

It was not much after nine when two English officers strolled down the road—­Captain Edwards and Major Ellison, of the Bedfordshire Light Infantry.  They came into the garden, and the scene with Captain Simpson of the day before was practically repeated.  They examined the plain, located the towns, looked long at it with their glasses; and that being over I put the usual question, “Can I do anything for you?” and got the usual answer, “Eggs.”

I asked how many officers there were in the mess, and he replied “Five”; so I promised to forage, and away they went.

As soon as they were out of sight the picket set up a howl for baths.  These Bedfordshire boys were not hungry, but they had retreated from their last battle leaving their kits in the trenches, and were without soap or towels, or combs or razors.  But that was easily remedied.  They washed up in relays in the court at Amelie’s—­it was a little more retired.  As Amelie had put all her towels, etc., down underground, I ran back and forward between my house and hers for all sorts of things, and, as they slopped until the road ran tiny rivulets, I had to change shoes and stockings twice.  I was not conscious till afterward how funny it all was.  I must have been a good deal like an excited duck, and Amelie like a hen with a duckling.  When she was not twitching my sash straight, she was running about after me with dry shoes and stockings, and a chair, for fear “madame was getting too tired”; and when she was not doing that she was clapping my big garden hat on my head, for fear “madame would get a sunstroke.”  The joke was that I did not know it was hot.  I did not even know it was funny until afterward, when the whole scene seemed to have been by a sort of dual process photographed unconsciously on my memory.