Still it rose, and we watched it sail off toward the hills at the southeast.

“Hit, but not hurt,” sighed the officer, dropping down on the grass again, with a sigh.  “It is hard to bring them down at that height with rifles, but it can be done.”

“Perhaps the English battery will get it,” said I; “it is going right toward it.”

“If there is an English battery up there,” replied he, “that is probably what he is looking for.  It is hardly likely to unmask for a Taube.  I am sorry we missed it.  You have seen something of the war.  It is a pity you should not have seen it come down.  It is a beautiful sight.”

I thought to myself that I preferred it should not come down in my garden.  But I had no relish for being laughed at again, so I did not say it.

Soon after they all went to bed,—­very early,—­and silence fell on the hilltop.  I took a look round before I went to bed.  I had not seen Amelie since the regiment arrived.  But she, who had done everything to spare me inconvenience, had fourteen officers quartered in her place, and goodness knows how many horses, so she had little time to do for me.

The hillside was a picture I shall never forget.  Everywhere men were sleeping in the open—­their guns beside them.  Fires, over which they had cooked, were smouldering; pickets everywhere.  The moon shed a pale light and made long shadows.  It was really very beautiful if one could have forgotten that to-morrow many of these men would be sleeping for good—­“Life’s fitful dream” over.

XVI

September 8, 1914.

This morning everything and everybody was astir early.  It was another gloriously beautiful day.  The birds were singing as if to split their throats.  There was a smell of coffee all over the place.  Men were hurrying up and down the hill, to and fro from the wash-house, bathing, washing out their shirts and stockings and hanging them on the bushes, rubbing down horses and douching them, cleaning saddles and accouterments.  There is a lot of work to be done by an army besides fighting.  It was all like a play, and every one was so cheerful.

The chef-major did not come down until his orderly called him, and when he did he looked as rosy and cheerful as a child, and announced that he had slept like one.  Soon after he crossed the road for his coffee I heard the officers laughing and chatting as if it were a week-end house party.

When Amelie came to get my breakfast she looked a wreck—­I saw one of her famous bilious attacks coming.

It was a little after eleven, while the chef-major was upstairs writing, that his orderly came with a paper and carried it up to him.  He came down at once, made me one of his pretty bows at the door of the library, and holding out a scrap of paper said:—­

“Well, madame, we are going to leave you.  We advance at two.”