On the previous night Mme. Duterque had already made preparations in case the town should be bombarded.  Her house, like most of the old houses in Arras, had a great cellar, with a vaulted roof, almost as strong as a castle dungeon.  She had stocked it with a supply of sardines and bread and other provisions, and as soon as she had her little daughter safe indoors again she took her children and the nurse down to this subterranean hiding-place, where there was greater safety.  The cave, as she called it, was dimly lighted with a paraffin lamp, and was very damp and chilly, but it was good to be there in this hiding-place, for at regular intervals she could hear the terrible buzzing noises of a shell, like some gigantic hornet, followed by its exploding boom; and then, more awful still, the crash of a neighbouring house falling into ruins.

“Strange to say,” said Mme. Duterque, “after my first shock I had no sense of fear, and listened only with an intense interest to the noise of these shells, estimating their distance by their sound.  I could tell quite easily when they were close overhead, and when they fell in another part of the town, and it seemed to me that I could almost tell which of my friends’ houses had been hit.  My children, too, were strangely fearless.  They seemed to think it an exciting adventure to be here in the great cellar, making picnic meals by the light of a dim lamp.  My little boy amused himself by playing canes (hop-scotch), and my daughter was very cheerful.  Still, after a little while we suffered.  I had forgotten to bring down water or wine, and we also craved for something more comforting than cold sardines.  In spite of the noise of houses falling into ruins—­and at any moment mine might fall above my head—­I went upstairs and began to cook some macaroni.  I had to retreat in a hurry, as a shell burst quite close to my house, and for a moment I thought that I should be buried under my own roof.  But I went up again in one of the intervals of silence, found the macaroni cooked to a turn and even ventured to peep out of doors.  There I saw a dreadful sight.  The whole of the Grande Place was littered with broken roofs and shattered walls, and several of the houses were burning furiously.  From other parts of the town there came up great volumes of smoke and the red glare of flames.”

For three days Mme. Duterque kept to her cellar.  Unknown to herself, her husband, who had come from Boulogne to rescue her, was watching the battle from one of the heights outside the town, which he was forbidden to enter by the soldiers.  On a Thursday morning she resolved to leave the shelter of her underground vault.  News had been brought to her by a daring neighbour that the Germans had worked round by the railway station and might enter the town.

“I had no fear of German shells,” she said, “but I had a great fear of German officers and soldiers.  Imagine my fate if I had been caught by them, with my little daughter.  For the first time I was filled with a horrible fear, and I decided to fly from Arras at all costs.”