It was a perfect day, and the battlefield was simply beautiful, with the grain well up, and people moving across it in all directions.  These were mostly people walking out from Meaux, and soldiers from the big hospital there making a pilgrimage to the graves of their comrades.  What made the scene particularly touching was the number of children, and the nurses pushing babies in their carriages.  It seemed to me such a pretty idea to think of little children roaming about this battlefield as if it were a garden.  I could not help wishing the nation was rich enough to make this place a public park.

In spite of only having a horse we made the trip easily, and got back here by dinner-time.

Two days later we had an exciting five minutes.

It was breakfast time.  The doctor and I were taking our coffee out-of-doors, on the north side of the house, in the, shade of the ivy-clad wall of the old grange.  There the solitude is perfect.  No one could see us there.  We could only see the roofs of the few houses at Joncheroy, and beyond them the wide amphitheatre-like panorama, with the square towers of the cathedral of Meaux at the east and Esbly at the west, and Mareuil-les-Meaux nestled on the river in the foreground.

You see I am looking at my panorama again.  One can get used to anything, I find.

It was about nine o’clock.

Suddenly there was a terrible explosion, which brought both of us to our feet, for it shook the very ground beneath us.  We looked in the direction from which it seemed to come—­Meaux—­and we saw a column of smoke rising in the vicinity of Mareuil—­only two miles away.  Before we had time to say a word we saw a second puff, and then came a second explosion, then a third and a fourth.  I was just rooted to my spot, until Amelie dashed out of the kitchen, and then we all ran to the hedge,—­it was only a hundred feet or so nearer the smoke, and we could see women running in the fields,—­that was all.

But Amelie could not remain long in ignorance like that.  There was a staff officer cantoned at Voisins and he had telephonic communication with Meaux, so down the hill she went in search of news, and fifteen minutes later we knew that a number of Taubes had tried to reach Paris in the night, that there had been a battle in the air at Crepy-les-Valois, and one of these machines had dropped four bombs, evidently meant for Meaux, near Mareuil, where they had fallen in the fields and harmed no one.

We never got any explanation of how it happened that a Taube should be flying over us at that hour, in broad daylight, or what became of it afterward.  Probably someone knows.  If someone does, he is evidently not telling us.

Amelie’s remark, as she returned to her kitchen, was:  “Well, it was nearer than the battle.  Perhaps next time—­” She shrugged her shoulders, and we all laughed, and life went on as usual.  Well, I’ve heard the whir-r of a German bomb, even if I did not see the machine that threw it.