“Well, if he gets back to-night and they leave him a single machine, I’ll let you know, Madame.”

In the afternoon the drum beat anew and I learned that all the bakers in the village (there were three of them) having been called to the front, we were likely to be without the staff of life.  In the presence, therefore, of the impending calamity, the village government had decided to take over the bakery—­it had found an old man and a very young apprentice who would do the work, but each citizen was requested to declare the number of persons composing his household and in order to economize flour, so much bread would be allowed per bead and each family must come and fetch his supply at the town hall between eleven and twelve o’clock!

Needless to say, it must be paid for in cash, though the Board reserved the right to look after the village poor.  In like manner, all the salt had been reserved for the army, and we were to be rationed to seventy-five grammes a week per person!  It all sounded rather terrible, but when put into practice it was proved that the rations were very generous and no one had reason to complain.

By four o’clock the next morning there was a perpetual stream of farm carts down the road leading towards Chateau Thierry.  I dressed and went to the stables where George and Leon were already harnessing.  More than once I had a tight feeling in my throat as I patted the glossy backs of dear old Cesar and my lovely span.

The girls had decorated the carts with huge bunches of poppies, daisies and corn-flowers and in addition to these tri-color bouquets, a little branch of laurel was stuck up over each horse’s bridle.  There was a generous distribution of sugar, and each horse was kissed on the tip of his nose, and then the boys joined the procession on the highroad.

I watched them out of sight.  “Shall we ever get through saying ‘good-bye’?  When will these departures cease?” thought I, as I turned from the gate.  But I was given no time to muse, for a most amazing clamor arose from a gateway a little higher up the road, and glancing in that direction, I saw old father Poupard leading his horse and cart into the open.  He was followed by his wife and daughter-in-law, two brawny peasant women, who were loudly lamenting the departure of their steed!

“No, no!” literally howled mother Poupard.

“This is the last straw!  Both sons gone, and now our horse!  Who’s going to bring in our crop?  The Lord is unjust.”

“And brother’s babies—­poor motherless things—­in an orphan asylum at Epernay!  How can we get to them now?  Oh, no!  Oh, no—­” wailed Julia.

“Poupard!” exclaimed his wife, drying her tears on the corner of her apron and fixing her sharp blue eyes on her husband, “Poupard, no loitering!  If they pay you for your horse, remember, no foolishness.  You bustle back here with the money—­we need you to help in the vineyard.”