In the little village where he came from, the Germans on entering had treated the inhabitants most brutally.  He was with his old father and mother and young brother of eight—­(It was August 1914 and his class had not yet been called up).  Some Germans marched into the little cottage and shaking the old woman roughly by the arm demanded something to drink.  His mother was very deaf and slow in her movements and took some time to understand.  “Ha,” cried one brute, “we will teach you to walk more quickly,” and without more ado he ran his sword through her poor old body.  The old man sprang forward, too late to save her, and met with the same fate.  The little brother had been hastily hidden in an empty cistern as they came in.  “Thus, Mademoiselle,” the boy ended, “I have seen killed before my eyes my own father and mother; my little brother for all I know is also dead.  I have yet to find out.  I myself was taken prisoner, but luckily three days later managed to escape and join our army; do you therefore blame me, Miske, if I wish to kill as many of the swine as possible?” He sank back literally purple in the face with rage, and a murmur of sympathy went round the Ward.  His wound was not a serious one, for which I was thankful, or he might have done some harm.  One evening I was wandering through the “Place d’Armes” when some violins in a music shop caught my eye.  I went in and thus became acquainted with the family Tetar, consisting of an old father and his two daughters.  They were exceedingly friendly and allowed me to try all the violins they had.  At last I chose a little “Mirecourt” with a very nice tone, which I hired and subsequently bought.

In time Monsieur Tetar became very talkative, and even offered to play accompaniments for me.  He had an organ in a large room above the shop cram full of old instruments, but in the end he seemed to think it might show a want of respect to Madame his late wife (now dead two years), so the accompanying never came off.  For the same reason his daughter, who he said “in the times” had played the violin well, had never touched her instrument since the funeral.

* * * * *

There was one special song we heard very often rising up from the Cafe Chantant, in the room at the dug-out.  When I went round there to have supper with them we listened to it entranced.  It was a priceless tune, very catching and with lots of go; I can hear it now.  I was determined to try and get a copy, and went to see Monsieur Tetar about it one day.  I told him we did not know the name, but this was the tune and hummed it accordingly.  A French Officer looking over some music in a corner became convulsed and hurriedly ducked his head into the pages, and I began to wonder if it was quite the thing to ask for.

Monsieur Tetar appeared to be somewhat scandalized, and exclaimed, “I know it, Mademoiselle, that song calls itself Marie-Margot la Cantiniere, but it is, let me assure you, of a certainty not for the young girls!” No persuasion on my part could produce it, so our acquaintance with the fair Marie-Margot went no further than the tune.