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he said, turning to his colleague, “to get
assistance for the wounded, and to tell them
of our terrible plight. We are almost without
food, all eatables were requisitioned for the
retreating troops, and every cart and horse
was taken from us for the evacuation of the
wounded. Thousands of them passed through
our village. Those you saw in there had been
left as dead. Once the Germans had succeeded
in blowing up the bridge there would besides
have been no possibility of getting them away.
There were many more here three days ago,
and in a day or two there will be none left.
They are dying one after another and I can
do nothing for them!”
A handsome middle-aged woman with a
small black shawl over her shoulders stood
at the door.
“There is not a drop more milk in the
whole village,” said she despairingly,
pointing to the pitcher she was holding in her hand.
“Be sure at least to give what there is to
our men and not to that young Boche,” said
Anatole fiercely. “The Boches feed on blood
and not on milk, and, believe me, he won’t
die, your young Boche, no more than will
the big Uhlan next to him, who looks at one
as if he wanted to eat one alive! And that
brute of an officer with his Iron Cross, who
has been yelling for another blanket the whole
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