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morning, and who cursed the Sister when she
told him that the one he had was taken from
Monsieur le Curé’s own bed—he won’t die
either! Do you know that he ordered the
German soldier next to him to give him his
greatcoat and actually crawled out of his bed
and took it from him! Believe my word,
they won’t die, the Boches! It is only our
soldiers who are dying one after another;
and the Boches will all get well and come back
and murder our wives and children!”
“Shame, Anatole,” said Josephine;
“Boche or no Boche, they are all the same
to me, these poor dying men. None of
them will ever harm you or anybody else,
and you need have no fear that even a
Boche would like to eat you,” she added
hotly, as she went back into the church.
“Be quiet, Anatole,” said the Mayor
severely, “I have told you over and over
again to leave those poor wretches alone;
they could not help being born Boches.
Anatole is our village barber,” said the
Mayor turning to the new-comer; “he is
not as hard-hearted as he tries to make out.
He has been most useful to us during these
terrible days. He is as strong as a horse
though he does not look it, and he has carried
down more wounded than any of us.”
“And if you had not ordered me to carry
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