As refugees they will earn the sympathy of all. But charity, compensation, re-instatement, will never make them amends for the loss of lands and relatives and the dreadful agony of mind they have endured.
The lady of the rosier has fled. The watering-can is thrown carelessly in a corner and the rosier is already beginning to fade. The curtains are drawn and the doors locked at the red house opposite. The old maids of Manhay are suspected of planning a similar flight or their pig is very out-of-hand. He has been caught executing weird manœuvres in the street village, including the charging of ten tired Uhlans who coldly rebuffed him at the point of the lance.
Stragglers have come in from the frontier on their way from here to nowhere. They have the weary, listless air of people who have lost all interest in their lives. They carry their possessions in a small brown parcel and have the inevitable children dragging behind them. One can only offer them food and drink (we have not too much to spare) and speed them on their way.
Refugeeing seems in the air. I am amazed to find the house of Job-Lepouse, at least the feminine portion, is now thinking of retreat. I come upon Madame Job, the two little girls and Messieurs Alfred and Floribert, all busy packing things in the backyard. A huge malle-poste with two horses is drawn up near the stables, a large, wide-mouthed washing-basket on the roof, lashed to the sides by stout cords, is being filled with an extraordinary medley of food, clothes, linen, books and articles of all kinds.
Madame Job, ever tearful, informs me that they are leaving for a retired little farm in the country, near Esneux, where they will be away from this dreadful high road and comparatively safe.
“You will come too, Mademoiselle?” she implores.
I demur. Any change will only mean out of the frying-pan into the fire. We may be slaughtered en route or arrested as spies. While I hesitate Madame la Précepteur rushes over attired as for a journey, carrying the little Germaine in cloak and bonnet. She is followed by Victor, dressed in sailor clothes. Their belongings are tied up in a large bag.
“The inn will have to be kept open or it will be sacked,” I say. “I think I will stay here, Madame.”
Mdlle Irma links her arm in mine and voices her determination to stay too.
The others are just about to take their seats in the great rambling vehicle when M. le Précepteur comes running across the road, white faced and agitated.