The officers came to the inn yesterday and ordered that the soldiers should not be served with cognac. It seems the spirit makes them mad.
There is plenty of cognac in the bar. They have only got to break in and help themselves. I don’t propose to do a Joan-of-Arc turn and drive them away from the enticing bottles.
But the Brandenburgers order them off.
“We have tried ourselves. There is no cognac in the inn,” they say. “Only a Fräulein who is very tired.”
The soldiers ride grumbling away. Kind Brandenburgers!
Hardly has the noise of the horses’ hoofs died down than the ear is assailed by new and more terrifying sounds. At first it is a mere rumbling noise as of great carts creaking heavily along the high road from Vielsalm. Nearer it comes. It might be a procession of traction engines. Now it is like one continuous clap of thunder. As it rounds the bend from Malempré the noise is positively deafening.
I put my head out of the window. I can see nothing but vast grey, indeterminate forms, heralded by what I imagine are rows of innumerable horses. If only the darkness would lift and one could see a little. These awful cargoes turn off by the Gendarmerie in the direction of Namur. The noise is like hell let loose. It does not require much imagination to picture them as great siege guns being slipped through to Namur under cover of the night....
THE PLOT THICKENS
At four o’clock in the morning I hear the familiar cry of “Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle.” I am ready dressed in my Connemara tweed suit. I rush out. The Job-Lepouses are hanging out of a back bedroom window. They are bordering on frenzy at the sight of some Hussars endeavouring to seize their horse and cart.
They implore me to stop the Germans committing such a theft. How can I prevent these armed men from stealing the entire village if they wish? Rather a thankless task from my point of view. However, I go into the yard and translate the wishes of the Job-Lepouse family into very careful German, adding a bitter comment of my own.