One gave an energetic hunch to the knapsack. One recognized every tree, every turn of the road. We were getting nearer. One more pause and we would be there. We must still climb a bluff, steep as a ladder, leading to the plateau. We climbed—for everything can be overcome.
At last we arrived. The village awaited us with open arms. We entered, and were at home.
The shed was hospitable as ever. We felt of the straw, and laid aside our accoutrement. The arms and leather trappings made a little pile at the head of each man’s place. Blankets came out of the knapsacks. How delicious to stretch at full length on the straw! A few moments more and a hundred sonorous snores, deep and diversified, blended their antiphones under the worm-eaten roof.
Life entered the village with the troops. From early morning the streets swarmed. Wagons lined up under the trees and unpacked their loads. Horses chewed their hay while switching their tails contentedly, or enjoyed long drinks at the trough. The blacksmith hammered the glowing horseshoes in the midst of a smoky haze. The buffets were full. The cold-meat shop was invaded. The grocer was besieged until he emptied his boxes. It was a rush, a battle, an assault.
“Some sausage!”
“Some thread!”
“Some soap!”
“How much for this cheese?”
“I’ll take that box!”
The coins jingled. Happy laughter responded to happy smiles. Wine flowed. At the river laundry the surface of the stream was billowy white with the suds from well-washed clothing. With a drum for a chair, the barber was busy with his razor. At another place shower-baths completed the work of renovation. New faces emerged, fresh-skinned and wide-eyed. The exuberant joy of youth burst forth into gay cries and bodily freedom. Visits were exchanged. The smoking kitchens were sending out delicious odors. The non-coms were kept busy hunting for their men who had disappeared, flown away.