We had already broken open the door of a cupboard filled with linen, and were turning over everything with our bayonets, when an old woman came out from behind a table, which hid the passage to the cellar. She sobbed and exclaimed:
"My God, my God! have mercy upon us."
The house had been pillaged early in the morning; they had taken away the horses, the master had disappeared and the servants had fled.
In spite of our fury the sight of the poor old woman made us ashamed of ourselves, and I said to her:
"Do not be afraid, we are not monsters, only give us some bread, we are starving."
She was sitting on an old chair with her withered hands crossed over her knee, and she said:
"I no longer have any, they have taken all. My God! all! all!"
Her gray hair was hanging down over her face, and I felt like weeping for her and for ourselves. "Well!" I said, "we must look for ourselves, Buche." We went into all the rooms and the stables, there was nothing to be seen, everything had been stolen and broken.
I was going out, when in the shadow behind the old door, I saw something whitish against the wall. I stopped, and stretched out my hand. It was a linen bag with a strap, I took it down, trembling in my hurry. Buche looked at me—the bag was heavy—I opened it, there were two great black radishes, half of a small loaf of bread, dry and hard as stone, a large pair of shears for trimming hedges, and quite in the bottom some onions and some gray salt in a paper.
On seeing these we made an exclamation of joy, but the fear of seeing the others come in, made us run out in the rear, far into the rye-field, skulking and hiding like thieves.