On the banks of the Marne
It is a soft, mellow autumn day. Everything is wrapped in a delicate veil of mist, and the sun, sifting through gently, touches the houses with a pale golden light.
Ah, but what a good and beautiful day! They are coming home!
Yes, there they come, slowly, in little groups.
Several black specks at the foot of the hill! Impatiently we wait until they are near enough for us to recognize them. How different is the look in their faces, and how different their whole bearing from that of the departure!
We are happy to see once more even those who were most indifferent to us. They are like members of our own family returning from a long journey.
Ah! How glad they are to catch sight of the roofs of their houses down below them in the valley!
In a few words they tell us what they have suffered. They have experienced in their wanderings all the anguish of the homeless. How dark the future looked to them, whereas now, their houses, safe from harm, full of sweet welcome, open wide their doors to receive them.
