Indeed, Gracieuse and Percinet, the collies we dote on, live next door, and have sharp sets of teeth which they show to all intruders.
"Grandmamma," said Antoinette the next morning, "last night, about twelve...."
"The proper time for crimes."
"I was startled out of my sleep."
"You were dreaming of the Germans."
"No, no. Some one was in the attic above my room."
"There you are! A spy! Have you run him in?"
"Without joking, Grandmamma. I heard steps quite clearly."
"Do you know that deserters are said to have escaped near Morny?"
In process of time the deserters were proved to be dormice, but we thought the mistake amusing, and ever after called the attic "the deserter's attic." Life went on. Dull, spiritless, insignificant in Morny; immense, tremendous, and tragical beyond there in the North and the East. We longed for the postman the whole day long. He had few letters for us, but he still brought papers. We read them carefully, and we were none the wiser. We ought to have read between the lines, but we could not. I assure you that, during the end of August, we were deaf and blind. Our reason refused to believe the testimony of our senses. We saw thousands and thousands of people whom Belgium and the North had cast away, the Belgian army driven back from Flanders, the staff officers settle in Laon, and we never came to the right conclusion.