“If it folded, yes, and we would thank you. Colombe, she sleeps now on the ground.”
—C’était là, notre maison.
[Our house used to be there!]
The bed being promised, I inquired as to fodder. Could I see if it were suitable to feed our cows? Assuredly; and the brown sides of the stack were rudely pulled apart that I might see and smell the sweet hay within. How much would it weigh and how much would it cost? A bargain was finally concluded for eight hundred francs.
This was the first of many visits to the hut beside the road. Going or coming, sharp eyes spied me, and friendly voices called me in. Once it was for a bumper of sparkling cider.
“I make it myself, from the apples. But I have to take them to Mme. Marié’s in Hombleux because my press the Germans broke. Ah, the Germans!” he continued. “It is only a month and a half since I returned, eh!”
“Were you then taken to Germany?”