uard by mistake and were relieved when it came up.

We made prisoner of a German who had overslept himself because he had
had a bath.

I rushed back with Grimers on my carrier to fetch another bicycle. On my
return my engine suddenly produced an unearthly metallic noise. It was
only an aeroplane coming down just over my head.

In the late afternoon we marched into Coulommiers. The people crowded
into the streets and cheered us. The girls, with tears in their eyes,
handed us flowers.

Three of us went to the Mairie. The Maire, a courtly little fellow in
top-hat and frock-coat, welcomed us in charming terms. Two fat old women
rushed up to us and besought us to allow them to do something for us. We
set one to make us tea, and the other to bring us hot water and soap.

A small girl of about eight brought me her kitten and wanted to give it
me. I explained to her that it would not be very comfortable tied with
pink ribbons to my carrier. She gravely assented, sat on my knee, told
me I was very dirty, and commanded me to kill heaps and heaps of
Germans. She didn't like them; they had beards!

You know those fierce middle-aged Frenchwomen of the _bourgeois_ class,
hard as Scotsmen, close as Jews, and with feelings about as fine as
those of a motor-bus. She was one of them, and she was the foremost of a
largish crowd that collected round me. With her was a pretty girl of
about twenty-two.

The mother began with a rhetorical outburst against all Germans,
anathematising in particular those who had spent the last fortnight in
Coulommiers, in which town her uncle had set up his business, which,
though it had proved successful, as they all knew, &c., &c. The crowd
murmured that they did all know. Then the old harridan chanted the
wrongs which the Germans had wrought until, when she had worked the
crowd and herself up to a heat of furious excitement, she lowered her
voice, suddenly lowered her tone. In a grating whisper she narrated, in
more detail than I cared to hear, the full story of how her daughter--to
whom she pointed--had been shamefully treated by the Germans. The crowd
growled. The daughter was, I think, more pleased at being the object of
my sympathy and the centre of the crowd's interest than agonised at the
remembrance of her misfortune.

Some of the company coming up saved me from the recital of further
outrages. The hag told them of a house where the Germans had left a
rifle or two and some of our messages whi