September 5, and one of the loveliest days I
ever saw. The air was clear. The sun was shining.

The birds were singing. But otherwise it was very still. I walked out
on the lawn. Little lines of white smoke were rising from a few
chimneys at Joncheroy and Voisins. The towns on the plain, from
Monthyon and Penchard on the horizon to Mareuil in the valley, stood out
clear and distinct. But after three days of activity, three days with
the soldiers about, it seemed, for the first time since I came here,
lonely; and for the first time I realized that I was actually cut off
from the outside world. All the bridges in front of me were gone, and
the big bridge behind me. No communication possibly with the north, and
none with the south except by road over the hill to Lagny. Esbly
evacuated, Couilly evacuated, Quincy evacuated. All the shops closed.
No government, no post-office, and absolutely no knowledge of what had
happened since Wednesday. I had a horrible sense of isolation.

Luckily for me, part of the morning was killed by what might be called
an incident or a disaster or a farce--just as you look at it. First of
all, right after breakfast I had the proof that I was right about the
Germans. Evidently well informed of the movements of the English, they
rode boldly into the open. Luckily they seemed disinclined to do any
mischief. Perhaps the place looked too humble to be bothered with.
They simply asked--one of them spoke French, and perhaps they all
did--where they were, and were told, "Huiry, commune of Quincy." They
looked it up on their maps, nodded, and asked if the bridges on the
Marne had been destroyed, to which I replied that I did not know,--I had
not been down to the river. Half a truth and half a lie, but goodness
knows that it was hard enough to have to be polite. They thanked me
civilly enough and rode down the hill, as they could not pass the
barricade unless they had wished to give an exhibition of "high school."
Wherever they had been they had not suffered. Their horses were fine
animals, and both horses and men were well groomed and in prime
condition.

The other event was distressing, but about that I held my tongue.

Just after the Germans were here, I went down the road to call on my new
French friends at the foot of the hill, to hear how they had passed the
night, and incidentally to discover if there were any soldiers about.
Just in the front of their house I found an English b