had two Germans. One of them--the barber--got out quick. The
other did not. But he was quietly informed by some of his
neighbors--with pistols in their hands--that his room was better than
his company.

The barber occupied a shop in the one principal street in the village,
which is, by the way, a comparatively rich place. He had a front shop,
which was a cafe, with a well-fitted-up bar. The back, with a
well-dressed window on the street, full of toilette articles, was the
barber and hairdressing-room, very neatly arranged, with modern set
bowls and mirrors, cabinets full of towels, well-filled shelves of all
the things that make such a place profitable. You should see it now.
Its broken windows and doors stand open to the weather. The entire
interior has been "efficiently" wrecked. It is as systematic a work of
destruction as I have ever seen. Not a thing was stolen, but not an
article was spared. All the bottles full of things to drink and all the
glasses to drink out of are smashed, so are counters, tables, chairs,
and shelving. In the barber shop there is a litter of broken porcelain,
broken combs, and smashed-up chairs and boxes among a wreck of hair
dyes, perfumes, brillantine, and torn towels, and an odor of aperitifs
and cologne over it all.

Every one pretends not to know when it happened. They say, "It was
found like that one morning." Every one goes to look at it--no one
enters, no one touches anything. They simply say with a smile of scorn,
"Good--and so well done."

There are so many things that I wish you could see. They would give you
such a new point of view regarding this race--traditionally so gay, so
indifferent to many things that you consider moral, so fond of their
individual comfort and personal pleasure, and often so rebellious to
discipline. You would be surprised--surprised at their unity, surprised
at their seriousness, and often touched by their philosophical
acceptance of it all.

Amelie has a stepson and daughter. The boy--named Marius--like his
father plays the violin. Like many humble musicians his music is his
life and he adds handsomely to his salary as a clerk by playing at
dances and little concerts, and by giving lessons in the evening. Like
his father he is very timid. But he accepted the war without a word,
though nothing is more foreign to his nature. It brought it home to
me--this rising up of a Nation in self-defense. It is not the marching
into battle of