ng--a bubble of
vapor accompanied by a deafening report. Something was hurtling through
the air with a strident curve. Then a roof in the village opened like
a crater, vomiting forth flying wood, fragments of plaster and broken
furniture. All the interior of the house seemed to be escaping in a
stream of smoke, dirt and splinters.

The invaders were bombarding Villeblanche before attempting attack, as
though fearing to encounter persistent resistance in its streets. More
projectiles fell. Some passed over the houses, exploding between
the hamlet and the castle. The towers of the Desnoyers property
were beginning to attract the aim of the artillerymen. The owner
was therefore about to abandon his dangerous observatory when he saw
something white like a tablecloth or sheet floating from the church
tower. His neighbors had hoisted this signal of peace in order to avoid
bombardment. A few more missiles fell and then there was silence.

When Don Marcelo reached his park he found the Warden burying at the
foot of a tree the sporting rifles still remaining in his castle. Then
he went toward the great iron gates. The enemies were going to come,
and he had to receive them. While uneasily awaiting their arrival his
compunctions again tormented him. What was he doing there? Why had he
remained? . . . But his obstinate temperament immediately put aside
the promptings of fear. He was there because he had to guard his own.
Besides, it was too late now to think about such things.

Suddenly the morning stillness was broken by a sound like the deafening
tearing of strong cloth. "Shots, Master," said the Warden. "Firing! It
must be in the square."

A few minutes after they saw running toward them a woman from the
village, an old soul, dried up and darkened by age, who was panting
from her great exertion, and looking wildly around her. She was fleeing
blindly, trying to escape from danger and shut out horrible visions.
Desnoyers and the Keeper's family listened to her explanations
interrupted with hiccoughs of terror.

The Germans were in Villeblanche. They had entered first in an
automobile driven at full speed from one end of the village to the
other. Its mitrailleuse was firing at random against closed houses and
open doors, knocking down all the people in sight. The old woman flung
up her arms with a gesture of terror. . . . Dead . . . many dead . . .
wounded . . . blood! Then other iron-plated vehicles had stopped in
the square