After luncheon the old people were taking their walk in the park when they heard voices not far away. Behind the tomb of Coquelin, to their great amazement, they saw the Bavarians sitting on the grass eating their luncheon. Suddenly two shots interrupted this rustic meal, a signal for the rally, doubtless, and the men mounted their horses and galloped off up the hill. XIII 9 September, 1914. THIS morning at nine, armed boats went down the canal towards Trilport. A French cavalry division on the way to Paris gave us news to-day of victory. The Germans have been pushed back forty-five miles! Miss Aldrich came hurrying down the hill at the very moment I was starting to run up. With a single impulse, each rushes to share her joy with the other. We feel as if we had just awakened from a dream. It seems to me these three days have decided the fate of France. All the glory of it belongs to those heroes whose dead bodies strew the plain. Behind this rampart we are safe. XIV 14 September, 1914. AT the top of the hill, in the same spot where we watched with aching hearts the passing of the refugees, we are now watching for the inhabitants of the countryside, who are beginning to come back. It is a soft, mellow autumn day. Everything is wrapped in a delicate veil of mist, and the sun, sifting through gently, touches the houses with a pale golden light. Ah, but what a good and beautiful day! They are coming home! Yes, there they come, slowly, in little groups. [Illustration: On the banks of the Marne] Several black specks at the foot of the hill! Impatiently we wait until they are near enough for us to recognize them. How different is the look in their faces, and how different their whole bearing from that of the departure! We are happy to see once more even those who were most indifferent to us. They are like members of our own family returning from a long journey. Ah! How glad they are to catch sight of the roofs of their houses down below them in the valley! In a few words they tell us what they have suffered. They have experienced in their wanderings all the anguish of the homeless. How dark the future looked to them, whereas now, their houses, safe from harm, full of sweet welcome, open wide their doors to receive them. Their home--symbol of the native land--is still there. How could they have gone away from it? Could anything be more beautiful to their eyes than their humble dwelling--their little white house? How clearly they understand now that love of one small corner of the earth, that love of home, which years of peaceful happiness had perhaps made dim. Beloved spot where one has lived and loved and suffered, we have all needed this hard trial to show us how we cherish you. So they are coming home. [Illustration: The home of Mlle. Henriette Cuvru-Magot, with the gate open, showing part of the front garden]