The country over which the troops advanced was a rolling desert, blasted, twisted, swept clear of all vegetation. What the Germans could not destroy they had carried away with them. There remained only frazzled stumps of trees, dead bodies and ruined engines of war. Paul Guitry and the Idiot came at last to the summit of a little hill. Beyond and below at the end of a long sweep of tortured and ruined fields could be seen picturesquely grouped a few walls of houses and one bold arch of an ancient bridge. The Idiot blinked stupidly. Then he laughed a short, ugly laugh. "I had counted on seeing the church steeple. But of course they would have destroyed that." "Is it Champ-de-Fer?" asked Guitry. At that moment a dark and sudden smoke, as from ignited chemicals began to pour upward from the ruined village. "It was," said the Idiot, and once more the word was passed to go forward. II They did not know what was going on in the world. They had been ordered into the cellars of the village, and told to remain there for twenty-four hours. They had no thought but to obey. Into the same cellar with Jeanne Bergère had been herded four old women, two old men, and a little boy whom a German surgeon (the day the champagne had been discovered buried in the Notary's garden) had strapped to a board and--vivisected. Twenty-three of the twenty-four hours had passed (one of the old men had a Waterbury watch) but only the little boy complained of hunger and thirst. He wanted to drink from the well in the corner of the cellar; but they would not let him. The well had supplied good drinking water since the days of Julius Caesar, but shortly after entering the cellar one of the old women had drunk from it, and shortly afterward had died in great torment. The little boy kept saying: "But maybe it wasn't the water which killed Madame Pigeon. Only let me try it and then we shall know for sure." But they would not let him drink. "It is not agreeable to live," said one of the old men, "but it is necessary. We are of those who will be called upon to testify. The terms of peace will be written by soft-hearted statesmen; we who have suffered must be on hand. We must be on hand to see that the Boche gets his deserts." Jeanne Bergère spoke in a low unimpassioned voice: "What would you do to them, father," she asked, "if you were God?" "I do not know," said the old man. "For I have experience only of those things which give them pleasure. Those who delight in peculiar pleasures are perhaps immune to ordinary pains...." "Surely," interrupted the little boy, "it was not the water that killed Madame Pigeon." "How peaceful she looks," said the old man. "You would say the stone face of a saint from the façade of a cathedral." "It may be," said Jeanne Bergère, "that already God has opened His mind to her, and that she knows of that vengeance, which we with our small minds are not able to invent."