Almost immediately the fat began to sizzle in the pan. At every moment infantrymen and Chasseurs knocked at the door, and the two women distributed the milk from their cow, refusing all payment. When there was no more left they were quite wretched at having to disappoint the men who continually arrived on various quests. "We've given all we had. I'm so sorry!" they said. "We've only a small bowl left for the baby. You see, we've only one cow!" A Chasseur brought back a kettle he had borrowed; another asked for the loan of a gridiron. Never has Frenchman been more warmly welcomed in France. The fair-haired girl, with whom we had been talking shortly before, came back carrying an earthenware milk-jug in her hand. "Have you any milk, auntie? There are some soldiers who want a little. They're ill, some of them." "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry! There are only a few drops left for baby!" "Oh, dear!..." The girl saw us seated at table round the smoking omelette, and smiled at us as though we were old acquaintances. I told her that if I ever returned home I should perhaps write a book about what I had seen in the war. "And will you please tell me your name, so that I can send you the book as a souvenir to you and your family. You have all been so good to us Frenchmen." "My name is Aline--Aline Badureau." "What a pretty name--Aline!" She prepared to go. "I hope that you will return home," she said to me, "so that you can send us your book. But I'm sure you'll forget. They say that Frenchmen forget very soon." I protested vehemently. III. THE ATTACK. THE RETREAT _Saturday, August 22_ We slept in the barn which the kindly old woman had placed at our disposal, and in which the hay was deep and warm. At three o'clock in the morning one of the stable pickets came to call us through the window. We harnessed our horses as best we could in the darkness. An extremely diffused light was beginning to spread over the countryside, and the mist, rising from the meadows, dimmed the clearness of the dawn. We marched on through the powdery atmosphere. The fog was so thick that it was impossible to see the carriage immediately ahead, and from our places on the limber-boxes the lead driver and his horses looked like a sort of moving shadow. Eventually we reached the little town of Virton. All the inhabitants were at their doors, and offered us coffee, milk, tobacco, and cigars. The men jumped off the limbers and hurriedly drank the steaming drinks poured out for them by the women, while the drivers, bending down from their horses, held out their drinking-tins. "Have you seen the Germans?" we asked. "Only one or two came to buy some socks and some sugar. I hope they won't all come here. Will they?" "Aren't we here to prevent them?"