Saturday, the fifteenth of August, was as little like a religious fete day as one can imagine. At an early hour the winnowing machine rumbled up the road to the square beside the chateau. Under the circumstances each one must take his turn at getting in his wheat and oats, and there was no choice of day or hour. Besides, the village had already been called on to furnish grain and fodder for the army, and the harvest must be measured and declared at once. This only half concerned me, for my hay was already in the lofts before the war began, and two elderly men who had applied for work as bunchers, had been engaged for the last week in August. After service at Charly, I walked across to the post office. The post mistress and telegraph operator, a delightful provincial maiden lady, always welcomes me most cordially, and at present I fancied she might have some news that had not yet reached Villiers. (Mind you, since the second of August we had had but two newspapers, and those obtained with what difficulty!) The _bureau_ now belonged to the army, and for a fortnight Mademoiselle Maupoix and her two young girl assistants had hardly had time to sleep, so busy were they transmitting ciphered dispatches, passing on orders, etc. It was to this physical exhaustion that I attributed the swollen countenance of my little friend when she opened the door to her private sitting-room. It was evident she had something to tell, but her exquisite breeding forbade that she go headlong into her subject, before having graciously inquired for my health, my husband and news of us both since last we met. "And the war, Mademoiselle, do you know anything about what has happened?" Two great tears swelled to Mademoiselle's eyes, which, however, bore a triumphant expression. "Madame--the French flag is flying over Mulhouse--but it cost fifteen thousand lives! That is official news. I cannot give you further details nor say how I obtained what I have told you." Then the armies had met and war was now a bloody reality! I shuddered. Here was news of a victory and all we could do was weep! Once again the sons of France had generously shed their blood to reconquer their righteous belongings! I left Mademoiselle and rode home in silence. Should I tell the villagers? Why not? But how? The question answered itself, for as we approached the town hall I saw the school master and a number of elderly men seated on the bench beside the chain. When we pulled up to give Cesar breathing spell, they all came clustering around the carriage. Did I know anything? Had I heard anything? "Gentlemen," I said, with a decided huskiness in my throat, "the French flag flies over, Mulhouse, but fifteen thousand men are _hors de combat!_"