"It doesn't pay to be a glass merchant these days. It only took two shells to send twenty years' earnings into splinters! There's not a whole goblet or plate in the entire establishment! But I wouldn't have cared if they hadn't maltreated the women. I--" "Come and see!" cried another. "Durant's house has tumbled down and his wife and family are smothering in the cellar. Quick!" There was a general rush in that direction, but I pushed on towards the bridge. It was evident my carts could not cross, but there was just a hope that they would let George and me through with our bicycles. I accosted the sentry who stood mounting guard beside a motor which was thrown up on the side of the road, twisted and distorted like a tin toy one has walked on. No, the bridge was for the army only. I insisted. An officer came to my rescue, but could only confirm the sentry's orders. "You're not safe even here. This is the firing line. We don't know yet for certain whether we are going to hold the ground we gained. Villiers? Still in the Germans' hands." I sighed and was about to turn away. "Then where's the nearest bridge across?" "Meaux." "But that's thirty kilometres west! I'm only fifteen from home here!" "I wish I could help you, but there's no use trying to leave here unless you go that way." Then Meaux it must be, and though our trip was considerably lengthened, anything was better than inaction. VIII It was with much reluctance that we turned our backs on La Ferte the following morning and headed our horses westward. Naturally the right of way was reserved for the army, and the roads bordering the Marne were now lined with soldiers, guns, ambulances and supply vans rushing to the front. After being side-tracked and halted no less than two score times, we finally reached Trilport, where the invaders had done but little material damage. The terrified civil population was even exultant, for two nights previously an automobile containing four German officers sped through the town, in the direction of Paris, and ignorant of the fact that the English had destroyed the bridge, had been precipitated into the river. The affair seemed to be considered as a huge joke, and the chief amusement now consisted in hanging over the broken side and contemplating the gruesome spectacle of a half-submerged motor, and four human bodies lying inanimate on some rocks, rapidly swelling, thanks to heat and the current. "When we're sure they're good and dead, we'll bury 'em," explained a man whom I questioned. As I write this phrase, now that more than a year has elapsed, it seems cruel and heartless, but on the spur of the moment, and after all that each one had endured, it was but justice.