We harvested our crops; we placed the green bough on the top of the new mill down in the valley; we began to cut wood in the forest; yet still the thunder of the bombardment of Strasburg continued. The old meadow farmer lay at home very ill, and often said, "I shall be buried like a soldier; they will fire over my grave." We buried the old fellow on the morning of September 2d. He had given orders that his St. Helena medal should be buried with him; but his son did not see fit to let this be done. He looked upon this so-called mark of distinction as a means of preservation, in case the French should come after all. While we were standing at the open grave, Joseph came riding up the hill, his horse very much blown, and cried, "Napoleon is a prisoner!" We all hurried to the road where Joseph, still on horseback, read the extra aloud. It was the account of the capture of Napoleon at Sedan. What strange coincidences occur in life! We had just buried the last man in our village who wore on his breast the badge of the infamy of our alliance with Napoleon; and now we had his successor and heir a prisoner in our hands. As if by a preconcerted signal, the young people of the village struck up, "Die Wacht am Rhein." Without awaiting the parson's permission--very likely he wouldn't have given it--the church-bells were rung, and the German flag was thrown to the breeze from the top of the church spire. We returned home as if in a dream. When my niece, the Alsacienne, heard the news, she shook her head, and refused to be convinced of its truth. She had been always accustomed to hear the lying despatches of her countrymen. After the Sedan campaign, we all thought that the war was ended; but the French people, in their overweening confidence, still insisted on retaining the first place among nations, and resented the idea of their giving up the German provinces, of which in former days they had robbed us. The war went on without ceasing. CHAPTER VII. We cannot be astonished anew every day at the phenomena of existence: how the sun rises, how the plants grow and bloom. We must accustom ourselves to the homely changes that are being wrought; to life and death among us, to love and hate, to union and discord. We ended by becoming accustomed to the fact that the war was raging, and as surely as the sun rose we expected news of another victory; for that we should ever be beaten seemed, to judge from what had happened, impossible. The daily question was, "Has Strasburg surrendered yet?" On the morning of the 29th of September, I attended the weekly market to sell my grain. It was the crop of 1870. Everything went on as usual; there was the same chaffering, bargaining, and cheating, and occasionally the war was discussed. Suddenly I heard a noise of shouting and rejoicing, and saw flags hung out of the windows. "Strasburg has fallen," was the cry.