For the moment this was the only wish they were capable of forming; all
that they looked for from the mercy of mankind was that someone would be
so good as to put them to bed. They were soon put to bed, together, you
may be sure, and they went to sleep at once, still holding hands and
nestling close to each other, both sinking in the same instant into the
peaceful oblivion of children's slumbers.
One day long ago, in the China Seas during the war, two bewildered
little birds, two tiny little birds, smaller even than our wren, had
made their way, I know not how, on board our iron-clad and into our
admiral's quarters. No one, to be sure, had sought to frighten them, and
all day long they had fluttered about from side to side, perching on
cornices or on green plants. By nightfall I had forgotten them, when the
admiral sent for me. It was to show me, with emotion, his two little
visitors; they had gone to sleep in his room, perched on one leg upon a
silken cord fastened above his bed. Like two little balls of feathers,
touching and almost mingling in one, they slept close, very close
together, without the slightest fear, as if very sure of our pity.
And these poor little Belgian children, sleeping side by side, made me
think of those two nestlings, astray in the midst of the China Seas.
Theirs, too, was the same trust; theirs the same innocent slumber. But
these children were to be protected with a far more tender solicitude.
III
A GAY LITTLE SCENE AT THE BATTLE FRONT
_October, 1914._
At about eleven o'clock in the morning of that day I arrived at a
village--its name I have, let us say, forgotten. My companion was an
English commandant, whom the fortunes of war had given me for comrade
since the previous evening. Our path was lighted by that great and
genial magician, the sun--a radiant sun, a holiday sun, transfiguring
and beautifying all things. This occurred in a department in the extreme
north of France, which one it was I have never known, but the weather
was so fine that we might have imagined ourselves in Provence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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