themand
open
spaces
;
they
spanned
rivers
,
climbed
hills
and
descended
again
into
valleys
.
Sometimes
the
roads
were
rough
,
and
at
the
jolting
of
the
car
Griselda
would
whimper
and
cry
out
—
whereat
William
would
try
to
soothe
her
with
assurance
that
the
worst
was
over
,
they
were
safe
and
would
soon
be
in
comfort
.
He
did
not
know
if
she
understood
;
she
never
spoke
coherently
and
hardly
ever
opened
her
eyes
.
For
the
first
wooded
mile
or
two
they
had
the
road
to
themselves
;
after
that
they
came
across
other
traffic
,
the
greater
part
of
it
heading
in
the
same
,
mostly
southerly
,
direction
.
It
was
varied
traffic
,
mechanical
,
horse
and
foot
:
guns
and
other
cars
,
some
signed
with
the
Geneva
cross
;
now
a
cavalry
patrol
,
now
a
dusty
detachment
of
infantry
;
and
,
intermingled
with
soldier
stragglers
,
little
groups
of
non-military
wayfarers
,
in
carts
and
tramping
afoot
.
All
these
grew
more
frequent
as
the
miles
went
under
them
;
so
frequent
as
to
hinder
their
progress
,
and
finally
,
when
they
neared
their
destination
,
bring
the
pace
of
the
car
to
a
crawl
.
Their
destination
—
William
never
knew
its
name
—
was
a
white-walled
village
,
whereof
the
one
long
street
was
crowded
with
the
traffic
of
humanity
;
the
same
kind
of
traffic
they
had
passed
on
the
road
,
but
thickened
and
impeded
by
much
that
was
stationary
in
horses
,
in
men
and
in
vehicles
.
The
car
jolted
half-way
along
the
stone-paved
street
and
came
to
a
standstill
in
the
company
of
three
or
four
others
;
its
guardians
descended
and
one
of
them
—
the
pail-bearer
—
looked
over
the
tail
and
nodded
in
friendly-wise
to
William
before
he
hurried
away
.
There
was
a
few
minutes
'
wait
,
during
which
nothing
personal
happened
—
only
the
confused
sound
of
voices
,
the
confused
sound
of
movement
flowing
incessantly
,
movement
of
feet
,
wheels
and
engines
;
and
then
the
man
who
had
nodded
from
the
tail
of
the
car
came
back
,
others
with
him
—
dirty
soldiers
like
unto
himself
.
One
of
these
spoke
to
William
,
choosing
his
words
with
precision
;
and
when
he
shook
his
head
and
answered
,
"
I
am
English
,
"
there
was
talk
and
much
gesticulation
.
(
It
struck
him
later
that
they
took
him
for
a
Flemish-speaking
Belgian
and
perhaps
had
tried
him
with
a
word
or
two
of
the
language
.
)
To
the
accompaniment
of
talk
and
gesticulation
the
tailboard
of
the
car
was
let
down
and
William
,
by
sign
,
was
invited
to
set
foot
on
the
ground
;
whereafter
Griselda
was
also
lifted
out
and
laid
by
the
roadside
on
a
truss
of
hay
which
some
one
had
procured
for
the
purpose
.
There
she
lay
for
another
ten
minutes
or
so
,
unaware
of
her
surroundings
while
the
stream
of
humanity
flowed
by
her
—
William
,
hunched
beside
her
on
the
hay
,
wondering
dumbly
what
would
happen
to
them
next
.
He
knew
himself
among
friends
and
was
no
longer
afraid
;
but
all
initiative
had
left
him
,
all
power
of
action
and
idea
.
He
had
a
dull
hope
that
some
one
was
bringing
a
doctor
...
meanwhile
he
could
do
nothing
but
wait
and
obey
,
and
when
his
good
Samaritan
,
the
filthy
little
soldier
,
came
back
and
tapped
him
on
the
shoulder
,
he
rose
,
passively
responsive
.
The
man
signed
to
him
that
they
should
lift
Griselda
between
them
;
he
obeyed
with
infinite
difficulty
,
panting
at
the
effort
,
and
together
they
carried
her
some
yards
down
the
street
to
a
cart
that
stood
pulled
up
and
waiting
—
a
long
,
most
un-English-looking
country
cart
with
a
man
perched
in
front
and
inside
two
women
,
many
bundles
,
some
ducks
and
a
goat
.
One
of
the
women
was
shrivelled
and
helpless
with
years
;
her
head
in
a
handkerchief
and
her
gnarled
fingers
holding
to
her
knees
,
she
sat
huddled
against
the
protesting
goat
,
a
lump
of
bent
,
blear-eyed
old
age
.
Her
companion
in
discomfort
—
possibly
her
daughter
—
was
a
stout
,
elderly
peasant
woman
,
the
counterpart
in
petticoats
of
the
grizzled-haired
man
who
guided
a
solid
grey
farmhorse
.
She
made
room
for
Griselda
,
talking
rapidly
the
while
,
in
the
straw
at
the
bottom
of
the
cart
—
thrusting
ducks
and
bundles
to
one
side
of
the
vehicle
with
her
knotted
and
energetic
hands
;
perhaps
she
was
striving
to
explain
to
William
that
it
was
impossible
to
accommodate
another
passenger
and
that
he
must
follow
on
foot
.
She
may
have
been
friend
or
acquaintance
of
the
dirty
Samaritan
,
for
,
as
the
cart
moved
off
at
a
foot
's
pace
,
she
waved
to
him
in
friendly
guise
;
the
dirty
Samaritan
,
for
his
part
,
clapping
William
on
the
back
,
pointing
after
the
cart
and
showing
his
teeth
in
a
final
grin
of
encouragement
.
In
the
days
that
followed
William
often
regretted
that
he
had
not
known
how
to
thank
him
for
the
bounty
of
his
overflowing
charity
.
He
walked
after
the
cart
as
it
lumbered
through
the
village
and
out
of
it
.
Nourishment
and
the
sense
of
relief
had
given
back
some
of
his
strength
;
thus
he
was
able
,
if
with
difficulty
,
to
keep
up
with
the
plodding
of
the
solid
grey
farmhorse
—
often
brought
to
a
standstill
,
moreover
,
by
the
traffic
that
cumbered
the
road
.
Sometimes
the
standstill
was
a
long
one
,
accompanied
by
confusion
and
shouting
;
there
was
a
point
where
a
stream
of
fugitives
flowing
southward
met
reinforcements
hurrying
north
—
and
a
flock
of
panic-stricken
sheep
,
caught
between
the
two
,
charged
backwards
and
forwards
,
to
the
yells
of
their
sweating
drivers
and
the
anger
of
a
captain
of
cavalry
.
At
almost
every
cross-roads
the
stream
was
swollen
by
a
fresh
rivulet
of
fugitives
—
refugees
human
and
animal
;
thus
at
such
junctions
the
pace
was
slower
and
a
halt
frequently
called
for
.
When
it
came
William
dropped
down
with
thankfulness
;
sometimes
lying
torpid
till
the
cart
moved
on
,
sometimes
satisfying
hunger
and
quenching
thirst
with
fruit
from
the
regiments
of
orchard
trees
that
lined
the
sides
of
the
road
.
The
stout
peasant
woman
was
more
kindly
than
a
hard
face
promised
.
She
was
careful
and
troubled
about
many
things
—
the
old
wreck
of
humanity
,
her
live-stock
,
the
safety
of
herself
and
her
bundles
—
and
she
had
lost
her
home
and
her
livelihood
;
but
she
found
time
to
think
of
Griselda
and
do
what
she
could
for
her
.
She
arranged
her
straw
pillow
,
wiped
the
dust
from
her
face
,
and
from
time
to
time
raised
her
that
she
might
hold
a
cup
to
her
lips
.
Somewhere
about
midday
she
attended
to
the
general
needs
;
the
cart
was
halted
and
she
doled
out
a
ration
all
round
—
hunks
of
bread
chopped
from
a
yard
of
loaf
and
portions
of
a
half-liquid
cheese
.
William
was
not
forgotten
,
and
shared
with
the
rest
of
the
party
;
they
ate
with
the
cart
drawn
up
in
a
field
a
little
way
from
the
road
;
the
horse
grazing
,
the
goat
tethered
to
one
of
the
wheels
,
the
peasants
and
William
sitting
on
the
ground
and
Griselda
lying
in
her
straw
.
William
climbed
up
beside
her
and
coaxed
a
little
wine
between
her
lips
;
she
had
swallowed
hardly
a
mouthful
when
she
turned
her
head
aside
and
pushed
the
mug
feebly
away
.
He
was
not
sure
if
she
responded
when
he
spoke
to
her
and
stroked
her
hand
;
she
muttered
once
or
twice
but
it
was
only
a
sound
to
his
ears
.
For
a
moment
—
perhaps
it
was
the
raw
,
red
wine
that
had
mounted
to
his
head
—
there
came
over
him
a
sort
of
irritation
at
her
long
and
persistent
silence
.
She
must
know
what
it
meant
to
see
her
suffer
and
have
no
word
;
he
felt
she
might
have
tried
to
rouse
herself
to
the
extent
of
one
little
smile
of
comfort
.
The
afternoon
was
as
the
morning
—
a
weary
journeying
whereof
he
knew
not
the
goal
.
The
grey
horse
plodded
,
the
women
sat
hunched
amid
their
bundles
,
and
William
tramped
on
his
blistered
feet
at
the
tail
of
the
creaking
cart
;
when
he
looked
ahead
the
road
,
as
far
as
his
eye
could
reach
,
was
dotted
with
fugitive
tramps
and
fugitive
vehicles
—
and
when
he
looked
back
there
were
others
following
in
their
tracks
.
For
the
most
part
,
however
,
he
looked
neither
back
nor
forward
but
trudged
with
his
eyes
on
the
ground
through
the
whitened
grass
at
the
roadside
.
No
rain
had
fallen
for
many
days
and
the
road
was
deep
in
dust
;
it
hung
heavy
in
the
air
and
when
a
car
went
by
it
rose
in
clouds
like
smoke
.
The
trees
were
thick
with
it
,
and
every
man
's
garments
were
powdered
by
its
uniform
grey
.
More
than
once
their
way
led
them
through
a
village
—
which
might
have
been
always
the
same
village
,
so
alike
was
its
aspect
and
its
doings
.
Always
some
of
the
houses
would
be
closed
and
some
in
the
act
of
emptying
;
in
each
and
all
was
the
same
scene
of
miserable
haste
,
of
loading
carts
,
of
families
,
scared
and
burdened
,
setting
out
on
their
flight
to
the
southward
.
It
was
a
scene
that
grew
so
familiar
to
William
that
,
staggering
with
the
weight
of
his
own
weariness
,
he
hardly
turned
his
head
to
watch
it
;
it
affected
him
only
by
the
halts
it
caused
,
by
the
need
of
manoeuvring
through
a
crowd
.
Cut
off
from
his
fellows
by
the
lack
of
intelligible
speech
,
he
trudged
on
like
an
animal
at
the
tail
of
the
cart
,
ignorant
as
an
animal
of
what
the
next
hours
might
bring
him
.
There
were
moments
when
it
seemed
to
him
that
he
was
asleep
and
would
surely
waken
;
when
he
put
out
his
hand
to
touch
something
and
feel
that
it
resisted
and
was
real
—
a
dusty
axle
,
a
gate
,
a
wall
,
the
dusty
bark
of
a
fruit-tree
.
And
there
were
other
moments
when
the
now
was
real
,
and
he
seemed
to
have
newly
wakened
from
the
dream
of
a
world
impossible
—
of
streets
and
stations
and
meals
that
came
regularly
,
of
life
that
was
decent
and
reasonable
and
orderly
,
with
men
like
unto
himself
...
.
Late
in
the
afternoon
he
started
and
lifted
his
head
in
sudden
trembling
recognition
of
a
sound
reminiscent
,
and
because
reminiscent
beloved
—
the
near-by
whistle
of
a
passing
engine
,
the
near-by
clank
of
a
train
.
The
note
of
the
whistle
,
the
sight
of
a
long
line
of
trucks
—
but
a
field's-breadth
away
behind
a
fence
—
brought
a
rush
of
hope
to
his
heart
and
a
rush
of
tears
to
his
eyes
.
His
soul
thrilled
with
the
promise
of
them
;
after
the
vagabond
horror
of
the
last
few
days
they
stood
for
decency
,
for
civilization
,
for
a
means
of
escape
from
hell
.
His
eyes
followed
the
train
with
longing
as
it
snorted
over
a
level
meadow
and
wound
out
of
sight
behind
a
hill
—
followed
it
with
longing
,
with
something
that
was
almost
love
.
A
mile
or
two
further
they
passed
a
level
crossing
and
soon
after
came
again
on
a
village
.
It
was
larger
than
any
they
had
so
far
traversed
,
and
in
ordinary
times
must
have
been
of
a
prosperous
importance
;
now
many
of
its
windows
were
bolted
and
shuttered
,
denoting
the
flight
of
inhabitants
whom
others
were
preparing
to
follow
.
The
sun
was
red
in
the
west
when
they
reached
its
outskirts
.
It
was
when
they
were
about
halfway
along
the
wide
paved
street
that
there
came
a
loud
cry
from
the
cart
—
so
loud
and
so
sudden
that
the
driver
pulled
at
his
horse
.
The
cry
had
come
from
the
hard-faced
peasant
woman
who
was
leaning
over
Griselda
.
The
life
in
William
stood
still
as
he
saw
her
face
,
and
she
had
to
beckon
to
him
twice
before
he
moved
to
climb
into
the
cart
;
she
gave
him
a
hand
as
he
climbed
and
half
jerked
him
over
the
bundles
...
.
Griselda
had
died
very
quietly
in
the
straw
at
the
bottom
of
the
cart
.
CHAPTER
XII
Some
one
,
he
thought
,
kept
him
back
from
the
body
while
they
lifted
it
down
from
the
cart
;
there
was
a
stir
and
bustle
and
three
or
four
people
gathered
round
,
hiding
it
for
a
moment
from
his
sight
.
One
,
he
remembered
,
had
the
goat
by
the
horns
and
was
trying
to
drag
it
aside
;
the
goat
was
refractory
,
kicked
and
bleated
and
made
itself
the
centre
of
a
scuffle
.
Afterwards
he
pushed
through
them
all
and
stood
looking
down
at
his
wife
.
As
he
looked
at
her
—
limp
,
with
glazed
eyes
and
fallen
jaw
—
there
swam
before
his
memory
a
pitiful
vision
of
the
dear
Griselda
he
had
married
.
He
saw
her
—
this
huddle
of
rags
and
dirt
—
in
her
wedding
garments
,
fussed
and
dainty
,
with
her
bouquet
tied
with
suffragette
ribbons
.
He
remembered
the
expression
,
self-conscious
and
flushing
,
wherewith
she
had
given
her
hand
that
he
might
place
the
ring
on
her
finger
;
and
how
,
when
they
were
first
alone
as
man
and
wife
,
he
had
taken
the
hand
that
wore
the
ring
and
kissed
it
till
she
drew
it
away
.
The
crowd
in
the
little
house
at
Balham
,
the
handshakes
,
the
well-wishing
faces
—
they
were
all
so
close
and
so
present
that
they
gave
the
lie
to
this
dead
woman
dropped
by
the
roadside
.
He
looked
down
stupidly
while
the
bystanders
whispered
and
stared
.
He
did
not
know
how
long
he
sat
beside
her
,
nursing
a
dead
hand
in
his
own
;
but
he
knew
he
hated
and
shrank
from
the
people
around
him
—
a
group
that
kept
forming
and
moving
away
and
whispering
as
it
gazed
at
himself
and
the
body
of
his
wife
.
It
was
a
changing
little
crowd
,
never
more
than
a
dozen
or
so
;
men
and
women
who
stopped
in
their
passing
by
,
muttered
questions
,
heard
low
answers
,
looked
curious
or
pitying
and
moved
on
.
He
hated
its
inquisitiveness
,
he
shrank
from
its
pity
,
desiring
to
be
alone
with
his
dead
.
That
he
might
not
see
its
curious
and
pitying
faces
he
pressed
a
hand
over
his
eyes
.
After
some
time
—
either
minutes
or
hours
—
came
a
hand
on
his
shoulder
that
stayed
till
he
moved
and
looked
up
.
He
who
had
touched
him
wore
the
garb
of
a
priest
;
was
stout
,
not
over-well
washed
or
brushed
,
but
kindly
of
manner
and
countenance
.
He
spoke
while
the
crowd
stared
and
listened
;
William
moved
his
head
irritably
,
muttered
,
"
I
ca
n't
understand
what
you
say
,
"
and
would
have
covered
his
eyes
again
if
he
had
not
heard
an
English
voice
beside
him
.
It
was
a
woman
who
had
caught
his
words
and
now
pushed
through
the
bystanders
:
a
tall
young
woman
in
tweed
coat
and
skirt
,
who
had
stayed
to
look
over
the
shoulders
of
the
shifting
group
.
"
You
are
English
?
"
she
said
.
"
What
has
happened
?
"
He
stared
up
at
her
for
a
moment
,
amazed
at
the
sound
of
his
own
tongue
.
"
My
wife
is
dead
,
"
he
told
her
;
and
,
hearing
himself
say
the
words
aloud
,
he
burst
into
a
passion
of
sobbing
.
Through
it
he
choked
incoherent
appeals
to
"
take
them
away
—
for
God
's
sake
to
let
him
be
alone
.
"
He
turned
his
face
to
the
wall
and
wept
,
long
and
brokenly
,
as
one
who
has
nothing
more
to
hope
;
and
for
a
time
they
left
him
till
the
paroxysm
should
wear
itself
out
.
When
he
turned
his
head
at
last
the
crowd
that
he
hated
had
scattered
;
perhaps
the
priest
and
the
Englishwoman
had
persuaded
it
away
,
for
they
were
the
only
two
near
him
.
The
Englishwoman
,
with
her
hands
thrust
deep
into
the
pockets
of
her
tweed
coat
,
was
standing
at
his
shoulder
,
waiting
till
he
was
ready
to
listen
.
"
Will
you
come
with
me
?
"
she
asked
.
"
It
will
be
better
.
"
Her
tone
,
though
very
gentle
,
was
authoritative
and
brought
him
instinctively
to
his
feet
;
but
once
there
he
hesitated
to
follow
her
and
stammered
that
he
could
not
leave
—
—
"
It
will
only
be
for
a
moment
.
The
priest
—
he
will
see
—
he
will
bring
her
.
"
She
put
a
hand
on
his
arm
and
led
him
unresisting
down
the
street
—
a
hundred
yards
or
so
,
past
the
church
and
into
a
house
standing
back
from
the
road
in
a
garden
.
He
knew
afterwards
that
it
was
the
village
presbytery
and
that
the
little
woman
who
moved
aside
from
the
garden
gate
to
let
them
pass
in
was
the
priest
's
elderly
housekeeper
.
His
companion
spoke
to
her
in
French
,
no
doubt
to
explain
their
arrival
;
and
the
old
woman
trotted
ahead
to
the
house
,
opened
a
door
to
the
right
and
ushered
them
into
a
sitting-room
that
smelt
of
unopened
window
.
It
was
a
ceremonious
as
well
as
a
stuffy
little
room
;
there
were
good
books
lying
on
a
table
in
the
centre
and
stiff
chairs
ranged
against
the
walls
.
Having
offered
them
a
couple
of
the
stiff-backed
chairs
the
housekeeper
withdrew
to
her
vigil
at
the
garden
gate
;
William
sat
where
she
had
placed
him
,
but
the
Englishwoman
walked
to
the
window
.
"
I
wish
I
could
help
you
,
"
she
said
with
her
back
towards
him
.
"
I
know
nothing
seems
any
good
at
such
a
time
,
but
if
there
is
anything
you
want
—
—
"
She
was
giving
him
more
than
she
knew
by
her
presence
,
by
speaking
in
their
common
tongue
;
the
sound
of
the
familiar
,
comprehensible
English
was
as
the
breaking
of
an
iron
barrier
between
him
and
the
rest
of
mankind
.
She
was
talking
to
him
—
talking
,
not
mouthing
and
making
strange
noises
.
He
was
back
in
the
world
where
you
spoke
and
your
fellows
understood
you
,
where
you
were
human
—
intelligent
,
intelligible
—
not
an
animal
guided
by
nod
and
beck
or
driven
to
labour
by
blows
.
Comprehensible
speech
meant
not
only
sympathy
,
but
the
long-denied
power
of
complaint
—
and
the
pent
and
swollen
misery
of
his
last
few
days
was
relieved
by
a
torrent
of
words
.
She
stood
and
listened
while
he
sobbed
and
talked
incoherently
.
There
was
small
plan
or
sequence
about
his
tale
—
he
went
backwards
and
forwards
in
it
,
started
afresh
and
left
gaps
;
but
she
realized
that
he
was
telling
it
not
for
her
benefit
,
but
for
his
own
relief
,
let
him
pour
himself
out
and
refrained
from
interruption
even
when
his
talk
was
most
entangled
.
She
took
it
as
a
good
sign
when
at
last
he
paused
and
looked
up
to
ask
of
her
what
it
all
meant
,
what
had
happened
,
and
where
he
was
now
?
She
told
him
,
as
briefly
as
might
be
,
what
Heinz
had
told
him
—
of
a
world
in
upheaval
and
nations
at
grips
with
each
other
;
the
same
story
if
not
from
the
same
point
of
view
.
She
added
that
he
was
now
on
French
soil
(
which
he
had
not
guessed
)
some
miles
from
the
Belgian
frontier
,
and
that
it
would
be
possible
,
she
hoped
,
to
make
the
journey
onward
by
rail
.
The
French
were
falling
back
and
the
district
had
been
warned
of
the
likelihood
of
enemy
occupation
;
she
supposed
that
the
needs
of
the
army
had
absorbed
the
local
rolling-stock
,
for
there
had
been
no
passenger
train
on
their
small
branch
line
that
day
.
The
authorities
,
however
,
had
promised
one
to
Paris
in
the
morning
and
she
,
herself
,
was
waiting
in
the
hope
of
obtaining
a
seat
.
She
hesitated
and
broke
off
at
the
sound
of
shuffling
feet
in
the
passage
outside
—
slow
feet
and
uncertain
,
as
of
men
who
carried
a
burden
.
William
heard
the
sound
likewise
and
,
guessing
its
meaning
,
would
have
risen
and
gone
to
the
door
;
but
she
kept
him
to
his
seat
with
a
hand
on
his
shoulder
and
he
obeyed
the
touch
because
,
at
the
moment
,
it
was
easier
to
obey
than
to
resist
.
He
sat
and
trembled
,
twisting
his
fingers
,
while
the
shuffling
died
away
into
momentary
silence
,
followed
by
trampling
and
the
closing
of
a
door
as
the
burden-bearers
went
out
...
.
Then
silence
again
,
a
much
longer
silence
,
till
the
stout
priest
entered
the
room
,
moving
quietly
,
as
men
are
accustomed
to
move
in
the
neighbourhood
of
those
whom
no
sound
can
arouse
or
disturb
.
He
spoke
softly
at
some
length
to
the
Englishwoman
,
who
,
having
listened
and
nodded
,
turned
to
William
and
told
him
that
if
he
would
like
to
go
to
her
—
—
He
followed
the
priest
down
the
passage
to
a
room
at
the
back
of
the
house
;
wherein
,
on
a
table
,
and
covered
by
a
sheet
,
they
had
laid
the
body
of
his
wife
.
There
were
long
candles
burning
around
the
table
and
on
either
side
of
her
a
little
metal
vase
filled
with
roses
.
The
priest
stood
aside
in
the
doorway
for
William
to
enter
,
bowed
his
head
in
a
prayer
and
went
out
;
when
he
had
gone
William
crept
to
the
table
,
turned
the
sheet
from
her
face
and
looked
down
—
on
Griselda
dowered
with
a
grave
dignity
that
had
never
been
hers
while
she
lived
...
.
Some
one
had
washed
away
the
stains
of
the
road
and
arranged
the
disordered
rags
that
had
once
been
a
dress
;
the
hair
was
smoothed
out
of
its
three-day
tangle
and
her
poor
hands
crossed
on
her
breast
.
He
stayed
with
her
till
dusk
had
thickened
into
darkness
,
sometimes
standing
at
her
side
to
look
down
on
her
face
,
sometimes
bowed
to
his
knees
by
the
burden
of
the
years
without
her
.
When
the
priest
came
back
to
rouse
him
he
was
crouched
in
the
attitude
of
prayer
;
but
his
prayer
(
if
such
it
might
be
called
)
was
only
the
eternal
petition
of
the
bereaved
,
"
Would
God
that
I
had
died
instead
!
"
The
village
sexton
was
of
those
who
had
already
fled
at
the
rumour
of
the
oncoming
German
;
so
that
night
the
Englishwoman
,
who
had
acquired
in
a
west-country
garden
some
skill
in
the
handling
of
a
spade
,
took
turns
with
a
bent
old
peasant
in
digging
a
grave
for
Griselda
.
When
daylight
failed
them
they
dug
by
the
shine
of
a
lantern
;
the
Englishwoman
was
not
over-imaginative
or
nervous
but
she
found
the
job
an
eerie
one
—
the
more
so
since
the
square-walled
cemetery
,
like
French
graveyards
in
general
,
lay
well
away
from
its
village
—
and
she
was
glad
when
the
moment
came
to
pay
off
her
companion
and
return
to
her
quarters
in
the
little
Hôtel
de
la
Gare
.
Other
formalities
in
connection
with
the
funeral
there
were
none
—
for
the
reason
that
the
maire
and
his
clerk
,
who
in
ordinary
seasons
would
have
devoted
much
time
and
stationery
to
the
subject
,
had
departed
that
evening
,
bearing
with
them
the
archives
of
the
commune
.
William
,
for
his
part
,
spent
the
night
on
the
priest
's
horsehair
sofa
,
next
door
to
the
room
where
the
candles
burned
around
the
body
of
his
wife
.
From
weariness
of
the
flesh
he
dozed
now
and
again
;
but
for
the
greater
part
of
the
night
lay
wakeful
and
staring
at
darkness
.
There
were
moments
when
the
horsehair
sofa
shook
beneath
his
sobbing
;
and
there
were
others
when
it
seemed
to
him
impossible
that
a
horror
so
brutal
and
so
undeserved
should
have
mangled
his
harmless
life
.
At
one
such
moment
he
crept
from
his
couch
,
felt
his
way
across
the
room
and
into
the
passage
—
possessed
by
some
wild
and
unconfessed
thought
that
he
might
not
find
Griselda
on
the
sheeted
table
with
her
hands
crossed
over
her
breast
.
The
door
,
when
he
tried
it
,
was
locked
and
the
key
withdrawn
—
fastened
by
the
priest
or
his
housekeeper
before
they
retired
for
the
night
;
but
when
he
knelt
down
to
peer
through
the
keyhole
he
could
see
two
of
the
tall
church
candles
and
the
vase
with
its
bunch
of
white
roses
that
some
one
had
placed
near
her
head
.
He
crept
back
,
knowing
that
she
lay
there
indeed
,
and
sat
down
to
stare
at
the
darkness
till
it
softened
from
black
into
grey
.
The
morning
was
still
flushed
in
the
east
when
the
old
woman
came
to
him
with
bread
and
a
bowl
of
coffee
;
the
coffee
was
hot
,
aromatic
and
sweet
,
after
the
fashion
of
that
which
had
once
been
brewed
by
Madame
Peys
—
and
,
remembering
breakfasts
not
eaten
alone
,
his
tears
dropped
into
it
thickly
.
While
he
ate
,
sitting
humped
on
the
edge
of
the
horsehair
sofa
,
the
street
outside
was
already
astir
with
traffic
,
nomad
and
military
;
those
fugitives
who
had
rested
in
the
village
for
the
night
were
once
more
taking
to
the
road
,
other
fugitives
from
the
neighbourhood
were
dribbling
in
to
join
them
,
troops
were
moving
up
and
to-day
was
even
as
yesterday
.
When
he
had
finished
his
bread
and
coffee
the
old
woman
signed
him
to
the
kitchen
sink
,
where
she
furnished
him
with
soap
and
a
towel
;
and
,
the
process
of
washing
completed
,
she
produced
a
clothes-brush
,
led
him
out
into
the
garden
and
attacked
with
vigour
the
mud
and
stain
on
his
garments
.
He
was
standing
passively
while
she
scoured
at
his
shoulders
when
the
Englishwoman
came
up
,
and
,
looking
anywhere
except
at
his
face
,
put
his
wife
's
rings
into
his
hands
.
There
were
two
of
them
—
the
new
gold
band
,
with
a
month
's
wear
behind
it
,
and
the
little
engagement
half-hoop
—
and
at
sight
of
them
the
housekeeper
ceased
to
scour
and
crept
away
with
her
brush
.
He
looked
down
at
them
lying
in
his
palm
till
the
tears
veiled
them
,
and
knotted
them
slowly
and
tightly
in
a
corner
of
his
handkerchief
.
His
companion
cleared
her
throat
and
,
still
looking
anywhere
except
at
his
face
,
told
him
that
the
train
to
Paris
—
very
probably
the
last
one
to
run
—
would
be
starting
that
morning
.
"
Yes
?
"
he
said
vaguely
,
conscious
that
she
expected
a
reply
.
She
explained
that
what
she
had
meant
was
,
the
funeral
must
take
place
immediately
...
.
Chiefly
for
the
sake
of
breaking
the
silence
she
supposed
that
his
wife
was
not
a
Roman
Catholic
?
He
answered
"
No
,
"
staring
at
a
row
of
hollyhocks
and
a
butterfly
that
quivered
above
them
.
She
asked
,
she
explained
,
because
in
that
case
the
priest
would
have
read
the
proper
service
.
As
it
was
...
She
hoped
he
would
understand
that
they
had
done
their
best
to
—
be
reverent
.
But
there
were
difficulties
—
so
many
of
the
tradesmen
were
leaving
or
had
left
already
.
Carpenters
and
so
on
...
.
He
listened
stupidly
with
his
eyes
on
the
quivering
butterfly
,
dumbly
rebellious
at
the
cruelty
that
tore
him
even
from
the
body
—
and
it
only
dawned
on
him
what
she
meant
by
her
stumbling
hints
when
she
led
him
through
the
house
to
the
front
door
where
a
cart
stood
waiting
with
the
priest
at
the
horse
's
head
.
It
was
a
farm-cart
,
borrowed
by
the
priest
from
a
neighbour
;
and
on
the
floor
of
it
that
which
had
been
Griselda
lay
coffinless
and
wrapped
in
a
sheet
.
There
were
roses
scattered
on
the
folds
of
the
sheet
and
the
old
Frenchwoman
was
waiting
at
the
gate
with
a
shapeless
little
wreath
of
her
own
manufacture
which
she
pressed
into
William
's
hand
.
They
set
out
,
a
funeral
procession
of
three
,
which
at
other
times
would
have
drawn
many
curious
glances
;
the
priest
leading
the
horse
and
William
and
the
Englishwoman
walking
side
by
side
at
the
rear
of
the
cart
.
The
cemetery
lay
outside
the
village
,
a
half-mile
or
so
from
their
starting-point
,
and
they
passed
wayfarers
enough
on
the
road
,
of
whom
some
bared
their
heads
and
crossed
themselves
,
and
others
were
too
busy
with
their
own
sorrows
to
give
even
a
thought
to
the
dead
.
The
gate
of
the
graveyard
was
narrow
and
it
was
with
difficulty
that
the
cart
was
manoeuvred
between
its
posts
.
At
an
ordinary
funeral
the
hearse
would
have
remained
in
the
road
;
but
this
was
no
ordinary
funeral
nor
ordinary
day
,
and
it
was
as
well
not
to
tempt
the
footsore
fugitive
by
the
sight
of
a
vehicle
unguarded
.
Accordingly
,
the
cart
was
manoeuvred
through
the
gate
before
the
priest
,
William
and
the
Englishwoman
lifted
out
the
body
of
Griselda
and
carried
it
to
the
grave
in
the
corner
.
The
bent-backed
old
labourer
was
sitting
beside
it
on
the
mound
that
would
shortly
fill
it
;
he
rose
when
he
saw
them
,
leaning
on
his
spade
and
bared
his
grey
hairs
to
the
dead
.
The
grave
was
shallow
—
but
,
shallow
as
it
was
,
the
body
,
being
coffinless
,
was
lowered
with
difficulty
and
the
Englishwoman
led
William
a
little
way
aside
that
he
might
not
watch
while
the
priest
and
the
peasant
performed
the
last
service
Griselda
would
require
of
man
;
he
understood
what
she
meant
and
stood
with
his
back
to
the
group
round
the
grave
,
staring
at
a
granite
tombstone
bedizened
with
massive
bead
wreaths
.
When
she
touched
him
on
the
shoulder
,
as
sign
that
he
might
turn
,
the
priest
was
crossing
himself
at
his
prayers
and
the
old
man
standing
by
the
heap
of
new
turned
earth
.
He
went
to
the
edge
of
the
grave
,
looked
down
at
the
crumpled
sheet
and
then
stupidly
round
at
his
neighbour
.
He
said
nothing
,
but
she
thought
he
was
expecting
something
;
so
,
as
the
priest
still
prayed
with
closed
eyes
in
silence
,
she
struggled
with
the
racial
shyness
where
things
of
the
spirit
are
concerned
and
,
swallowing
her
tears
,
spoke
the
funeral
words
for
Griselda
.
"
I
am
the
Resurrection
and
the
Life
,
saith
the
Lord
:
he
that
believeth
in
Me
,
though
he
were
dead
,
yet
shall
he
live
...
"
"
Blessed
are
the
dead
that
die
in
the
Lord
...
they
rest
from
their
labours
.
"
"
Man
that
is
born
of
woman
hath
but
a
short
time
to
live
...
He
cometh
up
and
is
cut
down
...
"
"
Lord
have
mercy
upon
us
!
"
It
was
all
she
could
remember
;
and
when
William
had
whispered
Amen
they
left
the
old
peasant
to
his
work
.
CHAPTER
XIII
At
the
gate
of
the
cemetery
they
parted
from
the
priest
,
who
had
charged
himself
with
the
immediate
return
of
the
haycart
which
he
had
borrowed
from
a
neighbouring
farm
;
he
shook
hands
with
them
,
nodded
kindly
to
the
Englishwoman
's
thanks
,
climbed
into
the
cart
and
drove
off
along
the
dusty
road
.
They
saw
him
no
more
and
often
wondered
what
became
of
him
when
the
wave
of
Teutonic
invasion
swept
over
his
parish
and
himself
.
Their
own
way
lay
in
the
opposite
direction
—
first
back
to
the
village
inn
,
where
the
Englishwoman
picked
up
her
bag
and
a
package
of
provisions
for
the
journey
,
and
then
on
to
the
station
to
await
the
arrival
of
the
train
.
William
followed
her
incuriously
,
without
question
or
comment
;
and
when
she
broke
silence
to
explain
what
they
were
doing
he
assented
,
speaking
with
an
effort
and
hardly
knowing
to
what
he
assented
.
The
train
to
Paris
had
been
announced
by
the
station
authorities
for
an
early
hour
in
the
morning
,
but
morning
dragged
on
and
became
afternoon
before
it
put
in
an
appearance
.
They
waited
through
long
and
shadeless
hours
—
till
two
o'clock
and
after
—
at
the
most
insignificant
of
railway
stations
with
a
crowd
of
would-be
passengers
;
a
crowd
that
swelled
as
the
hours
crawled
on
until
it
flowed
from
the
platform
far
along
the
line
,
and
it
seemed
doubtful
if
any
train
,
however
capacious
,
could
absorb
its
swarming
multitude
.
It
sat
in
families
about
the
platform
and
camped
and
shifted
as
an
untidy
fringe
to
the
track
;
it
was
querulous
,
weeping
,
apathetic
—
it
was
also
,
in
patches
,
malodorous
.
At
midday
it
picknicked
,
squalidly
enough
,
out
of
bottles
and
bulging
handkerchiefs
,
finding
momentary
distraction
in
the
process
;
for
the
rest
it
had
nothing
to
do
but
exchange
its
miseries
,
stare
at
the
curve
which
the
train
must
round
,
listen
uneasily
to
the
echo
of
artillery
and
assail
the
station-master
with
complaining
queries
whenever
he
dared
to
show
his
face
.
For
the
most
part
that
hapless
and
harried
official
—
whose
subordinates
had
been
reft
from
him
by
mobilization
and
who
was
only
too
conscious
that
his
time-table
was
a
snare
and
a
mockery
—
lay
low
in
his
miniature
office
;
whence
he
peered
out
now
and
again
to
make
anxious
estimate
of
the
numbers
that
blackened
and
overflowed
his
platform
.
As
time
went
on
and
the
throng
grew
denser
,
he
gave
up
his
attempts
to
reconcile
the
extent
of
the
crowd
with
the
cubic
capacity
of
a
highly
problematical
train
,
and
retiring
to
his
sanctum
,
in
despair
and
for
good
,
locked
the
door
on
intrusion
and
complaint
.
Whenever
—
as
happened
not
once
,
but
often
—
an
engine
was
sighted
rounding
the
curve
to
the
northward
,
there
was
instant
bustle
and
expectation
on
the
part
of
the
waiting
multitude
.
Makeshift
luggage
was
collected
and
clutched
at
,
mothers
screamed
to
their
straying
young
families
and
herded
them
together
in
anxious
preparation
for
the
formidable
struggle
ahead
;
but
not
once
but
often
the
alarm
was
a
false
one
,
the
preparations
in
vain
,
as
the
train
sped
by
without
halt
.
The
first
to
run
past
was
a
Red
Cross
train
with
bandaged
men
showing
at
the
windows
;
as
it
slid
between
the
platforms
the
crowd
buzzed
its
disappointment
and
then
—
with
the
exception
of
some
few
determined
souls
who
vented
their
annoyance
in
raps
on
the
station-master
's
door
—
settled
down
in
dejection
to
continue
its
weary
waiting
.
Another
half-hour
of
sweltering
impatience
and
again
the
mothers
screamed
and
rounded
up
their
families
,
with
the
same
result
as
before
;
this
time
the
relentless
and
undelaying
train
was
packed
,
not
with
wounded
soldiers
,
but
with
refugees
from
higher
up
the
line
—
like
unto
themselves
but
more
fortunate
.
It
was
packed
to
the
doors
and
beyond
the
doors
—
since
men
were
hanging
on
the
footboards
.
For
many
reasons
William
and
his
guardian
avoided
the
platform
where
the
crowd
was
thickest
and
sat
under
the
hedge
by
the
line
.
During
the
first
hour
or
two
of
their
weary
sojourn
she
judged
him
past
rousing
and
left
him
to
his
own
thoughts
;
and
he
sat
by
her
side
with
his
hands
hugging
his
knees
and
seemingly
unconscious
of
her
presence
.
Later
,
about
midday
,
when
she
fed
him
from
the
store
of
provisions
she
had
brought
for
the
journey
,
she
essayed
to
rouse
him
by
telling
him
how
she
had
come
there
and
who
she
was
.
Her
name
was
Haynes
,
Edith
Haynes
;
she
had
been
some
weeks
in
the
neighbourhood
,
staying
in
the
country
house
of
some
distant
French
cousins
.
They
had
been
warned
,
soon
after
hostilities
broke
out
,
that
proximity
to
the
frontier
might
be
dangerous
,
but
had
been
unable
to
leave
owing
to
the
illness
of
one
of
the
family
.
Yesterday
the
invalid
,
partially
recovered
,
had
been
got
off
with
her
mother
in
a
car
procured
with
difficulty
;
as
it
had
other
occupants
and
could
not
carry
the
whole
party
,
she
—
Miss
Haynes
—
had
volunteered
to
remain
behind
and
follow
to
Paris
by
rail
.
William
listened
,
occasionally
nodding
to
show
that
he
listened
;
in
a
way
he
was
grateful
for
her
presence
,
but
nothing
seemed
to
matter
...
and
,
seeing
that
it
was
as
yet
too
early
to
help
him
to
other
thoughts
,
she
left
him
again
to
his
silence
.
It
was
after
two
when
a
nearing
train
slowed
down
as
it
reached
the
station
—
slowed
down
and
came
to
a
standstill
to
a
tumult
of
pushing
and
shouting
.
It
was
a
train
of
more
than
ordinary
dimensions
—
a
couple
of
engines
to
an
interminable
line
of
third-class
carriages
and
vans
—
but
long
as
it
was
,
it
was
none
too
long
for
the
needs
of
the
would-be
passengers
.
Vans
and
carriages
alike
were
already
well
stocked
with
humanity
;
but
the
other
humanity
on
the
platform
,
rendered
desperate
by
its
waiting
,
hurled
itself
at
the
doors
and
pressed
and
fought
a
way
in
.
The
sight
was
not
pleasant
—
there
was
trampling
,
expostulation
,
threats
.
The
angry
,
frightened
crowd
was
past
minding
its
manners
,
and
at
times
the
rush
for
the
doors
was
carried
on
almost
with
savagery
;
women
were
buffeted
—
and
buffeted
back
—
and
children
swept
away
in
the
press
.
William
and
his
friend
—
she
was
the
sturdier
as
well
as
the
taller
of
the
two
—
clambered
up
the
steps
of
a
covered
truck
and
were
thrust
through
its
opening
by
the
weight
of
those
pressing
behind
them
.
The
truck
,
when
they
gained
it
,
was
close
,
evil-smelling
and
crowded
;
so
crowded
that
many
had
to
keep
their
feet
for
lack
of
the
floor
space
to
sit
.
When
the
struggle
for
places
was
over
—
and
it
was
not
over
quickly
—
the
train
was
packed
end
to
end
with
sweating
and
exhausted
travellers
.
There
followed
a
journey
that
to
those
who
endured
it
seemed
endless
,
a
crawl
punctuated
with
halts
.
The
halts
were
lengthy
as
well
as
frequent
;
sometimes
in
sidings
where
refugees
perforce
gave
place
to
troop
trains
,
sometimes
in
junctions
where
they
pulled
up
indefinitely
at
a
platform
and
where
worn-out
officials
could
give
no
information
as
to
when
a
fresh
start
would
be
made
.
The
waits
,
wearisome
as
they
were
,
were
by
far
more
endurable
than
the
wretched
stages
in
between
;
which
were
stages
of
sweating
heat
and
smells
,
of
stifling
and
cramped
discomfort
.
On
the
platform
,
at
least
,
it
was
possible
to
stretch
and
breathe
;
in
the
vans
it
was
aching
backs
and
bones
and
a
foulness
that
thickened
with
the
miles
.
Children
wept
and
sickened
as
the
hours
crawled
by
and
all
through
the
darkness
their
crying
was
never
stilled
;
as
wretched
little
wailing
or
angry
howl
,
it
mingled
always
with
the
throb
and
clank
of
the
train
.
The
delicate
chill
of
morning
was
as
nectar
after
the
stench
of
the
crowded
night
.
By
special
mercy
,
just
as
dawn
broke
they
drew
up
in
a
siding
with
fields
to
the
right
and
left
of
them
;
neither
William
nor
his
friend
was
asleep
when
the
train
stopped
,
and
,
crawling
over
recumbent
bodies
on
the
floor
of
the
van
,
they
dropped
down
stiffly
from
their
pen
and
stood
breathing
in
the
clean
,
cool
wind
.
With
their
damp
clothes
sticking
to
their
heated
bodies
,
they
sucked
the
air
into
their
lungs
—
even
William
,
blind
with
his
misery
,
conscious
of
the
calm
loveliness
of
morning
on
stretches
of
green
after
the
reek
of
the
lantern-lit
van
.
His
companion
,
shuddering
at
the
sight
of
her
hands
,
went
in
search
of
water
and
discovered
a
tap
on
the
platform
;
whereat
William
,
in
his
turn
,
drank
thirstily
and
soused
hands
and
face
before
they
settled
down
in
a
field
at
the
side
of
the
line
.
There
,
on
the
good
green
turf
,
they
shared
the
last
remnants
of
their
package
of
food
,
some
bread
and
an
apple
apiece
.
for
all
the
hours
they
had
spent
on
the
train
they
had
accomplished
only
some
half
of
the
distance
to
Paris
;
and
as
refreshment
rooms
—
closed
or
cleared
out
by
the
troops
—
could
no
longer
be
counted
on
to
supply
the
needs
of
the
traveller
,
they
had
little
prospect
of
further
sustenance
till
they
reached
their
journey
's
end
.
They
ate
their
small
meal
sitting
as
far
as
they
deemed
safe
from
the
train
and
the
crowd
it
had
disgorged
—
ate
it
in
silence
,
for
William
had
not
yet
found
speech
.
His
world
,
for
the
time
being
,
was
formless
and
void
,
and
,
as
such
,
incapable
of
expression
.
All
day
they
travelled
,
as
they
had
travelled
on
the
day
before
:
in
jolted
crowds
,
in
squalor
,
in
heat
,
to
the
sound
of
the
misery
of
children
.
They
ached
,
they
wearied
,
they
sweated
,
they
thirsted
—
they
halted
and
lurched
on
again
;
too
wearied
even
for
impatience
,
they
endured
without
complaint
until
even
the
children
were
past
crying
.
The
sun
was
low
on
the
horizon
when
William
,
drowsily
stupid
,
raised
his
head
from
his
knees
as
his
friend
touched
him
on
the
arm
.
He
looked
up
stupidly
—
the
train
was
plodding
through
forest
;
he
had
ceased
to
hope
for
the
journey
's
end
and
sat
for
the
most
part
with
his
head
on
his
knees
in
a
dull
,
half-dozing
resignation
.
"
If
we
do
n't
stop
again
,
"
she
told
him
,
"
we
ought
to
be
in
fairly
soon
.
I
think
that
's
Chantilly
we
've
run
through
.
We
're
only
half
an
hour
from
Paris
—
in
ordinary
times
,
that
's
to
say
.
"
The
times
were
not
ordinary
and
they
took
more
than
half
an
hour
—
very
much
more
—
to
get
over
the
twenty
odd
miles
.
They
slowed
to
a
crawl
for
the
last
stretch
of
the
journey
,
and
outside
Paris
,
between
Paris
and
St.
Denis
,
they
halted
and
waited
till
well
after
night
had
fallen
.
But
at
long
last
the
interminable
wait
was
ended
and
they
creaked
and
crept
forward
to
a
platform
of
the
Gare
du
Nord
—
where
William
for
the
first
time
set
foot
in
the
capital
of
France
.
As
he
did
so
he
remembered
a
fact
that
had
hitherto
slipped
his
memory
—
that
Heinz
and
his
companions
,
when
they
took
his
pocket-book
,
had
left
him
without
a
penny
.
So
far
the
loss
of
his
purse
had
not
troubled
him
;
he
had
lived
as
the
beasts
live
and
been
cared
for
even
as
they
;
but
Paris
was
civilization
where
money
would
be
needed
for
a
lodging
.
He
had
no
resource
but
his
companion
,
and
,
as
they
drifted
along
with
the
slow-moving
mass
on
the
platform
,
he
appealed
perforce
to
her
.
"
I
'm
afraid
,
"
he
stammered
,
"
I
've
got
no
money
.
They
took
it
away
from
me
—
the
Germans
.
"
She
reassured
him
briskly
with
:
"
Do
n't
worry
about
that
—
I
've
got
plenty
.
I
'll
settle
the
hotel
and
the
journey
—
you
can
pay
me
when
we
get
back
to
London
.
Stick
close
to
me
,
whatever
you
do
;
if
I
once
lose
you
in
this
crowd
I
shall
never
find
you
again
.
"
He
replied
with
a
mutter
of
thanks
,
and
,
obeying
her
injunction
to
stick
close
,
was
crushed
,
in
her
wake
,
past
the
barrier
at
the
end
of
the
platform
,
past
the
heated
officials
who
were
striving
to
deal
with
the
needs
of
the
influx
of
refugees
,
and
finally
out
of
the
station
.
There
,
in
the
open
space
before
the
Gare
du
Nord
,
he
stepped
back
suddenly
from
the
world
of
nightmare
into
the
world
as
he
had
always
known
it
.
The
wide
,
lit
street
in
front
of
the
station
was
filled
with
a
moving
and
everyday
crowd
,
in
his
ears
were
the
buzz
of
the
taxi
and
the
warning
clang
of
the
tram
.
The
change
from
the
horrible
to
normal
surroundings
—
from
brutality
and
foulness
to
the
order
of
a
great
town
—
was
so
sudden
and
complete
that
it
took
away
his
breath
like
a
swift
plunge
into
cold
water
;
and
as
the
life
of
the
city
enwrapped
him
and
claimed
him
for
its
own
,
for
one
crazy
moment
it
seemed
to
him
that
the
last
few
days
were
impossible
.
Their
fantastic
cruelty
was
something
that
could
not
have
been
...
and
he
almost
looked
round
for
Griselda
.
CHAPTER
XIV
Edith
Haynes
knew
her
way
about
Paris
;
and
the
little
hotel
in
a
quiet
side-street
,
where
a
taxi
deposited
herself
and
her
companion
,
was
one
that
had
sheltered
her
in
days
less
eventful
and
strenuous
,
and
where
Madame
,
in
consequence
,
was
compassionate
and
not
contemptuous
at
being
asked
to
shelter
two
late
arrivals
in
the
last
stage
of
dirt
and
untidiness
.
William
,
before
he
sat
down
to
eat
,
had
exchanged
his
torn
garments
for
the
suit
of
an
absent
son
,
called
up
on
the
first
day
of
mobilization
;
and
for
all
his
ache
and
dull
stupor
of
sorrow
,
he
knew
something
of
the
blessing
of
bodily
relief
when
he
washed
in
hot
water
and
was
clean
.
He
had
had
no
real
sleep
since
the
night
before
Griselda
died
;
now
the
need
for
it
came
down
on
him
like
a
heavy
cloud
and
,
great
as
was
also
his
need
for
food
,
he
could
hardly
keep
his
eyes
open
through
supper
.
When
he
woke
next
morning
it
was
nearing
midday
and
he
had
more
than
slept
the
clock
round
.
He
pressed
the
bell
as
he
had
been
told
to
do
when
he
woke
;
and
with
the
coffee
and
rolls
that
arrived
at
the
summons
came
a
pencilled
note
from
his
mentor
.
She
had
gone
out
to
look
up
her
relatives
,
and
also
to
inquire
about
the
time
and
manner
of
the
journey
from
Paris
to
London
;
she
wrote
that
she
might
not
be
back
at
the
hotel
for
some
hours
,
but
the
envelope
that
enclosed
her
communication
enclosed
likewise
a
tactfully
proffered
loan
for
the
immediate
needs
of
her
fellow-traveller
's
wardrobe
.
But
for
the
reminder
it
would
have
hardly
occurred
to
him
that
his
wardrobe
was
in
need
of
renewal
;
he
had
grown
so
accustomed
in
the
last
long
days
to
being
ordered
,
guided
,
or
driven
that
he
had
lost
the
habit
of
directing
his
own
doings
.
As
it
was
,
he
breakfasted
,
dressed
himself
again
in
the
suit
of
Madame
's
absent
son
,
and
was
instructed
by
Madame
herself
where
to
find
a
barber
for
an
overdue
shave
and
an
outfitter
capable
of
English
.
Thither
he
went
,
made
his
purchases
mechanically
and
returned
to
the
hotel
with
his
new
suit
of
black
in
a
parcel
.
It
seemed
to
him
,
as
he
walked
the
Paris
streets
,
as
he
bought
and
paid
and
spoke
of
things
that
did
not
matter
,
that
his
sense
of
loss
and
his
longing
for
Griselda
was
stronger
even
than
in
the
first
hours
after
her
death
.
It
was
accentuated
by
his
contact
with
the
civilized
,
the
normal
;
by
the
sights
and
sounds
of
the
everyday
world
to
which
Griselda
belonged
.
She
had
had
no
place
in
the
strange
French
village
where
she
died
,
no
place
in
the
misery
and
dirt
of
the
crowded
truck
;
but
here
where
life
,
to
all
seeming
,
was
as
usual
,
where
the
streets
were
like
enough
to
English
streets
to
produce
,
after
country
solitude
and
the
savagery
of
bloodshed
,
the
illusion
of
dear
familiarity
:
here
she
should
have
walked
with
her
arm
in
his
.
Here
she
would
have
chatted
,
have
gazed
in
shop
windows
and
bargained
...
and
long
years
faced
him
with
their
deadly
never
as
he
went
his
way
without
her
.
Later
,
when
he
had
returned
to
the
hotel
and
changed
into
his
new
black
suit
,
a
wild
fit
of
useless
rage
came
over
him
—
and
alone
in
his
third-floor
bedroom
he
cursed
the
devils
who
had
killed
his
wife
,
the
devils
who
had
made
the
war
.
Under
his
breath
,
lest
he
should
be
heard
in
the
corridor
,
he
called
down
the
vengeance
of
God
on
their
evil
heads
,
breaking
inevitably
,
as
his
own
store
of
invective
gave
out
into
lyrical
reminiscence
of
that
Biblical
lore
with
which
his
mother
had
imbued
him
through
Sunday
after
Sunday
of
his
childhood
;
believing
in
the
God
whose
existence
he
had
usually
ignored
(
and
often
doubted
)
because
of
his
need
of
an
avenger
and
a
present
help
in
his
trouble
.
In
that
moment
the
God
whom
he
sought
—
and
it
may
be
found
—
was
the
Lord
God
of
Hosts
,
the
Mighty
One
of
Israel
,
Who
was
wont
to
strike
the
wicked
and
spare
not
;
and
the
desire
of
his
shaken
and
rebellious
soul
was
even
as
the
desire
of
him
who
sang
out
his
hatred
by
the
alien
waters
of
Babylon
.
The
hotel
chambermaid
put
an
end
to
his
whispered
prayer
and
anathema
by
tapping
on
the
door
to
inform
him
that
lunch
was
waiting
on
the
table
.
Edith
Haynes
,
when
she
returned
in
the
late
afternoon
with
news
that
the
journey
could
be
made
on
the
following
day
by
way
of
Dieppe
and
Folkestone
,
found
him
clad
in
his
new-bought
mourning
for
Griselda
and
poring
over
English
newspapers
.
His
eyes
were
still
haggard
and
moved
her
to
pity
,
but
she
took
it
as
a
good
sign
that
his
stupor
of
grief
had
passed
and
that
he
had
begun
(
as
his
first
question
told
her
)
to
feel
a
need
for
more
information
which
might
bridge
the
month
's
gap
in
his
knowledge
of
the
outer
world
.
She
gave
him
,
with
such
detail
as
she
had
in
her
possession
,
the
story
of
the
outbreak
of
war
and
the
causes
thereof
:
and
from
her
he
learned
for
the
first
time
of
the
ultimatum
to
Servia
,
and
the
tension
thereby
created
;
of
the
political
consequences
of
the
invasion
of
Belgium
,
and
the
feverish
days
of
hesitation
in
England
that
had
ended
,
on
the
Fourth
of
August
,
with
the
formal
declaration
of
war
.
He
listened
,
sometimes
puzzled
but
always
intent
,
from
time
to
time
putting
a
question
that
revealed
his
blank
ignorance
of
the
network
of
European
politics
;
to
which
she
replied
as
clearly
as
she
could
,
showing
him
maps
and
talking
on
in
the
hope
of
distracting
him
from
the
thoughts
behind
his
haggard
eyes
.
By
degrees
she
gleaned
,
from
his
hesitating
queries
and
disconnected
comments
,
some
understanding
not
only
of
his
profound
ignorance
of
the
forces
that
had
brought
about
the
war
,
but
of
the
upheaval
of
his
mind
and
soul
which
was
the
direct
and
inevitable
consequence
of
the
loss
of
his
former
faith
.
Once
or
twice
as
they
talked
he
quoted
her
scraps
and
jerks
of
anti-militarist
propaganda
—
from
Faraday
,
from
orators
of
the
Trades
Union
Congress
,
from
a
speech
of
Philip
Snowden
's
in
Parliament
urging
the
reduction
of
the
Navy
—
and
she
saw
that
he
was
trying
to
justify
to
himself
his
attitude
and
creed
of
yesterday
.
In
the
midst
of
a
quotation
from
Faraday
on
the
general
strike
as
a
certain
preventive
of
war
,
he
broke
off
suddenly
to
appeal
to
her
with
:
"
Every
one
thought
he
was
right
.
He
seemed
so
sure
.
I
did
n't
see
how
he
could
be
wrong
!
"
She
noticed
that
,
wherever
their
talk
might
stray
,
he
came
back
,
time
and
again
,
to
his
central
fact
—
that
the
blankly
impossible
had
happened
and
the
jest
was
a
brutal
truth
.
That
,
in
the
beginning
,
was
all
his
mind
had
laid
hold
of
;
now
,
the
first
stage
of
amazement
over
,
he
was
groping
instinctively
,
and
perhaps
unconsciously
,
after
rights
and
wrongs
of
quarrel
,
and
striving
to
understand
how
the
impossible
had
come
into
existence
.
Edith
Haynes
had
not
passed
her
life
in
the
atmosphere
of
Internationalism
,
and
would
have
been
more
than
human
had
she
been
an
impartial
guide
to
him
where
the
causes
of
war
were
concerned
—
just
as
he
would
have
been
more
than
human
had
he
been
capable
of
impartial
guidance
.
What
he
lacked
in
patriotism
he
made
up
in
personal
suffering
;
he
hated
the
German
because
he
had
been
robbed
of
his
wife
,
and
it
added
but
little
to
the
fire
of
his
hatred
to
learn
of
faith
broken
with
Belgium
.
If
he
listened
intently
when
she
told
of
it
,
if
he
pored
over
newspaper
paragraphs
dealing
with
German
cruelty
to
the
conquered
,
it
was
because
they
fitted
with
his
mood
and
justified
the
loathing
in
his
soul
.
It
was
his
persistent
poring
over
English
newspapers
that
brought
him
in
the
end
the
salvation
of
a
definite
purpose
.
An
article
in
The
Daily
Chronicle
—
some
days
old
—
described
the
beginning
of
the
recruiting
campaign
for
the
raising
of
Kitchener
's
Army
;
he
read
it
as
he
read
everything
else
that
explained
or
described
the
war
.
At
first
the
article
was
nothing
but
news
to
him
,
a
mere
statement
of
facts
;
but
as
he
read
further
a
meaning
flamed
into
the
news
.
Bereft
as
he
was
of
guidance
,
his
mind
swinging
rudderless
in
chaos
,
he
was
waiting
unconsciously
for
the
man
or
the
impulse
that
could
seize
on
his
helpless
emotion
and
give
purpose
and
direction
to
his
life
;
thus
the
journalist
's
vigorous
appeal
to
the
nation
's
patriotism
was
driven
home
by
the
force
of
his
own
experience
and
became
an
appeal
to
himself
.
The
writer
had
illustrated
his
argument
in
the
obvious
manner
,
by
reference
to
the
condition
of
invaded
Belgium
and
the
suffering
of
her
people
under
the
hand
and
heel
of
the
enemy
;
he
wrote
of
women
outraged
,
of
hostages
killed
,
of
cities
laid
waste
,
and
of
houses
fired
with
intention
.
He
was
spurred
by
indignation
,
by
pity
and
a
natural
patriotism
,
and
had
laid
on
his
colours
—
to
all
but
William
—
with
a
vivid
and
forcible
pen
.
To
William
,
as
he
read
,
the
result
seemed
lame
and
pitiful
,
an
inadequate
babbling
of
the
living
horrors
that
had
burned
themselves
into
his
soul
;
but
for
all
its
weakness
—
perhaps
because
of
it
—
the
article
gave
him
the
impulse
for
which
he
had
been
waiting
in
torment
.
It
may
have
been
his
very
sense
of
the
inadequacy
with
which
it
described
what
he
had
known
that
set
his
imagination
to
work
,
that
drove
home
its
purport
and
made
of
it
a
lead
to
his
blind
and
whirling
emotions
.
He
read
and
re-read
while
he
quivered
with
impatience
at
its
failure
;
if
the
man
had
seen
what
he
had
seen
,
if
the
man
had
lost
what
he
had
lost
,
he
could
not
have
argued
so
tamely
.
His
pen
would
have
been
dipped
in
fire
;
he
would
have
written
so
that
all
men
reading
him
would
have
rushed
to
arms
.
The
paper
dropped
from
his
hands
to
the
table
and
he
sat
staring
at
a
picture
of
his
own
making
—
of
a
crowd
bitter
and
determined
,
moved
by
the
tale
of
wrongdoing
to
a
righteous
and
terrible
wrath
.
He
saw
it
setting
forth
to
execute
justice
and
avenge
innocent
blood
...
and
himself
one
of
it
,
spurring
and
urging
it
on
.
So
he
first
visualized
himself
as
a
soldier
—
an
unscientific
combatant
of
the
Homeric
pattern
,
but
nevertheless
a
soldier
.
The
vision
thrilled
and
inspired
him
,
and
out
of
the
deep
waters
of
his
impotent
misery
he
clutched
at
the
knowledge
that
he
