But
on the western side there was next to nothing, and it was a sign to me
of the utter unreadiness of France that now at the eleventh hour
when I passed thousands of men were digging trenches in the roads
and fields with frantic haste, and throwing up earthworks along the
banks of the Seine. Great God! that such work should not have been
done weeks before and not left like this to a day when the enemy's
guns were rumbling through Creil and smashing back the allied
armies in retreat!
It was a pitiful thing to see the deserted houses of the Paris suburbs.
It was as though a plague had killed every human being save those
who had fled in frantic haste. Those little villas on the riverside, so
coquette in their prettiness, built as love nests and summer-houses,
were all shuttered and silent Roses were blowing in their gardens, full-
blown because no woman's hand had been to pick them, and spilling
their petals on the garden paths. The creeper was crimsoning on the
walls and the grass plots were like velvet carpeting, so soft and
deeply green. But there were signs of disorder, of some hurried
transmigration. Packing-cases littered the trim lawns and cardboard
boxes had been flung about. In one small bower I saw a child's
perambulator, where two wax dolls sat staring up at the abandoned
house.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164