'
"Four times questions were asked, and four times the soldier, whose
voice became lower, made his answer of death. Then the general
lowered his head and asked no more. We saw the tears running
down his scarred old face, and we crept out of the room on tip-toe."
7
In spite of all this tragedy, the French soldier into whose soul it sank,
and who will never forget, wrote home with a gaiety which gleamed
through the sadness of his memories. There was a new series of
"Lettres de mon moulin" from a young officer of artillery keeping
guard in an old mill-house in an important position at the front. They
were addressed to his "dearest mamma," and, thoughtful of all the
pretty hands which had been knitting garments for him, he described
his endeavours to keep warm in them:
"To-night I have piled on to my respectable body a flannel waistcoat,
a flannel shirt, and a flannel belt going round three times, a jacket with
sleeves sent by mamma herself, a leather waistcoat from Aunt
Charlotte, a woollen vest which came to me from the unknown
mother of a young dragoon, a warm undercoat recently received from
my tailor, and a woollen jacket and wrap knitted by Madame P. J. So I
prepare to sleep in peace, if the Boches will kindly allow me.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459