sixty chasseur-à-pied were left to guard the bridge
at the other side of the town. Only a few shells
have fallen in Gerbéviller. It is the work of the
incendiary, of the man who destroys property as
a child knocks down a house of blocks, because it
pleases his unconsidered impulse to be cruel—to
smash!—to laugh, as he sees things go Smash!
Smash! Smash! Sæur Julie, if she will, can tell you
better than I, because she was here. She
lived through each minute of the dreadful three
days, and, since she is a religieuse, what she says
will not seem so far beyond belief as the story of
what I know only by hearsay. But first you
should see the château and its chapel."
We entered Gerbéviller, for a short distance threading streets flanked by walls, like the walls of Sermaize-les-Bains, scarcely two feet high. They were eloquent with the story of their fall. They seemed trying to explain to us that after the conflagration dynamite had been used, that their skeletons had been torn to pieces by stained and vicious hands.
For a long time we saw no one. Then a child appeared, walking at a demure pace, her eyes downcast as she picked a path among the ruins.
We paused in a weed-choked plaza. To the right a wall rose for two thirds of its original height, but through its empty windows showed the
