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Updated: May 19, 2025
The smoke from bucheron fires, joining the scarves of mist, weaves across its shoulder a veil of lace-like pattern, and at its feet, like some great fastening button, hides the village of the same name, where Marat passed his brooding youth. Its evening lights are already twinkling.
The essence had gone into the man's eye, and he, a great rough bucheron, was reviling the awkwardness and meddling of ladies in no measured terms, while his nurse stood helplessly wringing her white hands, imploring his pardon, but quite unaware of what was to be done.
"I heard that England fought to save France from the damned Germans. That was enough, M'sieu', to make me march. Besides, I always liked to fight." "What did you do before you became a soldier?" "I was a lumberjack." If he had spoken in classic French he would have said, "J'etais bucheron." "Well, then, I suppose you will return to the wood-cutting again, when this war is over."
It is certainly a lonely bit of country, once we had left the lights of Villers-Cotterets behind us, crossed the last railway, and were fairly started in the forest. We didn't meet anything neither cart, carriage, bûcheron, nor pedestrian of any kind.
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