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Updated: June 14, 2025
One of them made an emphatic gesture with his stick, over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come. "Where are you going?" I called. He made the same gesture toward Esbly, and then we all laughed heartily, and by that time we were too far apart to continue the interesting conversation, and that was all the enlightenment I got out of that meeting.
As we came back to Esbly I strained my eyes to look across to the hill on which my house stands, I could just see it as we crawled across the bridge at the Iles-lès-Villenoy, and felt again the miracle of the battle which swept so near to us. In my innermost heart I had a queer sensation of the absurdity of my relation to life.
I transacted my business quickly saw only one person, which was wiser than I knew then, and caught the four o'clock train back we were almost the only passengers. I had told Pere not to come after us it was so uncertain when we could get back, and I had always been able to get a carriage at the hotel in Esbly.
So, hearing one day that my friend from Voulangis had a permission to drive to the train at Esbly, and that she was returning about nine in the morning, I determined to meet her on the road, and at least see how she was looking and have a little chat. I felt a longing to hear someone say: "Hulloa, you," just a few words in English.
He wanted to go out to the battlefield, so I arranged to meet his train at Esbly, go on with him to Meaux, and drive back by road. I started for Esbly in my usual sans gêne manner, and was disgusted with myself on arriving to discover that I had left all my papers at home. However, as I had never had to show them, I imagined it would make no difference.
I sat on a board in the back of the covered cart, only too glad for any sort of locomotion which was not "shank's mare." Just after we left Esbly I saw first an English officer, standing in his stirrups and signaling across a field, where I discovered a detachment of English artillery going toward the hill.
All the same, the general impression was, that in spite of that, "all was well." I suppose it was wise. On Sunday week, that was August 30, Amelie walked to Esbly, and came back with the news that they were rushing trains full of wounded soldiers and Belgian refugies through toward Paris, and that the ambulance there was quite insufficient for the work it had to do.
To make it seem all the more primitive there is a rickety old diligence which runs from Quincy Huiry is really a suburb of Quincy to Esbly twice a day, to connect with trains for Paris with which the branch road does not connect. It has an imperial, and when you come out to see me, at some future time, you will get a lovely view of the country from a top seat.
While I was waiting for the train at Esbly I had a conversation with a woman who chanced to sit beside me on a bench on the quai, which seemed to me significant. Today everyone talks to everyone. All the barriers seem to be down. We were both reading the morning paper, and so, naturally, got to talking.
I had my first intimation yesterday, when I had a domiciliary visit from the gendarmes at Esbly. It was a very formal, thorough affair, the two officers treating me, at the beginning of the interview, as if I were a very guilty person. I was upstairs when I saw them arrive on their wheels. I put down my sewing, and went down to be ready to open the door when they knocked. They didn't knock.
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