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Updated: May 20, 2025
I had read about them, but never seen one. As near as I could make out, the artillery was on top of the hill of Monthyon where we saw the battle of the Marne begin, and the line they were observing was the Iles-lès-Villenoy, in the river right at the west of us. When I first saw the exercises, there were half a dozen lovely red and green lights hanging motionless in the sky.
But otherwise it was very still. I walked out on the lawn. Little lines of white smoke were rising from a few chimneys at Joncheroy and Voisins. The towns on the plain, from Monthyon and Penchard on the horizon to Mareuil in the valley, stood out clear and distinct.
The news which is slowly filtering back to us from the plains is another matter. Some of the families in our commune have relatives residing in the little hamlets between Cregy and Monthyon, and have been out to help them re-install themselves. Very little in the way of details of the battle seems to be known. Trees and houses dumbly tell their own tales.
You'll not be a loser, I promise you. The simpleton began to tremble and lift his arms up in the air. He loved his bear! 'But my bear's the same as my brother! he says. Then do you know what the Marquis of Monthyon did?
But lo, turning the corner like some one of importance, here comes a sleek and tawny mastiff, with the silvery tinkle of a trinket which gleams on his neck. He is proclaiming and preceding his young mistress, Mademoiselle Evelyn de Monthyon, who is riding her pony. The little girl caracoles sedately, clad in a riding habit, and armed with a crop. She has been an orphan for a long time.
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