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Updated: May 7, 2025
After twenty-four hours in Paris they were evacuated to a village in the Yonne. My brother was obliged to go the next day, and at the present time is at Rozoy-en-Brie. I believe we made a halt there in 1914 when we fled as refugees. After three days at Rozoy, Alfred could stand it no longer, and with three companions they started home on bicycles, in order to see what had happened.
"We have ridden from Coulommiers through Rozoy, and Normant." "It would have been an easier road to have gone from Normant through Melun," the sergeant said. And he took out a map, and examined it. "No, I see le Chatelet is a more direct line." "We have time to wait an hour," Ralph said, turning to Percy; "and it will be better for our beasts. See that they are rubbed down, and fed."
I'll stand for the drinks," called a man from a corner of the cafe. "What regiment do you belong to?" "L'Escadron du train." My heart leapt with expectancy. "Do you know a man named H.?" "No." My disappointment was even greater than my joy. "How many horses are you taking to Rozoy?" "Two hundred and some." "At what time will they pass here?"
"Three quarters of our fellow citizens," writes the Rozoy municipality, "are forced to quit work and overrun the country here and there, among the farmers, to obtain bread for specie, and with more entreaty than the poorest wretches; for the most part, they return with tears in their eyes at not being able to find, not merely a bushel of wheat, but a pound of bread."
Their story was brief. "We're the forerunners of a cavalry depot, being transferred to Rozoy from Montmirail. It's getting too hot down there! How far is it to Rozoy?" I pulled out my map. "Seventeen kilometres." "Oh, Lord!" And the poor fellows wiped the great beads of perspiration from their dusty necks and faces. "Bring up a bottle of wine.
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