One side of the shed was open, and the strange
predatory bird within, insensible to the peering eye of an enemy, seemed
lost in thought in this green valley. The camp of huts beside it was
deserted, and there seemed to exist no hand to close the house door.
They rose again on to a hillside, and on every horizon shone a far blue
forest faint like sea or cloud.
Nearer Treves the villages were filled with Americans--Americans mending
the already perfect roads, and playing with the children.
"This is a topsy-turvy country, as it would be in Hans Andersen,"
thought Fanny. "I thought the Germans had to mend the broken roads
in France!"
They stayed that night in the Porta-Nigra hotel, which had been turned
into an Allied hostel. The mess downstairs was chiefly filled with
American officers, though a few Frenchmen sat together in one corner.
The food was American--corn cakes, syrup, and white, flaky bread.
"Well, what bread! It's like cake!"
"Oh, the Americans eat well!"
"I don't agree with you. They put money into their food, and they eat a
lot of it, but they can't cook.
"Isn't it astonishing what they eat! It's astonishing what all the
armies eat compared with our soldiers."
"Now this cake-bread! I should soon sicken of it. But _they_ will eat
sweets and such things all day long."
"Well, I told you they are children!"
"The Americans here seem different.
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