"Already," said one, "our khaki seems as old-fashioned as a crinoline.
A man said to me yesterday: 'It is time mademoiselle bought her dress
for the summer!'"
(What dream was that of Julien, and of a summer spent in Charleville!
The noise of England burst upon her ears. She heard the talk at
parties--faces swam so close to hers that she looked in their eyes and
spoke to them.)
And how the town is filling with men in new black coats, and women in
shawls! Every day more and more arrive. And the civilians come first
now! Down in the Co-operative I asked for a tin of milk, and I was told:
'We are keeping the milk for the "Civils."' 'For the "Civils"?' I said,
for we are all accustomed to the idea that the army feeds first."
"Oh, that's all gone! We are losing importance now. It is time to go
home."
As they spoke there came a shrill whistle which sounded through
Charleville.
"Ecoute!" said a man down the street, and the Section, moving to the
window, heard it again, nameless, and yet familiar.
Unseen Charleville lifted its head and said, "Ecoute."
The first train had crawled over the new bridge, and stood whistling its
triumph in the station.
As spring became more than a bright light over the mountains so the town
in the hollow blossomed and functioned. The gate bells rang, the electric
light ceased to glow in the daytime, great cranes came up on the trains
and fished in the river for the wallowing bridges.
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