Bon jour, messieurs! Ça va bien? ”

She hid any fear she had under the courage of her smile. Poor châteaux of France! German shells came to knock down their painted turrets, to smash through the ceilings where the rosy Cupids played, and in one hour or two to ruin the beauty that had lived through centuries of pride.

Scores of them along the line of battle were but heaps of brick-dust and twisted iron.

I saw the ruins of the Château de Henencourt two years after my first visit there. The enemy’s line had come closer to it and it was a target for their guns. Our guns⁠—heavy and light⁠—were firing from the back yard and neighboring fields, with deafening tumult. Shells had already broken the roofs and turrets of the château and torn away great chunks of wall. A colonel of artillery had his headquarters in the petit salon. His hand trembled as he greeted me.