There was the butcher’s shop, destroyed; and the house of poor little Madeleine; and old Christopher’s workshop; and the milliner’s place, where they used to buy their Sunday hats; and that frightful gap where the Arcade had been. Truly, poor Amiens had suffered martyrdom; though, thank God, the cathedral still stood in glory, hardly touched, with only one little shell-hole through the roof.

Terrible was the damage up the rue de Beauvais and the streets that went out of it. To one rubbish heap which had been a corner house two girls came back. Perhaps the French authorities had not had that one on their list. The girls came tripping home, with light in their eyes, staring about them, ejaculating pity for neighbors whose houses had been destroyed. Then suddenly they stood outside their own house and saw that the direct hit of a shell had knocked it to bits. The light went out of their eyes. They stood there staring, with their mouths open⁠ ⁠… Some Australian soldiers stood about and watched the girls, understanding the drama.

“Bit of a mess, missy!” said one of them. “Not much left of the old home, eh?”