They
were very republican and very free. The officer who commanded them was
one of themselves, his authority was by consent.
It was all very pleasant and genuine; there was a sense of ease and
peacefulness, quite different from the mechanical, slightly sullen
manoeuvring of the Germans.
The village baker and his assistant came hot and floury from the
bakehouse, bearing between them a great basket of fresh bread. The
cavalry were all dismounted by the bridge-head, eating and drinking like
business men. Villagers came to greet their friends: one soldier kissed
his father, who came wearing a leathern apron. The school bell
tang-tang-tanged from above, school children merged timidly through the
grouped horses, up the narrow street, passing unwillingly with their
books. The river ran swiftly, the soldiers, very haphazard and slack in
uniform, real shack-bags, chewed their bread in large mouthfuls; the
young lieutenant, who seemed to be an officer only by consent of the
men, stood apart by the bridge-head, gravely. They were all serious and
self-contented, very unglamorous. It was like a business excursion on
horseback, harmless and uninspiring.
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