It had,
for good and sufficient reasons, been placed "out of bounds." Amiens
was a real city, the first that we had seen in the north of France; it
had wide paved streets, broad boulevards, double street car lines,
electric lighting and all the things that go to make up a modern city
in any country.
The road from Amiens to Beuvais led away from the front and all
evidences of military operations disappeared. The country in that
region was rolling, well tilled and well wooded. Numerous quaint
little villages, each one different in character from the other,
nestled in the shelter of the valleys. At one place we stopped to pick
the mistletoe from a row of apple trees that were simply covered with
the green parasite; while we watched, away to the west, a gorgeous
sunset flame and die. It was the finishing touch to a day that had
been almost perfect, and we tumbled into bed at the Hotel de
l'Angleterre in the ancient city of Beuvais to sleep the sound sleep
induced by fresh air and sunshine in those who have not been
accustomed to it.
Next morning at ten o'clock we set out for Paris, and, crossing the
Oise at the point where the British had blown up the bridge during
their retreat from Mons, reached the gate of St. Denis in the walls of
Paris at noon. Although every pedestrian and wagon driver was being
stopped and made to show passes we were asked no questions.
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