Excerpt from The Maid of Mirabelle: A Romance of Lorraine
I see the dawn through drowsy eyes, which close, only to start Open again as the restored si lence is once more pierced by another clarion call. Now a bugle, before the barrack just over the way, is singing in silver t... ones the staccato notes Of the reveille. Poilu get up, poilu get up, poilu get up, it's morning, it seems to say. The command is not addressed to me, and I lazily turn over under the ¿uffy feather counterpane that covers me like heaped-up snow on a grave, the high head-and-foot stones Of which are hand-carved black walnut, beautiful with age.
I strive to shut out the sounds Of stirring life by burying both ears simultaneously in the pillow, and fail. For now, from the near-by convent, whose square tower and squat steeple rises above the village like a guardian sentinel, the morning Angelus begins it ringing welcome to the new-born day.
Clang! Clang! Clang! The bells in turn sound out the tonal trinity, the last sonorously deep of voice speaking in slow, measured notes as though it scorned to be hurried at its time of life. N OW all three join in the glad matutinal chorus.
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