numbers and lined the borders of the road in an unbroken
cortege. Ah! the unhappy ones, who had believed that they were to find
safety under the walls of the fortifications! The father lashed the poor
old nag, the mother followed after, leading her crying children by the
hand, and in this way entire families, sinking beneath the weight of
their burdens, were strung along the white, blinding road in the fierce
sunlight, where the tired little legs of the smaller children were
unable to keep up with the headlong flight. Many had taken off their
shoes and were going barefoot so as to get over the ground more rapidly,
and half-dressed mothers gave the breast to their crying babies as they
strode along. Affrighted faces turned for a look backward, trembling
hands were raised as if to shut out the horizon from their sight, while
the gale of panic tumbled their unkempt locks and sported with their
ill-adjusted garments. Others there were, farmers and their men, who
pushed straight across the fields, driving before them their flocks and
herds, cows, oxen, sheep, horses, that they had driven with sticks
and cudgels from their stables; these were seeking the shelter of the
inaccessible forests, of the deep valleys and the lofty hill-tops, their
course marked by clouds of dust, as in the great migrations of other
days, when invaded nations made way before their barbarian conquerors.
They were going to live in tents, in some lonely nook among the
mountains, where the enemy would never venture to follow them; and the
bleating and bellowing of the animals and the trampling of their hoofs
upon the rocks grew fainter in the distance, and the golden nimbus that
overhung them was lost to sight among the thick pines, while down in the
road beneath the tide of vehicles and pedestrians was flowing still as
strong as ever, blocking the passage of the troops, and as they drew
near Belfort the men had to be brought to a halt again and again, so
irresistible was the force of that torrent of humanity.

It was during one of those short halts that Maurice witnessed a scene
that was destined to remain indelibly impressed upon his memory.

Standing by the road-side was a lonely house, the abode of some poor
peasant, whose lean acres extended up the mountainside in the rear. The
man had been unwilling to leave the little field that was his all and
had remained, for to go away would have been to him like parting with
life. He could be seen within the