or officers
are called for as yet. Perhaps I may return. If not, I shall exhort all
of you who are sons of La Patrie to do your duty. You are too young to
fight, but you are none of you too young to be brave and loyal, to help
your parents, and your mothers if your fathers are needed by the
fatherland for active service.

"You are not too young to show courage, no matter what may come. You are
not too young to keep alive the spirit of the sons of France--the spirit
that won at Austerlitz and Jena, that rose, like the phoenix from its
ashes, after Gravelotte and Sedan, when the foe believed that France lay
crushed for evermore! Perhaps you, like all who are French, may be
called upon to make sacrifices, sometimes to go hungry. But remember
always that it is not only those who face the foe on the battle line who
can serve the fatherland!"

He drew himself up again.

"Farewell, then, mes enfants!" he said. "I go to meet again those other
children I am to lead! Vive la France!"

For a moment, as he moved to the door, there was silence.

And it was Frank Barnes, only half French, who jumped to the top of a
desk and raised his voice in the most stirring of all patriotic
airs--the Marseillaise.

With a will they joined him, English, American and French, for all were
there. Slowly, still singing, they followed the master from the
class-room, and gathered outside in the open air of the school yard. And
from other rooms, from all over the school, masters and boys poured out
to join them and to swell the chorus. Outside, in the street, a passing
battalion of the infantry of the line, made up of smiling young
soldiers, heard and took up the chorus, singing as they marched.

There was no need of questions from those who heard the singing. In a
moment the discipline of the school went by the board. And, when the
song was done, they still remained together, waiting. In ten minutes, M.
Donnet appeared from the door of his own house. But now he was
transformed. He was in the uniform of his rank, his sword was by his
side; a servant carried his bags. He strode through the ranks of
cheering boys to the gate, saluting right and left as he did so.

CHAPTER III

THE CALL TO ARMS

"This does not yet mean war!"

So M. Donnet had cried, in a final word of warning, meaning, if
possible, to do his part in the government's plan, still in force, of
restraining the passions of the French people. No. It did not mean war.
Not qu