uipments, resting in long double rows, eyes vacant, heads bent.
Above the thickets of rifles sweeping past, mounted officers sat
in their saddles, as though carried along on the surface of the
serried tide. Standards fringed with gold slanted in the last
rays of the sun, sabres glimmered, curving upward from the
thronged rifles, and over all sounded the shuffle, shuffle of
worn shoes in the dust, a mournful, monotonous cadence, a
hopeless measure, whose burden was despair, whose beat was the
rhythm of breaking hearts.

Oh, but it cut Lorraine to see their boyish faces, dusty, gaunt,
hollow-eyed, turn to her and turn away without a change, without
a shade of expression. The mask of blank apathy stamped on every
visage almost terrified her. On they came, on, on, and still on,
under a forest of shining rifles. A convoy of munitions crowded
in the rear of the column, surrounded by troopers of the
train-des-equipages; then followed more infantry, then cavalry,
dragoons, who sat listlessly in their high saddles, carbines
bobbing on their broad backs, whalebone plumes matted with dust.

Georges rose painfully from his seat, stepped to the side, and
climbed down into the road. He felt in the breast of his dolman
for the packet, adjusted his sabre, and turned to Lorraine.

"There is a squadron of the Remount Cavalry over in that
meadow--I can get a horse there," he said. "Thank you, Jack.
Good-by, Mademoiselle de Nesville, you have been more than
generous."

"You can have a horse from the Morteyn stables," said Jack; "my
dear fellow, I can't bear to see you go--to think of your riding
to Metz to-night."

"It's got to be done, you know," said Georges. He bowed; Lorraine
stretched out her hand and he gravely touched it with his
fingers. Then he exchanged a nervous gripe with Jack, and turned
away hurriedly, crowding between the passing dragoons, traversing
the meadows until they lost him in the throng.

"We cannot get to the house by the road," said Jack; "we must
take the stable path;" and he lifted the reins and turned the
horse's head.

The stable road was narrow, and crossed with sprays of tender
leaves. The leaves touched Lorraine's eyes, they rubbed across
her fair brow, robbing her of single threads of glittering hair,
they brushed a single bright tear from her cheeks and held it,
glimmering like a drop of dew.

"Behold the end of the world," said Lorraine--"I am weeping."

He turned and looked into her eyes.