e little groups beneath or around a tent were preparing the
morning meal.

What strange looking creatures they were; anything but military in their
dirty white overalls--the only things that betrayed their calling being
their caps and their guns!

"What on earth are they?" queried an American.

"Oh, only some territorials serving their last period of twenty-nine
days. It's not worth while giving them uniforms for so short a time!"

"Bah!" came from the other end of the compartment. "I should think it
was hot enough in the barracks without forcing men that age to mount a
guard in the sun!"

"It's about time for the _Grand manaeuvres_, isn't it?"

And in like manner the conversation rose and dwindled, and we returned
to our papers, paying no more attention to the territorials stationed
along the rails.

A theatre party having been arranged, I decided to stop over in Paris.
The play was _Georgette Lemeunier_ at the Comedie Francaise. The house
was full--the audience chiefly composed of Americans and tourists, and
throughout the entire piece even very significant allusions to current
political events failed to arouse any unwonted enthusiasm on the part of
the French contingent. Outside not even an _edition speciale de la
Presse_ betokened the slightest uneasiness.

The next day, that is, Tuesday, the 28th, I had a business meeting with
my friends, Mr. Gautron and Mr. Pierre Mortier, editor of the _Gil
Blas_. Mr. Gautron was on the minute, but Mr. Mortier kept us waiting
over an hour and when finally we had despaired of his coming I heard
someone hurrying across the court, and the bell was rung impatiently.
Mr. Mortier rushed in, unannounced, very red, very excited, very
apologetic.

"A thousand pardons. I'm horribly late, but you'll forgive me when you
hear the news. I've just come from the Foreign Office. All diplomatic
relations with Germany are suspended. War will be declared Saturday!"

Mr. Gautron and I looked at each other, then at Mr. Mortier, and smiled.

"No, I'm not joking. I'm as serious as I have ever been in my life. The
proof: on leaving the Foreign Office I went and had a neglected tooth
filled, and on my way down, stopped at my shoemaker's and ordered a pair
of good strong boots for Saturday morning. I'll be fit then to join my
regiment."

Our faces fell.

"But why Saturday?"

"Because Saturday's the first of August, and the idea of keeping the
news back is to prevent a panic on