appen that your motor was not at the station?" said H.

"Oh," she replied, "our officers hired it early this morning and my
husband bad to drive them post-haste to Soissons. He hasn't got back
yet!"

Before going farther in my narrative I shall say here, lest I forget it,
that two of the supposed officers were caught within the fortnight and
shot at Meaux as German spies--the third managed to make his escape.

Hearing the carriage coming down the hill, we walked towards the
doorway. At that same moment we saw the white-trousered _gendarme_
hastening towards the town hall. Catching might of H., he held up the
sealed envelope he held in his band, and shouted, "You were right,
Monsieur. It has come!"

We jumped into the victoria, but as we crossed the square the
_garde-champetre_ caught the bridle and stopped our turnout.

"One moment, Monsieur."

Then the town-crier appeared, instantly causing the staggering groups to
cluster into one. He had no need to ring his bell. He merely lifted
his hand and obtained instant silence, and then slowly read out in deep,
solemn, measured tones, which I shall never forget until my dying day.

"_Extrme urgence. Ordre de mobilisation generale. Le premier jour de
la mobilization est le dimanche deux aout!_"

That was all! It was enough! The tension of those last two days was
broken. No matter what the news, it was a relief. And we drove away
'mid the rising hum of hundreds of tongues, loosened after the agonizing
suspense.

The news had not yet reached Villiers when we drove through the village
street. We turned into the chateau and found Elizabeth Gauthier, her
children and almost all the servants, grouped near the entrance ball.
They looked towards us with an appealing gaze.

As H. opened his mouth to answer, the sharp pealing of the _tocsin_,
such as it rings only in cases of great emergency, followed by the
rolling of the drum, told them better than we could that the worst bad
come.

The servants retired in silence and still the bell rang on. Presently
we could hear the clicking of the sabots on the bard road as the
peasants hurried from the fields towards the _Mairie_.

I can see us all now, standing there in the brilliant afternoon
sunlight--Elizabeth murmuring between her sobs, "O God, don't take my
husband!" little Jules clinging to her skirts, amazed at her distress,
and happy, lighthearted, curly-headed baby Colette, chasing butterflies
on the lawn in fro