And Desnoyers approved with the blind
enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . .
That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right.
Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always
says the decisive word.

At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. "Good luck to you!" And he
clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die,
perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the
train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the
station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to
Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train
crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the
war transportation.

In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart
drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip.
The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of
transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He
would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate.
Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white
highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups
of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the
monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from
the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish
cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In
the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn.

The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay
stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out
their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were
fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would
carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away
districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and
for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others,
infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same
horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their
arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the
other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women,
withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were
trundled along in whee