ntinued. There passed toward the North
battalions, squadrons and batteries, worn, weary and grimy, covered with
dust and mud, but kindled with an ardor that galvanized their flagging
energy.

The French cannon began thundering on the village side. Bands of
soldiers were exploring the castle and the nearest woods. From the
ruined rooms, from the depths of the cellars, from the clumps of
shrubbery in the park, from the stables and burned garage, came surging
forth men dressed in greenish gray and pointed helmets. They all threw
up their arms, extending their open hands:--"Kamarades . . . kamarades,
non kaput." With the restlessness of remorse, they were in dread of
immediate execution. They had suddenly lost all their haughtiness on
finding that they no longer had any official powers and were free from
discipline. Some of those who knew a little French, spoke of their wives
and children, in order to soften the enemies that were threatening them
with their bayonets. A brawny Teuton came up to Desnoyers and clapped
him on the back. It was Redbeard. He pressed his heart and then pointed
to the owner of the castle. "Franzosen . . . great friend of the
Franzosen" . . . and he grinned ingratiatingly at his protector.

Don Marcelo remained at the castle until the following morning, and was
astounded to see Georgette and her mother emerge unexpectedly from the
depths of the ruined lodge. They were weeping at the sight of the French
uniforms.

"It could not go on," sobbed the widow. "God does not die."

After a bad night among the ruins, the owner decided to leave
Villeblanche. What was there for him to do now in the destroyed castle?
. . . The presence of so many dead was racking his nerves. There were
hundreds, there were thousands. The soldiers and the farmers were
interring great heaps of them wherever he went, digging burial trenches
close to the castle, in all the avenues of the park, in the garden
paths, around the outbuildings. Even the depths of the circular lagoon
were filled with corpses. How could he ever live again in that tragic
community composed mostly of his enemies? . . . Farewell forever, castle
of Villeblanche!

He turned his steps toward Paris, planning to get there the best way
he could. He came upon corpses everywhere, but they were not all the
gray-green uniform. Many of his countrymen had fallen in the gallant
offensive. Many would still fall in the last throes of the battle that
was going on behind