mall successes gained on the right, in Alsace, had apparently been
consolidated. The German tide through Luxembourg was stemmed, and, even
though the Kaiser himself witnessed its bombardment, Nancy held out. But
the trump card in the Allies' hand was Verdun. De Castlenau clung
resolutely to the chain of forts crowning the heights in front of the
town, and his successful defence saved Paris. Whatever might happen to
the centre and left, the right, at any rate, seemed safe.

The Allied Generalissimo was forced to give way before the fury of the
German onslaught in Belgium. He withdrew his armies while there was yet
time, thus averting irrevocable disaster. According to all the rules of
the game, he should have retired his whole line southwards, in order to
ensure the safety of Paris. But he did not throw his highest trump: he
clung to Verdun, and left Paris exposed. His armies retreated, not on
the Capital, but in a sweeping movement that was hinged upon Verdun. He
realised that the fate of Paris depended not upon its being covered by
the Allies, but upon the fate of the second great battle of the war.

Meanwhile, the great retreat--this hinging movement--continued, very
slowly near Verdun, very, very swiftly on the left. Days passed; no
attempt was made to check the enemy's advance, and the passing of each
day left Paris more exposed. The world gasped at the breathless
swiftness with which disaster seemed to be swooping down upon the
Capital. But every day de Castlenau was consolidating his defence of
Verdun, in face of tremendous odds; and every day the ferocity of the
German onrush waned. The line continued to swing resolutely back, until
such time as a completed mobilisation should allow the Allies to turn
upon the enemy in greater force, in their own time, and on chosen
ground. A premature effort would have spoiled all. They had to wait for
their chance.

Meanwhile, rapid concentrations of reserves were taking place behind the
line, the most famous instance of which was the Reserve Army moved out
of Paris by General Gallieni in taxis, fiacres, and any vehicle the
authorities could commandeer to ensure that the Army should be in its
place in time. It was in its place. Just as the world was beginning to
say that the war was over, General Joffre decided that the iron was hot,
that the time to strike had arrived. "The moment has come," he wrote,
"to die where you stand, rather than give way."

The outlook changed from