point of concentration. One of their children was carrying
the old sword in its cloth sheath. The wife was hanging on his arm,
sad and proud at the same time, giving her last counsels in a loving
whisper.

Street cars, automobiles and cabs rolled by with crazy velocity. Nobody
had ever seen so many vehicles in the Paris streets, yet if anybody
needed one, he called in vain to the conductors, for none wished to
serve mere civilians. All means of transportation were for military
men, all roads ended at the railroad stations. The heavy trucks of the
administration, filled with sacks, were saluted with general enthusiasm.
"Hurrah for the army!" The soldiers in mechanic's garb, on top of the
swaying pyramid, replied to the cheers, waving their arms and uttering
shouts that nobody pretended to understand.

Fraternity had created a tolerance hitherto unknown. The crowds were
pressing forward, but in their encounters, invariably preserved good
order. Vehicles were running into each other, and when the conductors
resorted to the customary threats, the crowds would intervene and make
them shake hands. "Three cheers for France!" The pedestrians, escaping
between the wheels of the automobiles were laughing and good-naturedly
reproaching the chauffeur with, "Would you kill a Frenchman on his way
to his regiment?" and the conductor would reply, "I, too, am going in
a few hours. This is my last trip." As night approached, cars and cabs
were running with increasing irregularity, many of the employees having
abandoned their posts to take leave of their families and make the
train. All the life of Paris was concentrating itself in a half-dozen
human rivers emptying in the stations.

Desnoyers and Argensola met in a boulevard cafe toward midnight. Both
were exhausted by the day's emotions and under that nervous depression
which follows noisy and violent spectacles. They needed to rest. War
was a fact, and now that it was a certainty, they felt no anxiety to get
further news. Remaining in the cafe proved impossible. In the hot and
smoky atmosphere, the occupants were singing and shouting and waving
tiny flags. All the battle hymns of the past and present were here
intoned in chorus, to an accompaniment of glasses and plates. The
rather cosmopolitan clientele was reviewing the European nations. All,
absolutely all, were going to enroll themselves on the side of France.
"Hurrah! . . . Hurrah!" . . . An old man and his wife were seated at a