had to keep retreating all the time, unable on account
of strict orders to fight or defend the land? "Just as it was in the
'70's," he sighed. "Outwardly there is more order, but the result is
going to be the same."

As though a negative reply to his faint-heartedness, he overheard the
voice of a soldier reassuring a farmer: "We are retreating, yes--only
that we may pounce upon the Boches with more strength. Grandpa Joffre is
going to put them in his pocket when and where he will."

The mere sound of the Marshal's name revived Don Marcelo's hope.
Perhaps this soldier, who was keeping his faith intact in spite of the
interminable and demoralizing marches, was nearer the truth than the
reasoning and studious officers.

He passed the rest of the day making presents to the last detachments of
the column. His wine cellars were gradually emptying. By order of
dates, he continued distributing thousands of bottles stored in the
subterranean parts of the castle. By evening he was giving to those who
appeared weakest bottles covered with the dust of many years. As the
lines filed by the men seemed weaker and more exhausted. Stragglers were
now passing, painfully drawing their raw and bleeding feet from their
shoes. Some had already freed themselves from these torture cases
and were marching barefoot, with their heavy boots hanging from their
shoulders, and staining the highway with drops of blood. Although
staggering with deadly fatigue, they kept their arms and outfits,
believing that the enemy was near.

Desnoyers' liberality stupefied many of them. They were accustomed to
crossing their native soil, having to struggle with the selfishness of
the producer. Nobody had been offering anything. Fear of danger had made
the country folk hide their eatables and refuse to lend the slightest
aid to their compatriots who were fighting for them.

The millionaire slept badly this second night in his pompous bed with
columns and plushes that had belonged to Henry IV--according to the
declarations of the salesmen. The troops no longer were marching past.
From time to time there straggled by a single battalion, a battery,
a group of horsemen--the last forces of the rear guard that had taken
their position on the outskirts of the village in order to cover
the retreat. The profound silence that followed the turmoil of
transportation awoke in his mind a sense of doubt and disquietude.
What was he doing there when the soldiers had gone? Was