s!

Such subconscious insults made him draw himself erect, in haughty, cruel
and inexorable defiance against that other I who so richly deserved the
judge's scorn.

He turned his head away; he could not meet Marguerite's piteous eyes; he
feared their mute reproach. Neither did he dare to look at the blind man
in his shabby and heroic uniform, with his countenance aged by duty and
glory. He feared him like remorse.

So the vanquished lover turned his back on the two and went away with a
firm step. Good-bye, Love! Goodbye, Happiness! . . . He marched quickly
and bravely on; a miracle had just taken place within him! he had found
the right road at last!

To Paris! . . . A new impetus was going to fill the vacuum of his
objectless existence.

CHAPTER V

THE INVASION

Don Marcelo was fleeing to take refuge in his castle when he met the
mayor of Villeblanche. The noise of the firing had made him hurry to the
barricade. When he learned of the apparition of the group of stragglers
he threw up his hands in despair. They were crazy. Their resistance was
going to be fatal for the village, and he ran on to beg them to cease.

For some time nothing happened to disturb the morning calm. Desnoyers
had climbed to the top of his towers and was surveying the country with
his field glasses. He couldn't make out the highway through the nearest
group of trees, but he suspected that underneath their branches great
activity was going on--masses of men on guard, troops preparing for the
attack. The unexpected defense of the fugitives had upset the advance
of the invasion. Desnoyers thought despairingly of that handful of mad
fellows and their stubborn chief. What was their fate going to be? . . .

Focussing his glasses on the village, he saw the red spots of kepis
waving like poppies over the green of the meadows. They were the
retreating men, now convinced of the uselessness of their resistance.
Perhaps they had found a ford or forgotten boat by which they might
cross the Maine, and so were continuing their retreat toward the river.
At any minute now the Germans were going to enter Villeblanche.

Half an hour of profound silence passed by. The village lay silhouetted
against a background of hills--a mass of roofs beneath the church tower
finished with its cross and iron weather cock. Everything seemed as
tranquil as in the best days of peace. Suddenly he noticed that the
grove was vomiting forth something noisy and penetrati