me of the great military maneuvers of September, 1913, Viviers
was an important center of the operations. All the district was
brightened with a swarming of red and blue and with martial ardor.

Alone and systematically, Brisbille was the reviler. From the top of
Chestnut Hill, where we were watching a strategical display, he pointed
at the military mass. "Maneuvers, do they call them? I could die of
laughing! The red caps have dug trenches and the white-band caps have
bunged 'em up again. Take away the War Office, and you've only kids'
games left."

"It's war!" explained an influential military correspondent, who was
standing by.

Then the journalist talked with a colleague about the Russians.

"The Russians!" Brisbille broke in; "when they've formed a
republic----"

"He's a simpleton," said the journalist, smiling.

The inebriate jumped astride his hobby horse. "War me no war, it's all
lunacy! And look, look--look at those red trousers that you can see
miles away! They must do it on purpose for soldiers to be killed, that
they don't dress 'em in the color of nothing at all!"

A lady could not help breaking in here: "What?" Change our little
soldiers' red trousers? Impossible! There's no good reason for it.
They would never consent! They would rebel."

"Egad!" said a young officer; "why we should all throw up our
commissions! And any way, the red trousers are not the danger one
thinks. If they were as visible as all that, the High Command would
have noticed it and would have taken steps--just for field service, and
without interfering with the parade uniform!"

The regimental sergeant-major cut the discussion short as he turned to
Brisbille with vibrant scorn and said, "When the Day of Revenge comes,
_we_ shall have to be there to defend _you_!"

And Brisbille only uttered a shapeless reply, for the sergeant-major
was an athlete, and gifted with a bad temper, especially when others
were present.

The castle was quartering a Staff. Hunting parties were given for the
occasion in the manorial demesne, and passing processions of bedizened
guests were seen. Among the generals and nobles shone an Austrian
prince of the blood royal, who bore one of the great names in the
Almanach de Gotha, and who was officially in France to follow the
military operations.

The presence of the Baroness's semi-Imperial guest caused a great
impression of historic glamour to hover over the country. His name was