When I was taken to Colonel Duchesne, second-in-command to General Foch, he gave me a smiling greeting, though I was a trespasser in the war zone, and he wanted to know what I thought of his “boys,” what was my opinion of the mobilization, and what were my impressions of the way in which France had responded to the call.  I answered with sincerity, and when I spoke of the astonishing way in which all classes seemed to have united in defence of the nation, Colonel Duchesne had a sudden mist of tears in his eyes which he did not try to hide.

“It is sublime!  All politics have been banished.  We are one people, with one ideal and one purpose—­La France!”

Then he came to the business of my visit—­to obtain a permit to march with the French troops.

“It is very difficult,” said the Colonel.  “General Foch would do all he could for you—­he loves the English—­but no French correspondents are allowed on the frontier, and we can hardly make a distinction in your favour.  Still, I will put your appeal before the general.  The answer shall be sent to your hotel.”

25

It was while waiting for this reply that I was able to explore Nancy and to see the scenes of mobilization.  The town was under martial law.  Its food-supplies were under strict supervision by the commandant.  Every motor-car and cart had been commandeered for the use of the army, and every able-bodied citizen had been called to the colours.  I was the only guest in the Grand Hotel and the manager and his wife attended to my wants themselves.  They were astounded to see me in the town.

“You are the only foreigner left,” they said, “except those who are under armed guard, waiting to be taken to the Swiss frontier.  Look! there go the last of them!”

Through the glass windows of the hotel door I saw about two hundred men marching away from the square surrounded by soldiers with fixed bayonets.  They carried bundles and seemed to droop under the burden of them already.  But I fancy their hearts were heaviest, and I could see that these young men—­waiters and hairdressers and tradesmen mostly of Swiss nationality—­were unwilling victims of this tragedy of war which had suddenly thrust them out of their business and smashed their small ambitions and booted them out of a country which had given them a friendly welcome.  On the other side of the fixed bayonets were some women who wept as they called out “Adieu!” to their fair-haired fellows.  One of them held up a new-born baby between the guards as she ran alongside, so that its little wrinkled face touched the cheek of a young man who had a look of agony in his eyes.

That night I heard the shrill notes of bugle calls and going to my bedroom window listened to the clatter of horses’ hoofs and saw the dim forms of cavalry and guns going through the darkness—­towards the enemy.  No sound of firing rattled my window panes.  It still seemed very quiet—­over there to the East.  Yet before the dawn came a German avalanche of men and guns might be sweeping across the frontier, and if I stayed a day or two in the open town of Nancy I might see the spiked helmets of the enemy glinting down the streets.  The town was not to be defended, I was told, if the French troops had to fall back from the frontier to the fortresses of Belfort and Toul.