It worked like magic.  We had hardly been there two minutes when a train was signaled.

As it approached, we could see that engine and cars were decorated with garlands of flowers, and trailing vines, while such inscriptions as, “Train de Plaisir pour Berlin,” and numerous caricatures had been chalked on the varnished sides of the carriages.

Our appeals were not in vain.  With joyful shouts, the boys gladly threw us the papers which were welcomed like the rain of manna in the desert.  I managed to collect two, L’Action Franfaise, and Le Bonnet Rouge.

Until others and fresher were procured, the Royalist and the Revolutionary sheets hung side by side on the public sign board at Villiers, proving that under the Third Republic, Liberte’, Egalite’, Fraternite are not vain words.

The news of the violation of Luxembourg and Belgian territory created less sensation than one might have expected.  In the circumstances news of any kind seemed a blessing.

There was still quite a gathering in front of the town hall when the first carts began to return from the revision.  They were few and far between, compared with the double line that had driven past in the morning.  My heart leapt with joy, as I saw George, driving Cesar, turn into the court.

“Too old, Madame,” he said, his eyes shining.  “Though still so game that they nearly kept him.  He’s reserved for a second call.”

“And Florentin and Cognac?”

The boy put his hand into his pocket and held out a slip of paper.  I took it and read, “Bon pour 1,200 francs, prix de 2 chevaux, etc.”

“Well, thank God, we’ve got one left anyhow,” thought I as I entered the hall.  Just then the gate creaked and I could vaguely distinguish in the deepening twilight the forms of mother Poupard and Julia hurrying towards the stables.  I followed.

“George!  George!” called Julia.

“Well?” came the answer from within.

“George—­where’s the old man?” queried mother Poupard in excited tones.

“How do I know?”

“Was our horse taken?  Can you tell us that?”

“I think so; yes.”

“Then why didn’t Poupard come back with you and Leon in the cart?  Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Where was he?”

“In front of a cafe as we drove past.”

“Oh, the old villain!  The wretch!  Oh, mon Dieu, what shall we do!  Oh, the wicked old man—­if I had him here, I’d thrash him good!”

And mother Poupard began brandishing a pitch-fork with such violence that I commenced to fear that failing her delinquent spouse, she would fall upon George to wreak vengeance.

“Oh, the old devil!  Oh—­”

“Look here, I’m not his nurse—­now clear out, the lot of you!”

The injunction served its purpose, for remembering they were “not at home,” the two women retired in high dudgeon, wailing and lamenting in such audible tones that their neighbors came out to see what was the matter, and laughed at mother Poupard’s threat of what she would do if ever she got le vieux into her clutches.