Oh, the meekness of the bluff Senor Desnoyers after these reflections! . . .  His family felt alarmed at seeing the humility and gentleness with which he moved around the house.  The two men-servants had gone to join their regiments, and to them the most surprising result of the declaration of war was the sudden kindness of their master, the lavishness of his farewell gifts, the paternal care with which he supervised their preparations for departure.  The terrible Don Marcelo embraced them with moist eyes, and the two had to exert themselves to prevent his accompanying them to the station.

Outside of his home he was slipping about humbly as though mutely asking pardon of the many people around him.  To him they all appeared his superiors.  It was a period of economic crisis; for the time being, the rich also were experiencing what it was to be poor and worried; the banks had suspended operations and were paying only a small part of their deposits.  For some weeks the millionaire was deprived of his wealth, and felt restless before the uncertain future.  How long would it be before they could send him money from South America?  Was war going to take away fortunes as well as lives? . . .  And yet Desnoyers had never appreciated money less, nor disposed of it with greater generosity.

Numberless mobilized men of the lower classes who were going alone toward the station met a gentleman who would timidly stop them, put his hand in his pocket and leave in their right hand a bill of twenty francs, fleeing immediately before their astonished eyes.  The working-women who were returning weeping from saying good-bye to their husbands saw this same gentleman smiling at the children who were with them, patting their cheeks and hastening away, leaving a five-franc piece in their hands.

Don Marcelo, who had never smoked, was now frequenting the tobacco shops, coming out with hands and pockets filled in order that he might, with lavish generosity, press the packages upon the first soldier he met.  At times the recipient, smiling courteously, would thank him with a few words, revealing his superior breeding—­afterwards passing the gift on to others clad in cloaks as coarse and badly cut as his own.  The mobilization, universally obligatory, often caused him to make these mistakes.

The rough hands pressing his with a grateful clasp, left him satisfied for a few moments.  Ah, if he could only do more! . . .  The Government in mobilizing its vehicles had appropriated three of his monumental automobiles, and Desnoyers felt very sorry that they were not also taking the fourth mastodon.  Of what use were they to him?  The shepherds of this monstrous herd, the chauffeur and his assistants, were now in the army.  Everybody was marching away.  Finally he and his son would be the only ones left—­two useless creatures.