Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest discouragement.  An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly above their vacillations.  The Generalissimo was the only one who possessed the secret of events.  And Desnoyers approved with the blind enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence.  Joffre! . . .  That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right.  Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always says the decisive word.

At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train.  “Good luck to you!” And he clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, perhaps in a very short time.  Finding the road unexpectedly open, the train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the station.  In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train crew.  The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the war transportation.

In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip.  The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified.  He would have to walk the eight miles.  The old man did not hesitate.  Forward March!  And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white highway running between an endless succession of plains.  Some groups of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the monotony of the countryside.  The fields were covered with stubble from the recent harvest.  The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold.  In the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn.

The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day.  Around the hay stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping.  They were fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would carry them further on, they knew not where.  Some had come from far-away districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and for several days had been going forward, directed by chance.  Others, infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same horrors. . . .  Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were trundled along in wheelbarrows.  When the sun awoke this miserable band they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by the night.  Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck during the day that was just dawning.  Some were continuing their way down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other place.