“Let them come,” he exclaimed with a tragic expression.  “They will find me at my post!” . . .

His post was the studio from which he could witness the happenings which he proposed relating to coming generations.  He would entrench himself there with the eatables and wines.  Besides he had the plan—­just as soon as his partner should disappear—­of bringing to live there with him certain lady-friends who were wandering around in search of a problematical dinner, and feeling timid in the solitude of their own quarters.  Danger often gathers congenial folk together and adds a new attractiveness to the pleasures of a community.  The tender affections of the prisoners of the Terror, when they were expecting momentarily to be conducted to the guillotine, flashed through his mind.  Let us drain Life’s goblet at one draught since we have to die! . . .  The studio of the rue de la Pompe was about to witness the mad and desperate revels of a castaway bark well-stocked with provisions.

Desnoyers left the Gare d’Orsay in a first-class compartment, mentally praising the good order with which the authorities had arranged everything, so that every traveller could have his own seat.  At the Austerlitz station, however, a human avalanche assaulted the train.  The doors were broken open, packages and children came in through the windows like projectiles.  The people pushed with the unreason of a crowd fleeing before a fire.  In the space reserved for eight persons, fourteen installed themselves; the passageways were heaped with mountains of bags and valises that served later travellers for seats.  All class distinctions had disappeared.  The villagers invaded by preference the best coaches, believing that they would there find more room.  Those holding first-class tickets hunted up the plainer coaches in the vain hope of travelling without being crowded.  On the cross roads were waiting from the day before long trains made up of cattle cars.  All the stables on wheels were filled with people seated on the wooden floor or in chairs brought from their homes.  Every train load was an encampment eager to take up its march; whenever it halted, layers of greasy papers, hulls and fruit skins collected along its entire length.

The invaders, pushing their way in, put up with many annoyances and pardoned one another in a brotherly way.  “In war times, war measures,” they would always say as a last excuse.  And each one was pressing closer to his neighbor in order to make a few more inches of room, and helping to wedge his scanty baggage among the other bundles swaying most precariously above.  Little by little, Desnoyers was losing all his advantage as a first comer.  These poor people who had been waiting for the train from four in the morning till eight at night, awakened his pity.  The women, groaning with weariness, were standing in the corridors, looking with ferocious envy at those who had seats.  The children were bleating like hungry kids.  Julio finally gave up his place, sharing with the needy and improvident the bountiful supply of eatables with which Argensola had provided him.  The station restaurants had all been emptied of food.