accompaniment of vehicles and draw horses.  They were resting before renewing their march.  He knew this army.  He had seen it in Berlin on parade, and yet it seemed to have changed its former appearance.  There now remained very little of the heavy and imposing glitter, of the mute and vainglorious haughtiness which had made his relatives-in-law weep with admiration.  War, with its realism, had wiped out all that was theatrical about this formidable organization of death.  The soldiers appeared dirty and tired, out.  The respiration of fat and sweaty bodies, mixed with the strong smell of leather, floated over the regiments.  All the men had hungry faces.

For days and nights they had been following the heels of an enemy which was always just eluding their grasp.  In this forced advance the provisions of the administration would often arrive so late at the cantonments that they could depend only on what they happened to have in their knapsacks.  Desnoyers saw them lined up near the road devouring hunks of black bread and mouldy sausages.  Some had scattered through the fields to dig up beet roots and other tubers, chewing with loud crunchings the hard pulp to which the grit still adhered.  An ensign was shaking the fruit trees using as a catch-all the flag of his regiment.  That glorious standard, adorned with souvenirs of 1870, was serving as a receptacle for green plums.  Those who were seated on the ground were improving this rest by drawing their perspiring, swollen feet from high boots which were sending out an insufferable smell.

The regiments of infantry which Desnoyers had seen in Berlin reflecting the light on metal and leather straps, the magnificent and terrifying Hussars, the Cuirassiers in pure white uniform like the paladins of the Holy Grail, the artillerymen with breasts crossed with white bands, all the military variations that on parade had drawn forth the Hartrotts’ sighs of admiration—­these were now all unified and mixed together, of uniform color, all in greenish mustard like the dusty lizards that, slipping along, try to be confounded with the earth.

The persistency of the iron discipline was easily discernible.  A word from the chiefs, the sound of a whistle, and they all grouped themselves together, the human being disappearing in the throngs of automatons; but danger, weariness, and the uncertainty of triumph had for the time being brought officers and men nearer together, obliterating caste distinction.  The officers were coming part way out of their overbearing, haughty seclusion, and were condescending to talk with the lower orders so as to revive their courage.  One effort more and they would overwhelm both French and English, repeating the triumph of Sedan, whose anniversary they were going to celebrate in a few days!  They were going to enter Paris; it was only a matter of a week.  Paris!  Great shops filled with luxurious things, famous restaurants, women, champagne, money. . . .  And the men, flattered that their commanders were stooping to chat with them, forgot fatigue and hunger, reviving like the throngs of the Crusade before the image of Jerusalem.  “Nach Paris!” The joyous shout circulated from the head to the tail of the marching columns.  “To Paris!  To Paris!”