By nightfall, an onward movement was noticeable in the human tide that had been overflowing the fields as far as the eye could reach.  Some bridges had been constructed across the Marne and the invasion had renewed its march, shouting enthusiastically.  “Nach Paris!” Those left behind till the following day were to live in the ruined houses or the open air.  Desnoyers heard songs.  Under the splendor of the evening stars, the soldiers had grouped themselves in musical knots, chanting a sweet and solemn chorus of religious gravity.  Above the trees was floating a red cloud, intensified by the dusk—­a reflection of the still burning village.  Afar off were bonfires of farms and homesteads, twinkling in the night with their blood-colored lights.

The bewildered proprietor of the castle finally fell asleep in a bed in the lodge, made mercifully unconscious by the heavy and stupefying slumber of exhaustion, without fright nor nightmare.  He seemed to be falling, falling into a bottomless pit, and on awaking fancied that he had slept but a few minutes.  The sun was turning the window shades to an orange hue, spattered with shadows of waving boughs and birds fluttering and twittering among the leaves.  He shared their joy in the cool refreshing dawn of the summer day.  It certainly was a fine morning—­but whose dwelling was this? . . .  He gazed dumbfounded at his bed and surroundings.  Suddenly the reality assaulted his brain that had been so sweetly dulled by the first splendors of the day.  Step by step, the host of emotions compressed into the preceding day, came climbing up the long stairway of his memory to the last black and red landing of the night before.  And he had slept tranquilly surrounded by enemies, under the surveillance of an arbitrary power which might destroy him in one of its caprices!

When he went into the kitchen, the Warden gave him some news.  The Germans were departing.  The regiment encamped in the park had left at daybreak, and after them others, and still others.  In the village there was still one regiment occupying the few houses yet standing and the ruins of the charred ones.  The General had gone also with his numerous staff.  There was nobody in the castle now but the head of a Reserve brigade whom his aide called “The Count,” and a few officials.

Upon receiving this information, the proprietor ventured to leave the lodge.  He saw his gardens destroyed, but still beautiful.  The trees were still stately in spite of the damage done to their trunks.  The birds were flying about excitedly, rejoicing to find themselves again in possession of the spaces so recently flooded by the human inundation.