All his ideas seemed to have been snatched away by that first discharge of cannon.  His brain was living in the present moment only.  He turned his eyes insistently toward the white and red banner which was waving from the mansion.

“That is treachery,” he thought, “a breach of faith.”

Far away, on the other side of the Marne, the French artillery were belching forth their deadly fire.  He could imagine their handiwork from the little yellowish clouds that were floating in the air, and the columns of smoke which were spouting forth at various points of the landscape where the German troops were hidden, forming a line which appeared to lose itself in infinity.  An atmosphere of protection and respect seemed to be enveloping the castle.

The morning mists had dissolved; the sun was finally showing its bright and limpid light, lengthening the shadows of men and trees to fantastic dimensions.  Hills and woods came forth from the haze, fresh and dripping after their morning bath.  The entire valley was now completely exposed, and Desnoyers was surprised to see the river from the spot to which he had been rooted—­the cannon having opened great windows in the woods that had hid it from view.  What most astonished him in looking over this landscape, smiling and lovely in the morning light, was that nobody was to be seen—­absolutely nobody.  Mountain tops and forests were bellowing without anyone’s being in evidence.  There must be more than a hundred thousand men in the space swept by his piercing gaze, and yet not a human being was visible.  The deadly boom of arms was causing the air to vibrate without leaving any optical trace.  There was no other smoke but that of the explosions, the black spirals that were flinging their great shells to burst on the ground.  These were rising on all sides, encircling the castle like a ring of giant tops, but not one of that orderly circle ventured to touch the edifice.  Don Marcelo again stared at the Red Cross flag.  “It is treachery!” he kept repeating; yet at the same time he was selfishly rejoicing in the base expedient, since it served to defend his property.

The battalion was at last completely installed the entire length of the wall, opposite the river.  The soldiers, kneeling, were supporting their guns on the newly made turrets and grooves, and seemed satisfied with this rest after a night of battling retreat.  They all appeared sleeping with their eyes open.  Little by little they were letting themselves drop back on their heels, or seeking the support of their knapsacks.  Snores were heard in the brief spaces between the artillery fire.  The officials standing behind them were examining the country with their field glasses, or talking in knots.  Some appeared disheartened, others furious at the backward flight that had been going on since the day before.  The majority appeared calm, with the passivity of obedience.  The battle front was immense; who could foresee the outcome? . . .  There they were in full retreat, but in other places, perhaps, their comrades might be advancing with decided gains.  Until the very last moment, no soldier knows certainly the fate of the struggle.  What was most grieving this detachment was the fact that it was all the time getting further away from Paris.