They had arrived in time to attack von Kluck on the banks of the Ourq, obliging him to fall back or be completely overwhelmed.

A fact which Argensola did not relate to his sympathetic guest was that his nocturnal excursion the entire length of this division of the army had been accompanied by the amiable damsel within, and two other friends—­an enthusiastic and generous coterie, distributing flowers and kisses to the swarthy soldiers, and laughing at their consternation and gleaming white teeth.

Another day he had seen the most extraordinary of all the spectacles of the war.  All the taxicabs, some two thousand vehicles, conveying battalions of Zouaves, eight men to a motor car, had gone rolling past him at full speed, bristling with guns and red caps.  They had presented a most picturesque train in the boulevards, like a kind of interminable wedding procession.  And these soldiers got out of the automobiles on the very edge of the battle field, opening fire the instant that they leaped from the steps.  Gallieni had launched all the men who knew how to handle a gun against the extreme right of the adversary at the supreme moment when the most insignificant weight might tip the scales in favor of the victory which was hanging in the balance.  The clerks and secretaries of the military offices, the orderlies of the government and the civil police, all had marched to give that final push, forming a mass of heterogenous colors.

And one Sunday afternoon when, with his three companions of the “siege” he was strolling with thousands of other Parisians through the Bois de Boulogne, he had learned from the extras that the combat which had developed so near to the city was turning into a great battle, a victory.

“I have seen much, Madame Desnoyers. . . .  I can relate great events.”

And she agreed with him.  Of course Argensola had seen much! . . .  And on taking her departure, she offered him all the assistance in her power.  He was the friend of her son, and she was used to his petitions.  Times had changed; Don Marcelo’s generosity now knew no bounds . . . but the Bohemian interrupted her with a lordly gesture; he was living in luxury.  Julio had made him his trustee.  The draft from America had been honored by the bank as a deposit, and he had the use of the interest in accordance with the regulations of the moratorium.  His friend was sending him regularly whatever money was needed for household expenses.  Never had he been in such prosperous condition.  War had its good side, too . . . but not wishing to break away from old customs, he announced that once more he would mount the service stairs in order to bear away a basket of bottles.

After her sister’s departure, Dona Luisa went alone to the churches until Chichi in an outburst of devotional ardor, suddenly surprised her with the announcement: 

“Mama, I am going with you!”

The new devotee was no longer agitating the household by her rollicking, boyish joy; she was no longer threatening the enemy with imaginary dagger thrusts.  She was pale, and with dark circles under her eyes.  Her head was drooping as though weighed down with a set of serious, entirely new thoughts on the other side of her forehead.