The rain ceased and he concluded to scout about the house to see if any one was near, or if any farm animals besides the horse had been left.  But Marne was alone.  There was not even a fowl of any kind.  He concluded that the horse had probably wandered away before the peasant left, as so valuable an animal would not have been abandoned otherwise.

His scouting—­he was learning to be very cautious—­took him some distance from the house and he came to a narrow road, but smooth and hard, a road which troops were almost sure to use, while such great movements were going on.  He waited behind a hedge a little while, and then he heard the hum of motors.

He had grown familiar with the throbbing, grinding sound made by many military automobiles on the march, but he waited calmly, merely loosening his automatic for the sake of precaution.  He felt sure that while he stood behind a hedge he would never be seen on a dark night by men traveling in haste.  The automobiles came quickly into view and in those in front he saw elderly men in uniforms of high rank.  Nearly all the German generals seemed to him to be old men who for forty or fifty years had studied nothing but how to conquer, men too old and hardened to think much of the rights of others or ever to give way to generous emotions.

He also saw sitting erect in one of the motors the man for whom he had felt at first sight an invincible repulsion.  Prince Karl of Auersperg.  Young von Arnheim had represented the good prince to him, but here was the medieval type, the believer in divine right, and in his own superiority, decreed even before birth.  John noted in the moonlight his air of ownership, his insolent eyes and his heavy, arrogant face.  He hoped that the present war would sweep away all such as Auersperg.

He watched nearly an hour while the automobiles, cyclists, a column of infantry, and then several batteries of heavy guns drawn by motors, passed.  He judged that the Germans were executing a change of front somewhere, and that the Franco-British forces were still pressing hard.  The far thunder of the guns had not ceased for an instant, although it must be nearly midnight.  He wished he knew what this movement on the part of the Germans meant, but, even if he had known, he had no way of reaching his own army, and he turned back to the cottage.

Having fastened the door securely again he spread the blankets on the bench by the window and lay down to sleep.  The tension was gone from his nerves now, and he felt that he could fall asleep at once, but he did not.  A shift in the wind brought the sound of the artillery more plainly.  His imagination again came into vivid play.  He believed that the bench beneath him, the whole cottage, in fact, was quivering before the waves of the air, set in such violent motion by so many great guns.

It annoyed him intensely.  He felt a sort of personal anger against everybody.  It was past midnight of the third day and it was time for the killing to stop.  At least they might rest until morning, and give his nerves a chance.  He moved restlessly on the bench a half hour or more, but at last he sank gradually to sleep.  As his eyes closed the thunder of the cannonade was as loud and steady as ever.  He slept, but the murderous sport of kings went on.