Famine and hardship had not diminished his big paunch so characteristic of the rich, peace-loving merchant.  He had gone through the terrible events of the past year with sorrowful resignation and bitter complaints at the savagery of men.  Now that he was journeying to the frontier at the close of the war, he saw the Prussians for the first time, although he had done his duty on the ramparts and mounted guard on many a cold night.

He stared with mingled fear and anger at those bearded armed men, installed all over French soil as if they were at home, and he felt in his soul a kind of fever of impotent patriotism, at the same time also the great need of that new instinct of prudence which since then has, never left us.  In the same railway carriage were two Englishmen, who had come to the country as sightseers and were gazing about them with looks of quiet curiosity.  They were both also stout, and kept chatting in their own language, sometimes referring to their guidebook, and reading aloud the names of the places indicated.

Suddenly the train stopped at a little village station, and a Prussian officer jumped up with a great clatter of his sabre on the double footboard of the railway carriage.  He was tall, wore a tight-fitting uniform, and had whiskers up to his eyes.  His red hair seemed to be on fire, and his long mustache, of a paler hue, stuck out on both sides of his face, which it seemed to cut in two.

The Englishmen at once began staring, at him with smiles of newly awakened interest, while M. Dubuis made a show of reading a newspaper.  He sat concealed in his corner like a thief in presence of a gendarme.

The train started again.  The Englishmen went on chatting and looking out for the exact scene of different battles; and all of a sudden, as one of them stretched out his arm toward the horizon as he pointed out a village, the Prussian officer remarked in French, extending his long legs and lolling backward: 

“I killed a dozen Frenchmen in that village and took more than a hundred prisoners.”

The Englishmen, quite interested, immediately asked: 

“Ha! and what is the name of this village?”

The Prussian replied: 

“Pharsbourg.”  He added:  “We caught those French scoundrels by the ears.”

And he glanced toward M. Dubuis, laughing conceitedly into his mustache.

The train rolled on, still passing through hamlets occupied by the victorious army.  German soldiers could be seen along the roads, on the edges of fields, standing in front of gates or chatting outside cafes.  They covered the soil like African locusts.

The officer said, with a wave of his hand: 

“If I had been in command, I’d have taken Paris, burned everything, killed everybody.  No more France!”

The Englishman, through politeness, replied simply: 

“Ah! yes.”

He went on: 

“In twenty years all Europe, all of it, will belong to us.  Prussia is more than a match for all of them.”