Nobody else was asked for his papers on the way to Maubeuge; but I was; and although I clung to my rights, I had to choose at last between accepting the humiliation and being left behind by the train.  I was sorry to give way; but I wanted to get to Maubeuge.

Maubeuge is a fortified town, with a very good inn, the Grand Cerf.  It seemed to be inhabited principally by soldiers and bagmen; at least, these were all that we saw, except the hotel servants.  We had to stay there some time, for the canoes were in no hurry to follow us, and at last stuck hopelessly in the custom-house until we went back to liberate them.  There was nothing to do, nothing to see.  We had good meals, which was a great matter; but that was all.

The Cigarette was nearly taken up upon a charge of drawing the fortifications:  a feat of which he was hopelessly incapable.  And besides, as I suppose each belligerent nation has a plan of the other’s fortified places already, these precautions are of the nature of shutting the stable door after the steed is away.  But I have no doubt they help to keep up a good spirit at home.  It is a great thing if you can persuade people that they are somehow or other partakers in a mystery.  It makes them feel bigger.  Even the Freemasons, who have been shown up to satiety, preserve a kind of pride; and not a grocer among them, however honest, harmless, and empty-headed he may feel himself to be at bottom, but comes home from one of their coenacula with a portentous significance for himself.

It is an odd thing, how happily two people, if there are two, can live in a place where they have no acquaintance.  I think the spectacle of a whole life in which you have no part paralyses personal desire.  You are content to become a mere spectator.  The baker stands in his door; the colonel with his three medals goes by to the cafe at night; the troops drum and trumpet and man the ramparts, as bold as so many lions.  It would task language to say how placidly you behold all this.  In a place where you have taken some root, you are provoked out of your indifference; you have a hand in the game; your friends are fighting with the army.  But in a strange town, not small enough to grow too soon familiar, nor so large as to have laid itself out for travellers, you stand so far apart from the business, that you positively forget it would be possible to go nearer; you have so little human interest around you, that you do not remember yourself to be a man.  Perhaps, in a very short time, you would be one no longer.  Gymnosophists go into a wood, with all nature seething around them, with romance on every side; it would be much more to the purpose if they took up their abode in a dull country town, where they should see just so much of humanity as to keep them from desiring more, and only the stale externals of man’s life.  These externals are as dead to us as so many formalities, and speak a dead language in our eyes and ears.  They have no more meaning than an oath or a salutation.  We are so much accustomed to see married couples going to church of a Sunday that we have clean forgotten what they represent; and novelists are driven to rehabilitate adultery, no less, when they wish to show us what a beautiful thing it is for a man and a woman to live for each other.