"_Pensez-vous? Non!_ We would be the first to be notified. We were
ever so much closer to war two years ago--at Agadir! There is no cause
for alarm."
He almost persuaded me, but after hesitating a moment I decided to abide
by my original intentions.
"I can always put my money back in a week or so if all blows over and I
find I don't need it," I argued.
"Certainly, Madame--as you will."
And the twenty-eighth of July the _Societe Generale_ gave me all the
gold I requested.
As the five o'clock express hurried me back home I began to understand
the gravity of the situation--for the "queer looking soldiers" were
nearer together all along the railway line, and it dawned on me that
theirs was a very serious mission--namely, that of safeguarding the
steel artery which leads from Paris to the eastern frontier.
At Charly, our station, I was much surprised to see three French
officers in full uniform get off the train and step into the
taxi-autobus which deposits its travelers at the only hotel in the
vicinity.
At the chateau my story failed to make an impression. The men
pooh-poohed the idea of war, and returned to the evening papers and the
_proces Caillaux_, which was the most exciting question of the moment.
In the pantry the news was greeted with hilarity, and coachman and
gardener declared that they would shoulder their spades and _faire la
guerre en sabots_.
My friend and neighbor, Elizabeth Gauthier, was the only one who took
the matter seriously, and that because she had no less than five
brothers and a husband who would be obliged to serve in case of serious
events. I felt rather ashamed when I saw her countenance darken, for
after all, she was alone in Villiers with two tiny children; her
husband, the well-known archivist, coming down but for the week-end.
"What is the sense of alarming people so uselessly?" I thought.
Wednesday, the 29th, the papers began to talk of "a tension in the
political relations between France and Germany" which, however, did not
quench the gaiety of a picnic luncheon in the grove by our river.
In the afternoon the old _garde-champetre_ asked for H. in the
courtyard.
"In case of mobilization," said he, "you have three horses and your farm
cart to present to the authorities. Your cart must have its awnings
complete. And your horses harnessed with their halters!"
H. laughed and told him that he was giving himself a lot of useless
trouble.
Thursday, the 30th, market day at Charly, the nearest town to Villiers.
We both drove down in the victoria, and were not surprised to see my
officers of the day before seated in the hotel dining-room, finishing
breakfast.
"What are they down here for?" I queried of the proprietor.
"Oh, they belong to the _Etat Major_ and are out here to verify their
maps. The Mayor has given them an office in the town hall. They go off
on their bicycles early every morning and only return for meals."
"It's rather a treat to see a uniform out here, where hardly an officer
has appeared since last year when we had Prince George of Servia and his
staff for three days."
The general topic on the market place was certainly _not_ war, and we
drove home somewhat reassured.
Friday, the 31st, however, the tone of the newspapers was serious and
our little village began to grow alarmed when several soldiers on
holiday leave received individual official telegrams to rejoin their
regiments immediately. Little knots of peasants could be seen grouped
together along the village street, a thing unheard of in that busy
season when vineyards need so much attention. Towards noon the news ran
like wildfire that men belonging to the youngest classes had received
their official notices and we're leaving to join their corps. Yet there
was no commotion anywhere.
"It will last three weeks and they'll all come home, safe and sound.
It's bothersome, though, that the Government should choose just our
busiest season to take the men out for a holiday!" declared one peasant.
There was less hilarity in the servants' hall when I entered after
luncheon. At least I fancied so. The men had gone about their work
quicker than usual, and the women were silently washing up.
"Does Madame know that the _fils Poupard_ is leaving by the four o'clock
train---and that Cranger and Veron are going too?" asked my faithful
Catherine.
"No."
"Yes, Madame--and Honorine is in the wash-house crying as though her
heart would break."
I turned on my heel and walked toward the river. In the wash-house I
found Honorine bending over her linen, the great tears streaming down
her face, in spite of her every effort to control them.
"Why, Honorine, what's the matter?"
"He's gone, Madame--gone without my seeing him--without even a clean
pair of socks!"
"Who?"
"My son, Madame!"
And the tears burst out afresh, though in silence.
"Yes, Madame, I found this under the door when I came in at noon.--" She
drew a crumpled paper from her apron pocket. I smoothed it out and
read:
"_Je viens de recevior ma feuille. Je pars de suite. Je prends les
deux francs sur la cheminee. Jean._" (I've just received my notice. Am
leaving at once. Have taken the two francs that are on the mantel.
Jean.)
I cannot say what an impression that brief but heroic note made upon me.
In my mind it has always stood as characteristic of that wonderful
national resolution to do one's duty, and to make the least possible
fuss about it.
At tea-time the male contingent of the house-party was decidedly
restless.
"Let's go up to Paris and see what's going on."
"There's no use doing that. Elizabeth Gauthier went this morning and
will be back in an hour with all the news. It's too late to go to town,
anyway!"
"Well, if things don't look better to-morrow I've got to go. My
military book is somewhere in my desk at home and it's best to have it
_en regle_ in case of necessity," said Delorme.
"Mine's at home, too," echoed our friend Boutiteron.
"We'll all go to-morrow, and make a day of it," decided H.
Just then the silhouette of the three officers on bicycles passed up the
road.
"Let's go out and ask them what's up," suggested someone.
"Pooh! Do you think they know anything more than we do? And if they do
know something, they wouldn't tell _you!_ Don't make a fool of
yourself, Hugues!"
Presently Elizabeth Gauthier arrived, placid and cool as though
everything were normal. "Paris is calm; calm as Paris always is in
August."
"But the papers? Your husband? What does he say?"
"There are no extras--Leon doesn't seem over-alarmed, though as captain
in the reserves he would have to leave within an hour after any
declaration of hostilities. He has a special mission to perform. But
he's certain of coming down by the five o'clock train to-morrow."
We went in to dinner but conversation lagged. Each one seemed
preoccupied and no one minded the long silences. We were so quiet that
the Angelus ringing at Charly, some four miles away, roused us with
something of a shock.
Saturday morning, August 1st, the carryall rolled up to the station for
the early train. All made a general rush for the papers which had just
arrived and all of us were equally horrified when a glance showed the
headline-Jaures, the Great Socialist Leader, Assassinated. Decidedly
the plot thickened and naturally we all jumped to the same conclusion--a
political crime.
"There's a stronger hand than the murderer's back of that felony,"
murmured a plain man from the corner of our compartment.
"What makes you say that?"
"Why, can't you see, Monsieur, that our enemies are counting on the deed
to stir up the revolutionary party and breed discord in the country!
It's as plain as day!"
That was rather opening the door to a lengthy discussion, but our
friends refused to debate, especially as we could hear excited masculine
voices rising high above the ordinary tone in the compartments on either
side of us.
The journey drew to a close without any further remarkable incident. It
seemed to me that we passed more up trains than usual, but were not a
moment overdue. There was nothing to complain of. As we approached La
Villette and drew into the Gare de l'Est everybody noticed the
extraordinary number of locomotives that were getting up steam in the
yards. There were rows and rows of them, just as close together as it
was possible to range them, and as far as the eye could see their
glittering boilers extended down the tracks in even lines. Each one had
a freshly glued yellow label, on which was printed in big black capitals
the name of its home station. That was the most significant preparation
we had witnessed as yet. Presently we observed that the platforms of
freight and express depots had been swept clear of every obstacles and
the usually encumbered Gare de l'Est was clean and empty as the hand of
man could make it.
In the courtyard our party separated, promising to meet for the five
o'clock express--"Unless something serious prevents."
I accompanied H. to the _Caserne des Minimes_ where he went to see if
his military situation was registered up to date in his _livret_, and
all along the streets leading from the station we met women silently
wiping their eyes.
What a sight the courtyard of that barracks presented! Some five or six
thousand men of all ages, classes and conditions who up until that
moment had never thought that the loss of a military book entailed the
slightest consequence, had one and all been pushed by that single
thought, "Be ready for duty." Here they were, boys of twenty and men of
forty, standing in line, braving their all-time enemy, the _gendarme_,
each silently waiting his turn to explain his situation. To the credit
of the _gendarme_ and all those in authority, it must be said that
contrary to their usual custom they acted like loving fathers with these
prodigal sons of the Republic--possible information without the sign of
a grumble, and advising those who were still streaming in at the door to
come back towards five o'clock, when the line should have advanced a
little. It was then scarcely ten A. M.!
H. had finished in no time.
"All I've got to do is to go home and wait until I am called for," he
explained as we walked away at a brisk gait.
Like most country people when they come to town I had numerous errands
to do, so we set off towards the _Bazar de l'Hotel de Ville_, renowned
for its farming implements.
At the corner of the Rue des Archives we met Monsieur Gauthier on his
way to his Museum.
"_Grave--tre's grave--la situation, Monsieur_," was all he could say.
"What would you advise us to do?"
"Well, to speak plainly, I should advise you to shut up the chateau,
leave a guardian, and open your Paris apartment. You're in the east,
you know! I shall go down by the five train and bring back Elizabeth
and the children. I'd be easier in my mind if I knew they were in a big
city! I If you have to leave, Madame Huard would be better off here."
H. was very sober as we left Mr. Gauthier.
"Bah! Cheer up! I'm afraid our friend is an alarmist. You know he has
two young children!"
We entered the Bazar, which is the "biggest" of the big stores in Paris.
Every day in the week, and Sundays included, it is usually so crowded
with buyers and sellers that one has to elbow one's way, and literally
serve one's self. To our amazement it was empty--literally empty. Not
a single customer--not a single clerk to be seen. The long stretches of
floor and counters were vacant as though the store were closed. I
gasped a little in surprise and just as I did so a female voice from
behind a distant desk called out:
"What is your pleasure, Madame?"