We jumped into the victoria, but as we crossed the square the garde-champetre caught the bridle and stopped our turnout.

“One moment, Monsieur.”

Then the town-crier appeared, instantly causing the staggering groups to cluster into one.  He had no need to ring his bell.  He merely lifted his hand and obtained instant silence, and then slowly read out in deep, solemn, measured tones, which I shall never forget until my dying day.

“Extrme urgence.  Ordre de mobilisation generale.  Le premier jour de la mobilization est le dimanche deux aout!”

That was all!  It was enough!  The tension of those last two days was broken.  No matter what the news, it was a relief.  And we drove away ’mid the rising hum of hundreds of tongues, loosened after the agonizing suspense.

The news had not yet reached Villiers when we drove through the village street.  We turned into the chateau and found Elizabeth Gauthier, her children and almost all the servants, grouped near the entrance ball.  They looked towards us with an appealing gaze.

As H. opened his mouth to answer, the sharp pealing of the tocsin, such as it rings only in cases of great emergency, followed by the rolling of the drum, told them better than we could that the worst bad come.

The servants retired in silence and still the bell rang on.  Presently we could hear the clicking of the sabots on the bard road as the peasants hurried from the fields towards the Mairie.

I can see us all now, standing there in the brilliant afternoon sunlight—­Elizabeth murmuring between her sobs, “O God, don’t take my husband!” little Jules clinging to her skirts, amazed at her distress, and happy, lighthearted, curly-headed baby Colette, chasing butterflies on the lawn in front of us!

II

August first.

The tocsin ceased, but the drum rolled on.

In a moment we had recovered from the first shock, and all went out to the highroad to hear the declaration.  To H. and me it was already a thing of the past, but we wanted to see how the peasants would take it.

At Villiers as at Charly, it was the garde champetre who was charged with this solemn mission, and the old man made a most pathetic figure as he stood there with his drumsticks in his hand, his spectacles pushed back, and the perspiration rolling down his tanned and withered cheeks.

“What have you got to say?” queried one woman, who was too impatient to wait until all had assembled.

“Bien de bon—­” was the philosophic reply, and our friend proceeded to clear his throat and make his announcement.

It was received in dead silence.  Not a murmur, not a comment rose from the crowd, as the groups dispersed, and each one returned to his lodgings.

We followed suit, and I went with H. towards the servants’ hall.