“We’ll take turns at sitting, Monsieur,” said one of them as H. pushed further on into the corridor.

At the end of five minutes’ time the conversation had become general.  Although as yet there had been no official declaration everyone present was convinced that the news would shortly be made public, and though the crowd was certainly not a merry one, it was certainly not sad.  Most of the men had received their orders in the morning, and had said good-bye to their loved ones at home.  In consequence, there were no heart-rending scenes of farewell, no tearful leave-takings from family and friends, no useless manifestations.

Through the doorway of our stifling compartment, which up until the last moment was left open for air, we could see the train on the opposite platform silently, rapidly filling with men, each carrying a new pair of shoes either slung over the shoulders or neatly tied in a box or paper parcel.  Then without any warning, without any hilarious vociferations on the part of its occupants, it quietly drew out of the station, to be instantly replaced by another train of cars.

Five times we watched the same operation recommence ere the ten o’clock train decided to leave Paris.  Then as the guard went along the platform slamming the doors, a boyish face poked its way into the aperture of our compartment.

“Hello, Louis,” said he, addressing one of the workmen.  “Hello, Louis, you here, too?”

“Eh bien, cette fois je crois quon y va!  Hein?”

Our door closed and the trainman whistled.

“Bon voyage!” shouted the boy through the window.

“The same to you,” replied the other.  That was all.

It was not a very eventful journey.  It was merely hot and lengthy.  We stopped at every little way station either to let down or take on passengers.  We were side-tracked and forgotten for what seemed hours at a time, to allow speedy express trains filled with men and bound for the eastern frontier to pass on and be gone.

At Changis-St. Jean I put my head out of the window and there witnessed a most touching sight.  A youngish man in a well-fitting captain’s uniform, accompanied by his wife and two pretty babies, was preparing to take his leave.  He was evidently well known and esteemed in his little village, for the curate, the mayor, the municipal council and numerous friends had come to see him off.  The couple bore up bravely until the whistle blew-then, clasping each other in an almost brutal embrace, they parted, he to jump into the moving train mid the shouts of well-wishers, and she, her shoulders shaking with emotion, to return to her empty home.

Four months later, almost to a day, I again put my head out of the car window as we stopped at Changis.  Imagine my surprise on seeing almost the same group!  I recognized the mayor, the curate and the others, and a little shiver went down my back as I caught sight of the pretty captain’s wife—­her eyes red and swollen beneath the long widow’s veil that covered her face.  That same hopeful little assembly of August first had once again gathered on the station platform to take possession of and to conduct to their last resting place the mortal remains of their heroic defunct.