He gave the order to attack.  Everything that he cared about in this world was at stake.  This desperate maneuver would save it all—­or it would not.  He gave the order to attack—­and then he went for a walk on the outskirts of the little village of Plancy.  His companion was one of his staff officers, Lieutenant Ferasson of the artillery; and as they walked they discussed metallurgy and economics.

There could be nothing more typically French or more diametrically opposed to the conceptions of French character which prevailed in other countries before this war.  And I hope that if Lieutenant Ferasson survives, he will accurately designate (if he can) exactly where Foch walked on that Wednesday afternoon, September 9, when, his center having given way, his right wing receded, he pronounced the “situation excellent,” gave the order for attack, and went out to discuss metallurgy.

Toward six o’clock on that evening the Germans, celebrating their certain victory, saw themselves confronted by a “new” French army pouring into the gap they had thought their road to Paris.

The Forty-second Division (more than half dead of fatigue, but their eyes blazing with such immensity and intensity of purpose it has been said the Germans fled, as before spirits, when they saw these men) had not only blocked the roundabout road to Paris; they had broken the morale of Von Buelow’s crack troops.  Without this brilliant maneuver and superb execution the successes of all the other armies must have gone for naught.

“To be victorious,” said Napoleon, “it is necessary only to be stronger than your enemy at a given point and at a given moment.”

Foch’s preferred way to take advantage of that given point and moment is with reserves, which he called the reservoirs of force.  “The art of war consists in having them when the enemy has none.”

But as there were no reserves available at that first Battle of the Marne, he exemplified his other principle that conditions must be met as they arise.

“I still seem,” says Rene Puaux, “to hear General Foch telling us, one evening after dinner at Cassel several months later, about that maneuver of September 9.

“He had put matches on the tablecloth”—­some red matches which Colonel Requin treasures as a souvenir—­“and he illustrated with them the disposition of the troops engaged.  For the Forty-second Division he had only half a match, which he moved here and there with his quick, deft fingers as he talked.

“The match representing the Twelfth German Corps (which with the Prussian Guard was cutting the gap in Foch’s weak spot) was about to make a half-turn which would bring it in the rear of the French armies.

“The general, laying down the half-match that was the Forty-second Division, made an eloquent gesture with his hand, indicating the move that the Forty-second made.

“‘It might succeed,’ he said, laconically, ’or it might fail.  It succeeded.  Those men were exhausted; they won, nevertheless.’”