Meanwhile, rapid concentrations of reserves were taking place behind the line, the most famous instance of which was the Reserve Army moved out of Paris by General Gallieni in taxis, fiacres, and any vehicle the authorities could commandeer to ensure that the Army should be in its place in time.  It was in its place.  Just as the world was beginning to say that the war was over, General Joffre decided that the iron was hot, that the time to strike had arrived.  “The moment has come,” he wrote, “to die where you stand, rather than give way.”

The outlook changed from black to rose with the completeness and ease of a pantomime transformation scene.  The Verdun heights remained impregnable.  The whole line turned and fought where it stood.  The enemy, worn out by his exertions, stretched his line of communications to breaking-point, and it was said that his supplies of food and munitions had come temporarily very near to collapse.  The Allies checked him.  He could not even hold his own.  In two days he was moving back, away from Paris.

The economic reasons were not the only factors in his downfall.  He was beaten by the Allied morale, and also by the Allied strategy.  Von Kluck, the Commander of the German right, hurrying on in an abortive pursuit of the British Army, found that he was outflanked by the army of Gallieni, which, stronger than his own, threatened his line of communications.  To press on towards Paris would have been suicidal.  To linger in his present position would have been to court capture.  He, therefore, began the famous march across the French front, by which he hoped to gain touch with the army on his left, and as he turned, the British and French fell upon him simultaneously, as in a vice.  For a day the line wavered irresolutely, then Von Kluck realised that the pendulum of success was beginning to swing the other way.  He had to retire or face irretrievable disaster.

Thus Paris was saved.  The tremendous blow aimed at it was parried, and it seemed as if the striker tottered, as if he had overreached his strength.  The treachery with which the Germans had inaugurated the movement, the brutality and cruelty with which they had carried it through, were brought to nothing before the superior morale of the Allied troops, and the matchless strategy of their Commander.

The enemy was checked along the whole line, but the Allies were not satisfied with that.  The French flung themselves upon the invader with a ferocity and heroism that was positively reminiscent of the Napoleonic legends.  General Foch, in command of the General Reserve, achieved the culminating success in this victory, known as the Battle of the Marne.  He broke the enemy’s line:  he thrust into the gap a wedge so powerful that the enemy was forced to give way on either side of it, because his centre was broken.  The victory of the Marne was assured.

Slowly at first, latterly with increasing speed, the Allies were hurling the enemy northwards.  He was becoming more demoralised every day.  A victory even greater than the Marne was in sight.