rue d'assas. my concierge came out when she heard the taxi draw up.

"we were expecting you, mr. dreher; i was sayin' as much to my 'usband, only a minute ago."

the man himself appeared. in his capacity as handyman he hoisted my heavy trunk on to his shoulder, as if it were a plaything.

"and when may you be going, mr. dreher?"

"the day after to-morrow, and what about you?"

"a week on wednesday."

"so there we are!" i said.

"there we are! as you say, sir. it was bound to finish like this."

my char-woman had had the happy inspiration of coming to do some cleaning that morning, so i found my flat in order and well aired. having made a hasty toilet, i thought of various important errands.

i had kept my taxi, luckily for me as the motor-omnibuses were no longer running.

it was five o'clock. i went to the rue des beaux-arts first. my father was not at home, so i left word with the old parlour-maid that i would be there for dinner that evening.

many wants led me to a big shop. nothing safer i[pg 46] thought than to buy one's outfit oneself. i was lucky enough to find what i wanted quickly, even in the boot line, where a crowd of people were being fitted.

having finished my shopping, i called to my chauffeur:

"rue du helder!"

at the head office of the "abyssinian railway company" my director welcomed me with open arms:

"my dear fellow! you're going? oh, i thought as much! rather rough on us! duroty is going too. the best men, of course! i wonder whether we shan't have to shut up shop."

"and out there? how's the work getting on there?"

"oh, well ... it's just got to go on. the workmen are natives. the engineers are the trouble.... of course i ought to have had more sense and taken englishmen!"

i went straight from there to the bank. it was shut. they were not seeing any one. luckily forgues, my stockbroker, hooked me as i was parleying in the waiting-room, and made me come in.

he seemed to have collapsed completely; there must be bad news, i could drag nothing out of him, as he sat there in his moleskin arm-chair, but vague allusions, and an estimate, which was by the way entirely incorrect, of the financial resources of the two parties concerned. germany had no reserve of gold. if we could hold out for two or three months!

"are you going to fight?" i asked.

"oh, no, no! since the agadir business, you know, ... my wife's one idea has been to get me put on half-pay. i thought it awful rot, but as my heart is a bit weak ... my doctor has given me a certificate; i've been to see a surgeon-major; no difficulties were[pg 47] made about it.... and by jove it's lucky for me now!... and what about you? you're not going, i suppose."

"i beg your pardon!"

he seemed surprised. he had just seen several of his clients—well, i was the first....

feeling irritated, i cut him short with: "can you let me have a certain sum on account?"

"oh, but there's the moratorium...."

somewhat embarrassed, he entered into explanations which i listened to with raised eyebrows:

"to an old client like myself!"

after renewed hesitation, he made up his mind: "well, let's see, would you need a large sum?"

"no, let's say forty pounds."

"not more than that?"

"a little gold, if possible."

i had had time, in two hours, to notice how scarce the yellow metal was.

forgues raised his hands: that was impossible, quite impossible! i wouldn't get it anywhere! nobody would part with it!

i persisted. he was a good sort at the bottom! was it my (unique!!!) position as a man about to be mobilised, which melted him? he ended by handing over fifteen louis to me.

i thanked him warmly and we shook hands.

"and mind you don't get killed!"

he spoke of it lightly. my gratitude ceased promptly.

i suddenly bore him a desperate grudge for having coolly evaded the great blood tax.

i put in an hour, dawdling about. i bought an evening paper. there was nothing startling in it[pg 48] unless it was m. de schoen's last visit to the quai d'orsay, but not even the most inveterate optimists could any longer suggest that there was the faintest glimmer of hope. one article signed "a military attaché" interested me. it was a study on the probable forced attack, dear to the german heart, through belgium, towards the source of the oise. it explained how the enemy, if successful in getting so far, would be only ten days' march from paris.

i walked on absent-mindedly, crumpling the paper in my hand. ten days' march. it looked rather as if they were preparing the public for what was to come! we had so little protection, it was true, against the danger which threatened to swoop down upon us from the north. was the city destined, a few weeks hence, to undergo the horrors and humiliation of a new siege? how quickly my mind was overwhelmed by baleful visions born of the fatal year.

i pulled myself up. steady on! we were only just beginning.

never mind! the resemblance between yesterday and to-day obtruded itself upon my mind. a comparison which ought to have been all in favour of the present. there had been no lack of speeches and articles extolling the revival of our energies for some years past. was it real or imaginary? what an opportunity it was to audit that? not in connection with myself. i deliberately set myself aside. but in the great bulk of people; it was on them that our fate hung.

well, i was only partially reassured on this point.

i think i should have preferred to see a tide of humanity sweeping along the avenues as in july of the[pg 49] year '70; to a rasping accompaniment of "berlin!! to berlin!"

cheek, of course, but heroic cheek, and proof of the warmness of their hearts.

while to-day! people were wandering about, plenty of them, it's true, standing in front of the posters, theatres, and picture palaces, thronging the open-air cafés, but you might have thought they had come out on this summer evening solely for the sake of enjoying a breath of the mild air. they talked quietly among themselves as they walked up and down, or read the papers with an air of distrustful wisdom, perfectly well aware that they were not being told everything. one might have imagined oneself back in the days of the floods of 1910, when the parisian public would learn with apparent indifference that such and such a quarter of their city was threatened with extinction.

an irritating attitude in a crowd, at a time when—now or never—it should have been moved, uplifted, carried away by great inspirations. who would believe that i asked myself in all seriousness if france must be despaired of, if our country had not come to such a pass that there was nothing to be done but to strike her off the map of europe, the victim as hellas was of yore, of her excess of philosophy...? this idea was distasteful to me.... but still! if there was nothing to be done but to resign ourselves! we should go and start life again elsewhere, in some free country like america.... those who got out alive! i still hoped to be among them.

the thought also crossed my mind that we were taking part in a renewal of the hardy and unassuming, the gay and tranquil qualities, which were the attributes of our race.... we had not always been the most[pg 50] highly-strung people of the world; during the forty years of peace we had recaptured our gifts; peace-lovers by nature and only entering the lists under provocation, and in our own defence, perhaps we were to astonish the universe anew by our valiance.

why not? the hypothesis appealed to my sense of vanity. oh well, we should see, we should see!

should i have retained any misgivings if my walk had led me to the outskirts of the gare de l'est, where the people of paris were beginning to set such a sublime example of steadfastness, and dignity?