it was time to go and dine. i bought a paper directly we got out. laquarrière exclaimed:

"what thirst for news!"

"i admit it."

"and you expect to find it in the papers!"

it was a fact that i searched in vain for any definite news concerning the serious military and diplomatic situations. always the same system of brief, touched-up telegrams. one would so much have liked to be certain of england's attitude. however, the theory of italian neutrality seemed to be confirmed; one good point!

"what will the flying machines do?" i asked suddenly.

the subject interested me. i had visions of raids and fantastic combats à la wells.

"nothing at all!" laquarrière broke in. "they haven't a ghost of a chance against zeppelins."

he embarked on the praises of these dreadnoughts of the air, one of which had gone two thousand kilometres without a stop, a few months before.

"i shouldn't be surprised to see them over paris to-night!"

i tossed my head. he continued:

[pg 67]

"besides, as regards aeroplanes, you mustn't imagine that we're in any way superior to them in that line. they've beaten all our records lately, distance and height."

it was only one detail among many. he did not hide from me the fact that he had an extremely poor opinion of our state of preparation. cipollina's tone and mistrust were repeated in him. i ventured to remark:

"our troops in the east are tip-top."

he shrugged his shoulders.

"perhaps, but you are hardly up to the same form."

what could one say without losing one's temper, a thing i was not in the least anxious to do.

after leaving the restaurant, we took a turn on the boulevards, where the increasing crowd was gathering. lost in the streams of people, alternately bumped into or elbowed, it was impossible to keep up a connected conversation. so much the better. i was quite willing to forget the presence of my companion.

i was haunted by the thought that it was my last evening of liberty ...; after to-morrow my uniform would impose upon me the strictest restraint. i was making use of the final respite. i inhaled without displeasure the dusty air laden with the smells of acetylene gas and human emanations.

a lot of the shop windows had their shutters up and looked dismal, and looking up one could make out insolent german inscriptions. angry bourgeois muttered as they passed, clenching their fists. people were talking of nothing but the hasty dismissals of the day before. the other shops flaunted their dazzling electric lights. the luminous sky-signs, intermit[pg 68]tent and hallucinating, unrolled flamboyant zigzags and blazing coils. an unreal scene, well suited to the agitation of the hour! soon it would be quenched and blotted out and dismal.... paris was lavishing her final brilliance. what gaps were to be made by to-morrow's call in this multitude promenading their quivering city with such pride! i tried to read his secret on the face of each man of an eligible age for military service. was he going to rejoin? and i felt inclined to shout to him:

"i'm going, you know; i'm one of you!"

my glance rested approvingly on the sturdy-looking fellows whose martial air under their képis i could well imagine. with their heads held high and their hands behind their backs, most of them looked about them with a superlatively good-natured expression, quite innocent of swagger.

laquarrière shouted down my ear:

"you all look as if you were starting out for a day's shooting!"

oh! so i looked like the rest? well, i was not sorry for it!

my companion persuaded me to finish up the evening in a music hall.

the place was full. lots of people were treating themselves to an evening's amusement before the coming horrors. there was a sketch, followed by several acrobatic turns. the audience was enthusiastic. but i was struck, nevertheless, by the coldness with which "the eccentric" fergusson, usually the idol of the public, was received.

laquarrière enlightened me by remarking:

"that will teach england to buck up a bit!"

we laughed together over the childishness of crowds,[pg 69] for this "eccentric" said to be a londoner, had perhaps been born at javel. the three alkenkirch brothers, the dresden tight-rope walkers, had also disappeared from the programme.

laquarrière whispered:

"they would have been torn to pieces! just look at the brutes."

i had to echo him, but i thought to myself that if ever there had been a time when chauvinism was excusable....

the show came to an end. there was not the usual rush for the doors when the curtain fell on the final scene of the little revue.

"the best part is still to come!" whispered my companion.

a murmur ran through the crowd, and swelled into "la marseillaise! la marseillaise!"

laquarrière nudged me with his elbow.

"now we're off!"

he assured me that the orchestra had had orders to delay striking up in order to give the audience time to work itself up.

true enough the uproar was increasing. the audience were on their feet, waving their sticks, and violently demanding:

"la marseillaise!"

laquarrière called my attention to the courtesans in the promenade, who, delighting in an evening which promised to be fruitful, stood on tiptoe leaning on the arms of their chance-met companions, and stamping and shouting: "la marseillaise!"

the conductor's baton gave three short taps. on the sudden abatement of the tumult, rose the superb rhythm of the opening notes,—a virile introduction.

[pg 70]

all the men had bared their heads simultaneously.

no; not all.

"hats off!" shouted someone behind us.

for whom was the order meant? for laquarrière, i could see. he shrugged his shoulders to show that it pleased him to thwart such a fool. but the moment was ill-chosen. other voices, already grown threatening, repeated:

"hats off! hats off!"

he gave way, smiling scornfully.

the orchestra excelled themselves. at the opening of the refrain the general attention was caught and held by the imperative call of the repeated high note, and the feelings of the audience carried away by the well-marked rhythm of the melody. a warlike jollity was abroad. i swear i had a momentary vision of risen troops hurling themselves in serried ranks against the hostile masses. i shivered. i was entering into communion with the multitude....

laquarrière leant towards me and made some remark which i did not catch, but which i had to acknowledge with a smile.... my trance was over, i listened untroubled to the crash of the brasses, as it grew in intensity and rose headlong to the heights, to die away in wild flourishes. then from two thousand throats there rose a clamour which rolled like thunder round the roof. a new thrill ran through me; i was just going to shout ... when laquarrière seized me by the arm.

"let's be off!"

"nice patriots!" he mocked; "all these fine fellows who came to gaze at a pretty pair of legs."

that restored things to their proper proportions.

"but what about you? it shook you up a bit, eh?"

[pg 71]

i denied it obstinately.

he walked back with me. we talked of nothing but the most ordinary things on the way. i was preoccupied, almost melted. why?... good heavens! because in a few minutes i was going to part from the only friend of my childhood, from the only fellow being who really knew me....

should we ever see each other again?

in spite of my instinctive horror of any display of feeling, i could not help imagining that some heartfelt word would pass between us, some brotherly embrace draw us closer to each other ... and the prospect moved me.

laquarrière soon settled the matter.

when we got to my door, he stopped suddenly and held out his hand saying:

"well, so long, old chap! hope your pack will weigh lightly on you!"

it just hit the nail on the head.

"so long, old chap!" i repeated.

he went off, swinging his stick.

oh well, it was quite natural! we were nothing to each other. nobody was anything to any one.... what idle fancies i had woven!