And now, when he enters his office, his first duty is to call for the reports of the night. These he studies closely, and they are then classified according to the armies to which they belong, in cardboard covers of different colours. Thereupon takes place the conference to which I have alluded; and then Joffre, having finished his morning’s work at a time when most men are beginning it, goes out upon a long and solitary tramp through the countryside. He gives himself freely to his meditations, knowing that none of the inhabitants, whom he crosses on his path, will dare to disturb him. Either he thinks of a knotty question presented by some new move of the enemy, or his mind fashions one of those electrifying Orders of the Day which have become world-famous. "The time for looking back has ceased ... die rather than yield ground." That order, given on the eve of the battle of the Marne, has become as celebrated as Nelson’s signal. Like most men who keep their thoughts rigidly to themselves, his occasional utterances are full of a strange force. And Joffre’s Orders of the Day have reached a high order of eloquence and exalted passion. The events of the day may call Joffre to the Front, whither he goes in a fast motor-car. On the way he will lunch at a village _auberge_ and scandalises the proprietor, who has prepared, perhaps, a royal feast—if he knew in advance the honour to be done him—by the plainness of his fare. A simple omelette, a little fruit and cheese for a Generalissimo! Boniface is _bouleversé_! It is incredible! With pious industry a journalist compiled Joffre’s menus during the battle of the Marne. They were the simple meals of any bourgeois; a plate of roast meat, preceded by soup or _hors d’oeuvre_ and followed by vegetables and fruit, constituted the repast. Notwithstanding this sobriety, the General does not disdain the pleasures of the table; like every good Southerner, he is something of a _gourmet_, but on campaign he exercises a rigid self-restraint. The same disregard for personal discomfort pervades all his arrangements. When the battle of the Marne raged, the proprietor of a château at Bar-le-Duc, whence Joffre directed operations, placed his house at the Commander-in-Chief’s disposal. Joffre gave the finest rooms of the house, overlooking a calm and beautiful garden, to the officers of his suite; he himself, took a front room facing the Boulevard, and subject, of course, to the street noises; he thinks nothing of these things. His dinner at eight o’clock, after the day’s work—for he resumes touch with the details of Headquarters towards the end of the afternoon—is just as simple as the lunch, and Joffre never varies from this strict _régime_. Thanks to its regularity, he is able to sustain, without physical change or faltering, the heavy burden of his rôle.