On Monday we hung about the house till four o'clock, when I left it to go to the Town Hall, and then to the station. At the Town Hall a group of men, like myself, were stamping about. They were loaded with parcels in string; new boots hung from their shoulders. I went up to mix with my new companions. Tudor was topped by an artilleryman's cap. Monsieur Mielvaque was bustling about, embarrassed--exactly as at the factory--by the papers he held in his hand; and he had exchanged his eyeglasses for spectacles, which stood for the beginning of his uniform. Every man talked about himself, and gave details concerning his regiment, his depot, and some personal peculiarity. "I'm staying," says the adjutant master-at-arms, who rises impeccably in his active service uniform, amid the bustle and the neutral-tinted groups; "I'm not going. I'm the owner of my rank, and they haven't got the right to send me to join the army." We waited long, and some hours went by. A rumor went round that we should not go till the next day. But suddenly there was silence, a stiffening up, and a military salute all round. The door had just opened to admit Major de Trancheaux. The women drew aside. A civilian who was on the lookout for him went up, hat in hand, and spoke to him in undertones. "But, my friend," cried the Major, quitting the importunate with a quite military abruptness, "it's not worth while. In two months the war will be over!" He came up to us. He was wearing a white band on his cap. "He's in command at the station," they say. He gave us a patriotic address, brief and spirited. He spoke of the great revenge so long awaited by French hearts, assured us that we should all be proud, later, to have lived in those hours, thrilled us all, and added, "Come, say good-by to your folks. No more women now. And let's be off, for I'm going with you as far as the station." A last confused scrimmage--with moist sounds of kisses and litanies of advice--closed up in the great public hall. When I had embraced Marie I joined these who were falling in near the road. We went off in files of four. All the causeways were garnished with people, because of us; and at that moment I felt a lofty emotion and a real thrill of glory. At the corner of a street I saw Crillon and Marie, who had run on ahead to take their stand on our route. They waved to me. "Now, keep your peckers up, boys! You're not dead yet, eh!" Crillon called to us. Marie was looking at me and could not speak. "In step! One-two!" cried Adjutant Marcassin, striding along the detachment.