[Picture: Robert up and about again] Presently I returned and seated myself on the old, worn, green-coloured stone bench, which, with the wall full of gaps and two or three apple-trees covered with moss, date from the time when my house and the orchards surrounding it were part of an old monastery built in the middle of the forest . . . Never had my garden appeared so beautiful to me. The fruit-trees against the wall, rather stripped of their leaves, were laden with ripe peaches and golden bunches. The currant-bushes, spread out in thin clumps, were dotted here and there with sparks of red; and under the autumn sun, that ripens each berry, bursts each pod, and sheds each grain, the sparrows pursued one another with unequal flights, while youthful twitterings among them show how their numbers have been increased by the young broods. From time to time the heavy flight of a pheasant passed over the ruined wall, alighting in a field of buckwheat. At the top of a tall tree a squirrel was playing and cracking nuts. The gentle heat which pervaded the whole scene threw a wonderful feeling of repose over this little rustic corner. I had forgotten the Prussians and the invasion . . . Suddenly the keeper and his wife came in. It was astonishing to see old Guillard at the Hermitage in the daytime—he, the constant rover of the forest! I understood that there must be fresh news. [Picture: “Read that, Mr. Robert, said the good man”] —Read that, Mr. Robert . . . said the good man. And drawing from beneath his thick velveteen waistcoat a copy of the _National_, crumpled and awkwardly folded by hands little accustomed to deal with papers, he held it out to me with an air of dismay. On the first sheet, bordered in black, were the sinister words: “_The French army has capitulated_.” I could not read any farther . . . . . . Dazed, with closed eyes, for the space of five minutes I seemed to see nothing but those few words, surrounded by flashes of light and colour, as if I had read them on a white wall in the full glare of the sun. Alas! there was therefore no hope. The last barrier had broken down. It was the invasion, the mighty one . . . The keeper thinks that in eight days the Prussians will be here. —Ah, my dear sir, you should see the block on the roads. Between this and Paris there is a mob of cattle and vehicles. Every one is packing up and flying. Champrosay is empty; Farmer Goudeloup is the only person who will not hear of leaving. He has sent away his wife and children, loaded his two guns, and is ready. [Picture: Civilians evacuating their homes] —And you, Guillard, what do you intend doing?