He had risen to his feet, and he pointed to the valley of the Meuse. Those large, short-sighted eyes of his which had prevented him from serving in the army were now illumined by a vivid flame. 'Thunder!' he exclaimed, 'yes, I'd fight readily enough if I were my own master. I don't know whether it's because they are now in possession of my native province, the province where the Cossacks already did such frightful things years ago, but I can't think of them or picture them in our country and our houses without feeling a furious longing to go and bleed a dozen of them! Ah! if I hadn't been invalided, if I were only a soldier!' Then after a short pause he added: 'But, after all, who can tell what will happen?' Hope inspired those last words, the need which even the least deceived experienced of believing that victory was still possible. And Maurice, already ashamed of his tears, listened to Weiss, clinging for comfort to this dream. After all, had it not been reported the previous day that Bazaine had reached Verdun? Fortune owed a miracle to that land of France which she had so long endowed with glory. Henriette, who had long since relapsed into silence, left the room. When she returned she was in no wise surprised to find her brother dressed and ready to start. However, she insisted that he and Jean should eat something before they went, and they had to take their places at table. But the food seemed to choke them: they were still heavy after their long slumber, and were troubled with nausea. Jean, however, like a prudent man, divided a loaf and placed one half of it in Maurice's knapsack and the other in his own. The daylight was now fast waning, and it was necessary they should start. Henriette, who had paused beside the window, was gazing at the Prussian troops as they crossed the Marfée hill--marching on and on without cessation, but growing more and more indistinct in the depths of the gathering darkness. All at once an involuntary plaint escaped her: 'Oh! war, war, what a horrible thing it is!' Thereupon Maurice, promptly taking his revenge, began to twit her. 'What! my dear girl,' said he, 'it's you who want us to fight, and yet you rail at war?' She turned round, and, looking him in the face, replied, with that brave air of hers: 'Yes, I execrate war. I consider it unjust and abominable. Perhaps it's simply because I'm a woman. But all this killing horrifies me. Why can't nations discuss matters quietly, and come to an understanding?'