"You must stand your ground, Daspry. You must stand your ground for two hours and a half or three hours. My battalion has just left barracks. The 28th are following us by forced marches. We shall be at the frontier by two o'clock in the afternoon. You must stand your ground." "But I say, major!" "You must stand your ground, Daspry." With a mechanical movement, the officer drew himself up, brought his heels together and replied: "We shall stand our ground, major." He replaced the receiver and thought for a few minutes. Then he said, with a smile: "By Jove, that's a nice beginning! Two hundred men against some thousands ... for three hours! If one of the 4th company remains alive, he'll be a lucky man...." "But it's madness!" Philippe protested. "Monsieur, the Alpine Rifles and the 28th of the line are on their way; and Dornat's division is certainly behind them. If they arrive too late, if the ridges of the Vosges are taken, if the frontier is crossed, if the Saint-Elophe valley is occupied and all this on the very day on which war is declared, you can imagine the consternation which this first check will produce all over France. If, on the other hand, a handful of men sacrifice themselves ... and _succeed_, the moral effect will be incalculable. I shall stand my ground for three hours, monsieur." The words were spoken simply, with the profound conviction of a man who realizes the full importance of his act. He was already on his way down the stone steps. Saluting Philippe, he added: "You can congratulate M. Morestal, monsieur. He is a far-seeing Frenchman. He foresaw everything that is happening. Let us hope that it is not too late." He leapt into the saddle, spurred his horse and set off at a gallop. Philippe followed him with his eyes as far as the Etang-des-Moines. When the officer had disappeared behind a dip in the ground, he gave way to an angry movement and muttered: "Play-acting!" However, he turned the telescope on the Col du Diable and saw soldiers all around Saboureux's Farm, running, scrambling up the rocks on every side with the agility of young goats. He reflected that they had forgotten their weariness and seemed to be diverting themselves with an exercise to which each contributed his own effort, his individual tactics and his qualities of self-reliance and initiative. He stood pensive for a few minutes. But time was pressing. He called Victor and went up to his room: "Quick, my bag." They stuffed the papers and manuscripts into it promiscuously, together with a little linen and the toilet-articles. The bag was strapped up. Philippe seized it: "Good-bye, Victor. Tell my mother I sent her my love." He crossed the landing. But some one darted out of an adjacent room. It was Marthe. She barred his way: "Where are you going?" she asked. CHAPTER III IDEAS AND FACTS