But there were compensations, for at a turn of the road I saw a more impressive sight than even the motoring Kaiser--a mile of German cavalry coming down the straight chausse, gray horsemen as far as the eye could see and more constantly coming over the brow of the distant hill, with batteries of field artillery sandwiched between, while on the railroad track, paralleling the highway, infantry and heavy artillery troop trains crawled past in endless succession, as closely together as subway trains during the rush hour at home. An allied aeroplane, hovering overhead, would have learned something to its advantage. I had innocently blundered into one of the most important troop movements of the war, but how many and where they were coming from or where they were going to I pledged myself not to disclose. The inevitable company of cyclists rode at the head of the long column that was still passing when I went to bed. Next came an imposing staff--then a mounted band blaring away, then a crack guard cavalry regiment, proud standard flying, then cavalry less elite, here and there a palefaced spectacled trooper who looked like a converted theological student. Whole regiments came riding down the pike singing "The Red, White, and Black" in unison--a stirring, marching song, which for patriotic fervor and fighting spirit "puts it all over" the British "It's a Long Way from Tipperary." It was a Roman holiday for the French inhabitants of the town of ----, who lined the roads en masse quivering with suppressed emotion and happiness, thinking they were eyewitnessing a great German retreat. "Our French soldiers will soon be here again," they whispered to one another. But it wasn't a retreat--it was one of those mysterious strategic shifts you read about in the papers without really realizing what it means till you see it--great masses being rushed from one battlefield to another on the long line. For weeks these same regiments had been daily "decimated," "cut to pieces," and otherwise badly mauled by English war correspondents, but you would never have suspected it. Bearded dragoons and Uhlans were still able to sit up and smoke big Hamburg cigars as they rode along, the horses looked fresh, the guns of the batteries were spick and span, the men seemed to have "morale" to spare; they looked as if they were just going for the first time--and not coming from the scrimmage.