"You'll be only in the second line." "I beg your pardon! Our division is attached to the 4th Corps on the active list." "When do you rejoin?" "The day after to-morrow." Then he deigned to ask me certain questions, this one among others: "How about your foot-gear?" I explained that the regulation boots hurt me. "That's a pity! A man with sensitive feet never makes a good soldier." He went on: "You'll remember you're a Lorrain!" But at that I came near to shaking my head. A Lorrain? Never. More likely of the other race, my mother's. Or more likely still, of none at all. There were too many strains in me; none of them succeeded in getting the upper hand. I was the nameless product of concluding epochs. Time was getting on. I excused myself from staying late, and no efforts were made to keep me. "You'll be busy to-morrow?" "All day long, unfortunately." "But still I'll try to look in to say good-bye" I added, "but I daren't make any promises." I had quite made up my mind to do nothing of the sort. "Come and dine if you can." I had got as far as the hall. Mélanie turned on the light for us. I thought, as I buttoned my gloves, how well adapted the situation would have been for the stage. The son leaving for the Front. The great Farewell scene. Even a second-rate actor could have drawn tears from the public in it.... I, as actor and spectator combined, experienced not the faintest trace of emotion. Nor, to a certainty, did my father. So much the better! In that case we were sure to escape being ridiculous. Why did it again occur to me that if it had been Victor...? "Well, good-bye, Father." I said. "Good-bye, Michel." He held out his broad wrinkled hand to me. To my surprise, it was shaking. I had opened the door part way, and was on the point of going out, when he drew me back. I suddenly saw his face, with its white beard, bending over me. He kissed me. It was, I think, the first time for ten years. "Fight well!" "I promise you I will." I went quickly down the steps feeling quite staggered. Hardly had I reached the bottom, when I recovered myself. I asked myself, mockingly, whether I had not been affected by the traditional emotion? A little, I admitted. But I had the decency not to scoff at it openly. CHAPTER IX MY FRIEND My char-woman woke me by bringing me the papers, which I read in bed. To think that it had not come yet! It was true that all intercourse had been broken off between Berlin and St. Petersburg, and even on our frontier there had already been some deaths, the Samain brothers and the Curé de Moineville. Provocations and outrages were multiplying and increasing in severity. Our forces nevertheless were still kept back two miles from the frontier. M. de Schoën was still about. They were talking!