wife. France is his mother"; and I hoped these poor men, to whom Fate
seemed not to have been very kind, had at least that thought in the back
of their minds.

I found Paris quiet, and every one calm--that is to say, every one but
the foreigners, struggling like people in a panic to escape. In spite
of the sad news--Brussels occupied Thursday, Namur fallen Monday--there
is no sign of discouragement, and no sign of defeat. If it were not for
the excitement around the steamship offices the city would be almost as
still as death. But all the foreigners, caught here by the
unexpectedness of the war, seemed to be fighting to get off by the same
train and the same day to catch the first ship, and they seemed to have
little realization that, first of all, France must move her troops and
war material. I heard it said--it may not be true--that some of the
consular officers were to blame for this, and that there was a rumor
abroad among foreigners that Paris was sure to be invested, and that
foreigners had been advised to get out, so that there should be as few
people inside the fortifications as possible. This rumor, however, was
prevalent only among foreigners. No French people that I saw seemed to
have any such feeling. Apart from the excitement which prevailed in the
vicinity of the steamship offices and banks the city had a deserted
look. The Paris that you knew exists no longer. Compared with it this
Paris is a dead city. Almost every shop is closed, and must be until the
great number of men gone to the front can be replaced in some way.
There are streets in which every closed front bears, under a paper flag
pasted on shutter or door, a sign saying, "Closed on account of the
mobilization"; or, "All the men with the colors."

There are almost no men in the streets. There are no busses or
tramways, and cabs and automobiles are rare. Some branches of the