at noon sharp. We jumped into a taxi.

"Drive to the Gare de l'Est and on the way stop at Tarides! We must
have maps, good road maps of the entire north and east," said H.,
turning to me.

It seemed as though he had had that thought in common with the entire
Parisian population, for all down the boulevards the bookshops and
stationers were already overflowing with men, chiefly in regimentals,
and as to the shoe-shops and boot-makers--there was a line waiting
outside of each. Yet there was no excitement, no shouting, not even an
"extra."

What a different sight our station presented to that of two hours
before! The great iron gates were shut, and guarded by a line of
_sergents de ville_. Only men joining their regiments and persons
returning to their legitimate dwellings were allowed to pass. And there
were thousands of both. Around the grillwork hovered dense groups of
women, bravely waving tearless adieux to their men folk.

After assuring himself that there was still a noon train, H. led me to
the restaurant directly opposite the station.

"We'll have a bite here. Heaven knows what time we shall reach home!"

The room was filled to overflowing; the lunchers being mostly officers.
At the table on our right sat a young fellow whose military harnessings
were very new and very stiff, but in spite of the heat, a high collar
and all his trappings he managed to put away a very comfortable repast.