compartment already occupied by two young St. Cyr students in full
uniform and white gloves, a very portly aged couple and half a dozen men
of the working classes.

"We'll take turns at sitting, Monsieur," said one of them as H. pushed
further on into the corridor.

At the end of five minutes' time the conversation had become general.
Although as yet there had been no official declaration everyone present
was convinced that the news would shortly be made public, and though the
crowd was certainly not a merry one, it was certainly not sad. Most of
the men had received their orders in the morning, and had said good-bye
to their loved ones at home. In consequence, there were no
heart-rending scenes of farewell, no tearful leave-takings from family
and friends, no useless manifestations.

Through the doorway of our stifling compartment, which up until the last
moment was left open for air, we could see the train on the opposite
platform silently, rapidly filling with men, each carrying a new pair of
shoes either slung over the shoulders or neatly tied in a box or paper
parcel. Then without any warning, without any hilarious vociferations
on the part of its occupants, it quietly drew out of the station, to be
instantly replaced by another train of cars.

Five times we watched the same operation recommence ere the ten o'clock
train decided to leave Paris. Then as the guard went along the platform
slamming the doors, a boyish face poked its way into the aperture of our
compartment.

"Hello, Louis," said he, addressing one of the workmen. "Hello, Louis,