there was not a single Prussian at Huningue. The passage of the Rhine
at Markolsheim and the bridge of boats constructed under the electric
light had existed merely in imagination, were an unexplained,
inexplicable nightmare of the prefet at Schelestadt; and as for the
army corps that had menaced Huningue, that famous corps of the Black
Forest, that had made so much talk, it was but an insignificant
detachment of Wurtemburgers, a couple of battalions of infantry and a
squadron of cavalry, which had maneuvered with such address, marching
and countermarching, appearing in one place and then suddenly popping
up in another at a distance, as to gain for themselves the reputation
of being thirty or forty thousand strong. And to think that that
morning they had been near blowing up the viaduct at Dannemarie!
Twenty leagues of fertile country had been depopulated by the most
idiotic of panics, and at the recollection of what they had seen
during their lamentable day's march, the inhabitants flying in
consternation to the mountains, driving their cattle before them; the
press of vehicles, laden with household effects, streaming cityward
and surrounded by bands of weeping women and children, the soldiers
waxed wroth and gave way to bitter, sneering denunciation of their
leaders.

"Ah! it is too ridiculous too talk about!" sputtered Loubet, not
stopping to empty his mouth, brandishing his spoon. "They take us out
to fight the enemy, and there's not a soul to fight with! Twelve
leagues there and twelve leagues back, and not so much as a mouse in
front of us! All that for nothing, just for the fun of being scared to
death!"

Chouteau, who was noisily absorbing the last drops in his porringer,
bellowed his opinion of the generals, without mentioning names: