The mobilization began at midnight to the minute. At dusk, groups of men
began moving through the streets towards the stations. Their families
were walking beside them, carrying the valise or bundle of clothes.
They were escorted by the friends of their district, the tricolored flag
borne aloft at the head of these platoons. The Reserves were donning
their old uniforms which presented all the difficulties of suits long
ago forgotten. With new leather belts and their revolvers at their
sides, they were betaking themselves to the railway which was to carry
them to the point of concentration. One of their children was carrying
the old sword in its cloth sheath. The wife was hanging on his arm,
sad and proud at the same time, giving her last counsels in a loving
whisper.

Street cars, automobiles and cabs rolled by with crazy velocity. Nobody
had ever seen so many vehicles in the Paris streets, yet if anybody
needed one, he called in vain to the conductors, for none wished to
serve mere civilians. All means of transportation were for military
men, all roads ended at the railroad stations. The heavy trucks of the
administration, filled with sacks, were saluted with general enthusiasm.
"Hurrah for the army!" The soldiers in mechanic's garb, on top of the
swaying pyramid, replied to the cheers, waving their arms and uttering
shouts that nobody pretended to understand.

Fraternity had created a tolerance hitherto unknown. The crowds were
pressing forward, but in their encounters, invariably preserved good
order. Vehicles were running into each other, and when the conductors
resorted to the customary threats, the crowds would intervene and make
them shake hands. "Three cheers for France!" The pedestrians, escaping
between the wheels of the automobiles were laughing and good-naturedly